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As time went on, the arena floor became littered with bodies — not dead, but beaten and unconscious. Yet the chaos didn't stop; it evolved. Just as Damien had predicted, the desperate began to move.
Those who had lost their name tags but still had strength to fight gathered in clusters, forming mobs of anger and frustration. They weren't competing anymore — they were hunting, lashing out at anyone who still had something to lose.
Up to twenty of them now moved together, eyes red from exhaustion and fury. Their shouts echoed through the stone arena as they ambushed smaller groups and lone adventurers.
Damien, however, stayed out of their sight. He glided between shadows, using the crowd's noise as cover, moving with silent precision. He didn't fear them — far from it. But there was no reason to waste time on people who had already lost everything worth taking.
"Desperate… but pointless," he thought, slipping behind a pillar as the mob rushed past. "They've already been defeated — they just haven't realized it yet."
He turned away, eyes narrowing toward more rewarding targets.
Welf, on the other hand, wasn't as fortunate. His earlier success had made him stand out, and now the desperate ones had turned their sights on him.
He backed into an open space, surrounded — twelve men in a loose circle, all sneering, eyes flicking toward the small pouch hanging from his belt.
"Hey now," one of them called, a smirk splitting his face. "Let's make a deal, shall we? There's twelve of us and only one of you. I know that pouch's got more than twelve tags. Hand one over to each of us, and we'll let you go. Promise."
Welf didn't even look at him. He raised his sword and shifted into a guarded stance."Come at me," he said firmly.
The leader's grin faded. "Suit yourself."
They lunged.
The first went down immediately — a single wide swing sending him crashing into the dirt. The second tried to flank, but Welf twisted and caught him in the ribs with a kick. The third was quicker; Welf's sword hit his stomach but didn't drop him, only sent him sprawling back.
Then came the fourth and fifth — tackling him together, pinning his arms. Welf gritted his teeth and fought, managing to throw one off before the sixth's fist slammed into his jaw.
Within seconds, he was surrounded, the mob piling on him, punching, kicking — too many to fend off at once.
His vision blurred. "Tch… damn it…" he hissed through bloodied teeth.
Then — a blur.
A sudden shockwave of motion cut through the circle. One man flew backward, screaming as a kick crushed his ribs. Another spun, slashed twice across the chest — blood spraying in the air.
"What—what just happened?!" the leader shouted, backing up, panic flashing in his eyes.
He barely saw it — just a flicker of silver light, a figure with sharp eyes and a calm, unreadable face.
Before he could react, a heel connected with his cheek, and his world went black.
When the dust settled, half the mob was sprawled unconscious, the rest groaning or fleeing.
Welf lay on his back, breathing hard. He looked up to see Damien standing over him, both daggers dripping faintly with crimson dust.
"Damien…" Welf muttered, catching his breath. "Damn, I needed your help again…"
"That's all right," Damien said lightly, offering a hand. "Everyone needs help at some point. You'll make it up to me. I'm sure of it."
Welf chuckled weakly as he took his hand and stood. "Heh… yeah, yeah. I owe you one."
Damien's gaze flicked upward toward the shimmering timer rune in the air. "How much time left?"
Welf squinted. "I'm not sure… maybe three minutes?"
...
The battlefield had thinned. Only the strongest, the cunning, and the lucky still stood on their feet.Damien and Welf pressed on, scanning through the maze of rubble and fallen bodies for anyone still wearing a tag. Each encounter was brief — a quick strike, a clean disarm, then gone again.
But now, even those had grown rare. The air itself felt still — heavy, charged.
Then, from the silence, footsteps.
four men, circling Damien and Welf like wolves who'd finally cornered their prey. Their movements were sharp, deliberate — professionals.
Damien's eyes narrowed. Even without Falna, his instincts screamed danger. These weren't amateurs playing adventurer; these were true adventurers all level two at least
"Oh, looks like you finally decided to come out and face me, eh?" Damien said, his tone casual, though his muscles coiled in readiness. "I was wondering when your stealthy little game would end."
The leader stepped forward — tall, broad-shouldered, a sword resting easily in his grip. His voice carried an arrogance that almost seemed rehearsed."Our God, Apollo, is a generous God," he began smoothly. "He wishes to show you the might of our Familia before you join us. Don't hate us too much — we'll defeat you and take your tags, but only to show how much our Familia desires you."
Damien tilted his head slightly, unimpressed. "Really? That's a very roundabout way of doing things."
He didn't wait for a reply.
