A mid-tier crowd meant mid-tier expectations. But even so, they would be hungry for blood all the same.
The Arena was already soaked in yesterday's sweat and today's greed. Shouts clashed with the ring of the gate, and as Alden stepped into the light, his name was announced:
"Our challenger… Silver Hunter! Rank three!"
He received mixed reactions. It was the same as before: some vague cheers mixed with a few groans. The challenger wasn't famous in the ring. Most of the spectators came either for Marrow Quinn, or blood.
After all, this was a rank-up match.
Alden did his best to ignore them. He kept his eyes fixed on the other end of the pit, watching for his opponent.
She emerged quietly, confidence radiating from every step. A jet-black mask concealed her lower face, amber eyes sharp above it. Her armor was simple but immaculate: brown tight combat leathers, a tailored grey vest trimmed in black, and metallic bracers.
At roughly 1.7 meters, Marrow Quinn was sleek yet undeniably intimidating. Compared to Alden's worn clothes and hastily wrapped bandages, she looked like she was from a different class entirely.
And truthfully, she was.
Alden hadn't anticipated fighting a woman, but it didn't matter. He was ready to punch a baby, if it meant surviving.
The crowd started shouting as the two fighters approached the center of the ring. A moment later, a soft chime rang out from the announcer's balcony, signaling the fight to start.
Alden started circling his opponent, feet sliding quietly across packed sand, eyes locked on the girl in the mask. His breath came slow, but his heart pounded like war drums in his chest.
Quinn didn't charge either. She observed Alden's cautious movements for a second longer.
Then she moved.
She came in as a blur.
Alden flinched, his guard rising instinctively as her fist darted straight for his throat. He caught it on his forearm, the jolt running to his shoulder. But before he could counter, she was gone, retreating with the same silence she'd come in with.
Alden's backfoot skidded slightly in the sand. The blow hadn't hurt.
But it rattled him.
In just that single exchange, Alden realized that he was facing an agility specialist. In terms of raw speed, she definitely outmatched him.
But speed alone wouldn't be enough to decide the match.
Undeterred, he charged forward. He feinted a punch, then dropped low, kicking at his opponent's legs. She hopped neatly over his leg, spun, and cracked her elbow against his temple.
A sharp pop of pain flared in his skull.
The crowd roared, and a ripple of approval washed through the stands.
Alden's vision whitened for an instant. His ears started ringing, but he forced himself to stay focused.
He adjusted his strategy, deciding to focus on her timing. He saw the hop in Quinn's step. The moment of weightlessness before she planted her heel. And he struck.
She dodged, but he transitioned his punch into a hook. Which she in turn blocked. The two then started trading blows. Alden gave it his all, doing his best to retaliate for each blow he took.
For a few minutes, the fight evened out. He blocked. She dodged. He feinted. She countered. It was one of the cleanest fights Alden had ever fought, Silver's memories included. And it was also the most exhausting.
He was putting all his focus into the match. He was drawing on everything the Silver Hunter had ever known, every scrap of instinct and experience just to keep pace with her.
The crowd stopped jeering. They were watching now. Really watching. Even the drunkards at the back had gone quiet, their bets forgotten for a moment.
Silver Hunter, the nobody, was surprisingly holding his own against the rank 5 fighter. He managed to keep the girl on her toes. He was seizing every opportunity, not letting any opening unchecked.
Nobody expected it.
But unfortunately for Alden, despite his recent healing and boost in strength, he could not keep fighting such a high intensity battle for long.
And as fatigue settled in, his performance gradually dropped. He started taking more and more hits.
But then… something strange happened.
Alden ducked beneath a high kick and stepped inside Quinn's, attempting a takedown. For half a breath, he had her. Then she twisted with impossible grace, and slipped away from his grip.
Yet, instead of punishing him, she rolled back, letting him recover.
From then, the rhythm of the fight once again changed.
