"Stop fucking moving!" Pio yelled. "What's the matter with you?!"
"You're hitting way too close!" Manny struggled. "Are you crazy?!"
Regan laughed. "Hurry up, baby-face! Shows' about to start!"
Pio pulled his chains. "Give me a hand with this, will you?"
"Nope, no can do."
"I thought you said we were fighting together!"
Regan smacked his lips. "You must have misheard me. I said you were fighting for me, not with me. Priorities changed, I don't care if you die or not."
"You bastard," Pio growled. "Can somebody else at least help?!"
Wren inspected his sword. "You're in a room filled with criminals, and you expect any of us for a shed of mercy?"
Pio gritted his teeth. "I should just cut off your leg!"
"No!" Manny cried. "Please don't—"
Michael held the chain straight. "Try now."
Pio drove the dagger into the chain over and over, even the point was starting to dent. Michael fished for another weapon but anything else seemed impractical for the size. It wasn't Pio's aim that was the problem. It was his strength. Pio's arms were too small to carry out any power that could break the chains. But for Regan and Wren, they had no problem.
Michael stepped back to the rack of weapons. He rummaged through the swords, trying to find something smaller.
There was one sword. It was terribly old, even rusting at the edges of the blade. But it looked more golden than the others which made it stand out. And looking from the height, it was a little shorter than the other swords. Regan and Wren were already tall enough so the height of the swords fit them perfectly. It just felt this rusty and old sword was perfect for Michael.
Michael raised the sword on top of his head, ready to swing down on the chains.
"Woah, slave-boy," Regan said. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."
Michael slammed the sword down onto the chains. It even felt awkward to swing it around. But he swung, over and over against the chains. He didn't mind if he was just inches away from slamming on each of their feet. He ignored the cries from Manny as Pio tugged the chain straight. Nothing was budging. The chain wasn't even threatening to break.
Then the room groaned, or the wall behind them actually did. What they thought was the back of the wall turned out to move downwards like a stone gate. Even more light rushed into the room as they heard the sounds more clearly. Sounds of cheering and yelling, sounds of other people.
Michael slammed over and over in desperation. He never thought he'd get tired this quickly. He thought he was good at running but he was already out of breath by only about seven swings.
"Hurry!" Pio yelled. "Are you even trying?!"
"I am!" Michael yelled back. "This thing won't break!"
Regan was the first to step out. He was right, this entire place looked like some kind of underground arena. The ground was splashed around with cheap dirt, too wet for something that was assumed to be old. Above were rows of seats and railing with actual people. There must be at least thirty of them, waving their hands and tossing gold coins into the arena. But they weren't some commoners Michael saw on the street. Their attire, their uniform, and the festive masks they wore, these most likely nobles like Regan said.
"I see what's going on here," Regan laughed. "You fat nobles want a show, I'll give one to you!"
Wren stepped out after him.
"What're you staring at," Pio snapped Michael back. "Keep swinging!"
Michael continued swinging despite feeling exhausted. Pio didn't even care about the sweat running down his head. Was it from being tired or was the room starting to feel more hot? Michael couldn't decide from the two.
"I would get out," Wren said to them. "They hate waiting."
Michael could see the waves of heat in the room. Your body doesn't even get this hot when it's tired. The room itself was being heated, too hot for any of their comfort. Michael dashed outside with Wren and Pio following shortly after.
They both turned around with their room erupting in flames as the gate closed behind them again.
Wren looked around him. "This place is pretty big. I doubt we're the only contenders."
Soon after, other walls opened from the side. There were more people, more prisoners or unfortunate adventurers. They were forced out by being pushed against the wall or a geyser of flames. Either way, there must have been twenty of them in the arena.
Michael couldn't concentrate. The sounds of roaring cheers, the sandy feeling of the floor, and his trembling grip on the blade. Where the hell was he? This was something totally different from what he had in mind. Did the guard know about this all along, and purposefully placed Michael in here?
Pio pointed the dagger at Manny. "Listen here, you wuss, when I move that means you move! Understand?"
Manny nodded his head, shielding his face.
"How does it feel, slave?" Wren asked. "Have you ever had this many eyes on you before?"
Michael assumed he was talking to him. He's had people pick on him at the union but this is entirely different. Everybody cheered, for the purpose for the prisoners to fight each other. A fight to the death. Michael couldn't let them think he was scared to the bone.
"Welcome, welcome!" a blaring voice said from the stands. "Let this be the most exciting turn of your miserable lives!"
Wren snorted. "If I had a bow, he'd already be dead."
"Presented in front of you," the voice continued. "Are other competitors of your nature. You all have done heinous crimes, I believe, and expect forgiveness from the kingdom. Ask and you shall receive! But wait, what did you say? What's the catch? How can you fools be so blind?"
Michael looked at other prisoners. They were all equipped with some close-ranged weapon, just like his group. They were also cut the same, buzzed hair and ragged clothes of a prisoner. But their faces were what made them all different. Some just wanted to kill, some wanted to get out of here, and some never meant to wind up in this place.
"You will compete for your pardon! The! Last! Man! Standing!"
Michael could feel his heart beat out of his chest. He's never been in a fight, especially one to the death. He's never even understood the concept of mana. How good was he ever going to achieve here?
"Let's not waste any more time!"
Some of the other prisoners already started fighting, startling Michael. Looks like they already knew the assignment and couldn't wait any longer.
"Begin the massacre! Show everyone the true blood of a warrior!"
Michael felt the world stood still for his group. They were all exchanging looks like they were talking telepathically. They were all looking at Michael, as if he was the easiest catch of them all.
Sparks flew in front of Michael's face. The loud clang of blades clashing was what flinched him onto the floor.
Wren parried another swing in front of Michael.
Regan drew back his sword. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Taking out the biggest threat," Wren thrusted his blade into a parry. "Didn't they teach you that at school?"
"Then I'll teach you one final lesson!"
Michael watched them trade blows, sparks flying and the sounds of clashing over and over again. He couldn't even keep up with their movements. Was this mana Neo was talking about? How could Michael even get out of there alive?
"Stop!" Manny cried out. "Please—stop!"
Michael looked over.
"I would rather drag your corpse!" Pio swung his dagger around, tripping on his own chains. "You're more useless to me than your own dead body!"
Michael didn't know what to think anymore. He wasn't built for any of this. He thought the prisoners he met had become friends, he thought they were making out of this alive. He watched the bloodshed from afar. Some of the prisoners were already dead, having the others move onto the ones alive. He watched Pio drive his dagger into Manny's throat on the ground. All of this, because he asked to become an adventurer. Michael just wanted a hot meal.
He felt the grip on his sword become tighter. There was a rush of energy, a random burst of exhilaration through his hand. He could feel every sensation in his body, his breathing became easier, and his sword was glowing. The rust and dirt on his sword must have cleaned off. The hilt was wrapped tightly and pommel decorated in a similar manner, the blade was more beautiful than he initially thought. It was amazing to look at, as if this sword was directly forged from pure gold. This looked nothing like all the duplicate swords he saw back in that room.
Move, a voice said. It sounded like a girl.
Michael turned behind him to a stone wall. "What?"
Move, the voice said again, or you'll die.