In the blink of an eye, his daggers clashed against the leader's sword with a sharp metallic crack that echoed across the stone floor. Sparks flew.
"Welf," Damien muttered through clenched teeth, pushing back against the leader's blade, "no disrespect, buddy, but I need you out of here — now."
The other three Apollo adventurers moved in sync, stepping closer, their weapons drawn.
Welf hesitated only a heartbeat before setting his jaw. "Maybe I can't help you win," he said, gripping his massive sword, "but I'll at least hold one of them! I have my pride after all!"
A grin broke across Damien's face, even as his arms trembled from the clash. "Heh. That's all I needed to hear."
the three Apollo adventurers rushed him all at once — one from the front, two flanking him from either side. Wooden blades sliced through the air in blurs, the sound of impact sharp and heavy as his daggers intercepted each strike. The force rattled his forearms; even without metal, the hits carried enough weight to bruise bone.
The first exchange sent him back a few steps, boots scraping the dirt. They were coordinated — well-trained — their formation tight and suffocating. Every time Damien deflected one, another came swinging. They were forcing him into defense, step by step, cornering him with sheer numbers and pressure.
He ducked under a strike aimed for his neck, pivoted, and countered with a quick stab at the ribs — the wooden edge thudding uselessly against armor. No damage. Just force. It wasn't enough.
Tch… If I had my real daggers, this would've been over by now.
One blow caught him off balance — the leader's sword slammed against his guard, sending him stumbling to the side. A second attacker lunged immediately, thrusting for his chest. Damien barely parried, the impact pushing him further back.
For a moment, it looked bad — three against one, and he was running out of room to move. But then… his eyes narrowed.
"Alright," he muttered under his breath, "enough playing defense."
The air around him rippled faintly — the effect of Quicksilver.
A surge of power ran through his limbs, time stretching thin in his perception. His movements blurred — his speed boosted by 30%, combined with the 10% from his Wolf King's Grieves.
To his opponents, he simply vanished.
The first Apollo adventurer barely turned before Damien appeared behind him, a whisper of motion and then a crack as the wooden dagger struck the back of his neck. The man fell instantly, unconscious before he hit the ground.
The remaining two froze.
"What the hell—!? How is he moving that fast?!" one shouted, eyes darting wildly.
They backed up until they were shoulder-to-shoulder, guarding each other's blind spots, their breathing sharp and erratic. "Stay close," the leader hissed. "He can't take us both if we cover each other."
But Damien's calm, controlled breathing betrayed no fatigue. He circled slowly, daggers low, watching every twitch of their muscles.
Then he lunged.
The leader swung his sword across, intercepting Damien's strike — perfect timing. For a second, it seemed he'd blocked it cleanly… until he realized Damien's second dagger wasn't aiming for him.
It curved wide — and slammed into the other man's neck from behind.
"Ghk—!" the man gasped, knees buckling as he collapsed.
The leader turned in shock, and that's when Damien's eyes glowed faintly red.
Bloodlust.
For a split second, raw primal terror hit the man like a wave — his muscles froze, his breath caught in his throat. The sudden dread shattered his focus.
Damien didn't hesitate.
He drove his fist straight into the man's jaw, the impact echoing like a thunderclap. The leader went limp, crumpling instantly to the ground.
Silence fell — only broken by distant clashes across the arena.
Damien exhaled slowly, straightening, his heartbeat still hammering from the burst of speed and adrenaline. Around him lay the three Apollo adventurers — unconscious, beaten, and utterly humiliated.
Across the field, Welf's opponent — the fourth member — turned in time to see his entire group sprawled out on the ground. His focus slipped. That single mistake was all Welf needed.
THUD!
A clean strike to the head dropped the man cold.
"Damien, look! I got one" Welf's grin froze as he noticed the others. "…Oh."
He blinked, taking in the sight of the three downed enemies around Damien. "Damn, bro… you are strong."
Damien rolled his shoulders, letting out a quiet sigh. "Took longer than I liked… but yeah."
With that ended the first round as Ganesha shouted " Gods and Goddesses! Ladies and Gentleman!The first round is OVER!"
Hearing that, Jason twirled one of the wooden daggers in his hand before sheathing it. "Guess that'll do."
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If you Like this story! Check out my other story's ! Sukuna in DC! and Dragon Slayer in Marvel!
AND
If you wish to read more or simply support me just because ? than check out my patreon at
"https://www.patreon.com/Riadooo"
You can Get Access to 3 More Chapters OR 7 More Chapters if you want !