Her movements slowed just enough to let him breathe. Her punches, just short of sharp. Her hits pulled.
She was holding back, matching his performance. It was as if she wanted him to keep fighting.
Mixed emotions twisted Alden's gut. Yet he had no choice but to seize this small mercy. He was barely holding on to begin with.
With a twist of his hips, he performed a high kick, and as Quinn ducked under the attack, he transitioned for a middle kick and used Quinn's block to vault himself back.
The brief, showy, but predictable exchange had the crowd screaming in excitement. And as he landed, Alden became sure of his previous guess.
Every blow that Quinn delivered was calculated to bring the maximum out of him. It kept the audience on the edge. It was an exciting show, close and flashy. But not fatal. She wasn't fighting to win, not yet.
Perhaps, she was fighting to sell, or just enjoying the exchange.
Alden saw hope. This was his chance. He had to create an opportunity while his opponent was still playing around.
So, he pushed even harder. Every strike Silver had ever practiced, he poured it all into her. He punched, ducked, kicked, slammed elbows. He roared as he fought, not for the crowd, not for glory. But for a chance to turn the fight around. A chance to get back at Jarek. A chance to turn his crappy new life around.
And she met him.
Blow for blow. Every time.
Quinn was enjoying it, and Alden could feel it. She was enjoying his struggle. Just like the crowd who had gone mad. Cheers, stomps, even chants filled the arena now.
Alden wished he could give more, but he was reaching his limits. His lungs burned. His legs were jelly, arms like lead. But he still pushed himself.
Until, finally, something caved.
In a single breath, something ignited inside him. His skin tingled. His eyes burned. His body felt light for an instant.
And when he moved, he turned into a blur of motion. Weaving around Quinn's guard, he landed a solid punch to her ribs. A dull thud echoed across the pit.
Her armor had absorbed most of the damage, but the force still sent her skidding back.
A sudden *hush* descended into the arena. Quinn's eyes amber widened in surprise.
Alden wanted to pursue his advantage. But his body refused to respond. He swayed, panting hard.
That move had gutted him.
Before he could even raise his hands again, Quinn struck with a flurry of brutal strikes. She finished with a spinning kick which swept him off his feet, and a downward fist that slammed into his chest mid-air.
The crowd exploded as Alden hit the ground with a harsh, final thud. The announcer's voice rang out through the roar.
"Winnerrr Marrow Quinn!"
Alden barely heard it.
Flat on his back, chest heaving, he stared up at the clear sky, dazed. Then a dark silhouette blocked his view.
It was Quinn.
She didn't speak, just looked at him.
Alden squinted one eye and cracked an exhausted smile. "Would it be too much to ask for you to drag me back into the locker rooms?" He rambled, hoping the girl wouldn't be the type to choke him to death to mark the public.
She simply stared back, then turned around. She gave a shallow bow to the crowd, and left the ring to a thunderstorm of applause.
Alden laid there for a while longer, breath shallow, body ruined.
But somewhere, under the pain…
He felt relief.
He had survived, against a rank 5 arena fighter. Sure, she had held back. But even so, he was still breathing. Still conscious. He'd fought with everything he had, and lived.
Any other level 5 would have probably ripped his heart out and offered it as a tribute to the bloodthirsty crowd. But… he had been lucky to run into Marrow Quinn.
"You planning on dying there?"
A rough voice dragged him out of his thoughts. Alden blinked his blurry eyes and turned his head. One of the arena staff stood at the edge of the ring, arms crossed.
"No," Alden croaked, suddenly remembering that he was still lying in the middle of the ring. He forced himself to his feet. Then limped to the locker room, one dragging step at a time.
Inside, the cold stone walls felt like a reprieve. He collapsed onto a bench with a deep sigh, hands trembling as they fell to his sides.
He had barely closed his eyes when the familiar sound of leather boots echoed into the room. As he lifted his eyes, he met the arrogant form of Jarek.