The morning sun rose as Owen got ready and stepped out of his room. He spotted Leon approaching from the left, and together, they left the academy grounds.
The city was buzzing with preparations for an upcoming festival. Owen glanced around in curiosity and asked, "What's all this? Is there some kind of festival?"
Leon nodded. "'Sun of the Valley.' Haven't you heard of it? It's a festival where we honor the lives lost in battle, reminding us that their sacrifices weren't in vain."
Owen nodded, taking in the lively atmosphere.
As they walked past a casino, a desperate-looking man suddenly stumbled out and grabbed Owen's leg. "Please… help me," he begged, his voice trembling.
Before Owen could react, two large men stormed out of the casino, grabbed the man, and dragged him back inside. Owen instinctively moved to intervene, but Leon placed a hand on his shoulder. "He lost. There's nothing we can do," Leon said. Then, with a smirk, he added, "But hey, why don't we try our luck?"
"No, we are not—" Owen started, but Leon was already leading the way.
Moments later, they were inside, caught up in the excitement of the games. But luck was not on their side. They lost.
A bald man in a white overcoat and red tie chuckled. "Young ones, you really shouldn't have come here," he said.
Before they could react, sharp pins shot toward them. Owen felt his vision blur as dizziness took over. The last thing he remembered was his body being dragged away.
Owen awoke to the sound of Leon's voice. His head throbbed as he sat up, taking in their surroundings a dark, cold cell with four beds lined against the walls. In one corner, a scarred man wearing only red underwear sat calmly, watching them.
"Welcome, young lads," the man said, his voice rough. "What are you doing here?"
"Where are we?" Owen asked.
The man leaned forward. "This is an illegal tournament run by the Order of Lost Rings, also known as Serpent."
Leon's eyes widened. "Wait… I've heard that name before. Some of our academy teachers have mentioned it."
Owen frowned. "So, what now? Do we have to fight?"
The man nodded. "Yes. Win, or you'll be stuck here forever."
Before they could respond, the heavy iron doors creaked open. "Looks like it's starting," the man muttered as he stood.
Owen and Leon followed him into a dimly lit tunnel. As they walked, more prisoners joined them. When they finally emerged, a massive stadium came into view. The stands were filled with masked spectators, their eyes gleaming with anticipation.
A booming voice echoed through the arena. "Welcome, everyone!"
Owen turned his gaze toward the center of the stadium, where a lanky figure with an unsettlingly wide grin stood. His thin arms stretched out as he gestured toward the fighters. "Today, we have some fresh blood! Let the games begin!"
Tunnels from all sides opened, and prisoners flooded the arena. The moment their feet touched the battleground, chaos erupted.
"Defeat whoever stands before you, or this place will become your grave," the scarred man warned before charging into the fray.
Leon grinned, raising his hammer. "Alright, let's see what you weaklings got!" With a powerful swing, he slammed the ground, sending shockwaves rippling through the arena. Several fighters were flung into the air, but more rushed toward him.
Owen stood frozen, watching the madness unfold.
A massive, axe-wielding man locked eyes with him and charged. Owen turned to run, but a reptilian humanoid lunged at him from the side, claws aimed for his throat.
Before the creature could strike, the scarred man grabbed its tail and slammed it into the ground. But before he could recover, the axe-wielding man buried his weapon deep into the scarred man's shoulder.
The man fell to his knees, blood seeping from his wound. The axe-wielder yanked his weapon free and raised it again this time, aiming for the man's neck.
Owen's heartbeat pounded in his ears. He couldn't move. He couldn't think. His body trembled as the axe descended.
Then, something snapped inside him.
Dark energy surged through his veins. His vision blurred, his breath quickened, and before he knew it he was moving.
A scream echoed through the arena.
The axe-wielding man stumbled back, clutching his arm or what was left of it. His severed hand lay on the ground, still gripping the axe. Blood gushed from the wound as he howled in agony.
Owen stood before him, gripping one of his black swords. His breathing was ragged, his aura swirling violently around him.
The man tried to grab another axe, but before he could grab, his head was already rolling across the ground.
The scarred man, still kneeling, watched in astonishment. "This kid… what kind of monster is he?"
Owen turned toward Leon, who was surrounded by enemies. Without hesitation, he sprinted forward, his left hand reaching out.
A second sword materialized out of thin air.
The scarred man's eyes widened. "That technique… only high-level swordsmen can do that. But how is he—?"
"Leon! Duck!" The man shouted.
Leon instinctively dropped to the ground as Owen swung his sword. A powerful force whipped through the air, slicing their enemies. Blood sprayed like a fountain as Owen stood in the midst of the carnage.
For the first time in years, the tournament arena fell into an eerie silence.
The remaining fighters hesitated, their eyes filled with fear.