The fire slash never reached him.
Just as the flames danced inches from Aryan's chest, a voice echoed through the arena—sharp, sudden, and final.
"STOP. ROUND TWO IS OVER."
The arena froze.
Flame dissipated mid-air. Footsteps halted. Even the sound of blades clashing came to a dead stop.
Aryan, wide-eyed and panting, looked up in confusion.
"What…?"
Kat lowered his sword, eyes narrowing. Across from him, Molly sheathed his twin blades with a quiet click. Blot, still wreathed in flame, let out a scoff and stepped back.
"Tch. Lucky bastard," Blot muttered, his eyes still burning like embers. "If that announcement came two seconds later, I would've roasted you alive."
He turned away without another glance, flames flickering off his body.
"You're just another weakling playing warrior. Remember that."
Aryan said nothing. He simply watched Blot walk away—unscathed, cocky, lethal.
And he knew.Blot was right.
He was still weak.
The dust settled.The battlefield, once a raging inferno of power and death, was now eerily silent.
Everyone looked around, confused. There were supposed to be 22 people.
Now, only 15 remained.
"Wait…" Kat whispered. "Who—"
Then they saw him.
In the far corner of the arena, standing atop a small hill of corpses, was a man.
No... something else.
His body was soaked in blood. His chest rose and fell in rhythmic calm. A mad grin split his face from ear to ear, his eyes glinting with animalistic glee.
He laughed. Not in joy.But as if butchery was sport.
"Hahaha… what a warm-up."
The others had no idea when he had moved. No one had seen him fight. No flashy magic, no explosion, no screaming. Just... bodies, broken and lifeless.
Even the mysterious light user stood still, watching in silence.
He didn't speak.He didn't move.He was here for something else.
Aryan clenched his fists, feeling the sting of fresh scratches across his arms. It wasn't just Blot. It wasn't just Molly.
There are monsters here, he thought. And I'm still crawling.
Kat walked over, sword still slightly trembling from the fight.
"You good?" he asked.
Aryan nodded.
"Yeah. Just a few scratches."
"Molly's the real deal," Kat muttered, glancing back at the twin-blade wielder. "Almost sliced me apart like paper. His sword barrier blocked everything I threw."
Aryan gave a weak grin.
"I'm starting to wonder how many actual humans are in this arena."
Above them, the announcer's voice rang out again.
"CONGRATULATIONS, SURVIVORS. YOU HAVE OFFICIALLY QUALIFIED FOR ROUND THREE — THE FINAL TRIAL."
"You have thirty minutes to rest. Heal up. Sharpen your blades. Mend your bones."
"Because what comes next… makes all of this look like a game."
The camera panned to the edges of the arena. Pools of blood stained the sand. Bodies—limp and shattered—lay untouched. The bandits watching from the stands? They laughed. They cheered. They drank and hollered as if watching a grand festival.
To them, this wasn't slaughter.It was entertainment.
Aryan sat down beside a broken pillar, the weight of exhaustion pressing into his shoulders.
But his eyes were fixed on the man drenched in blood. The one who had silently massacred the others.
Who are you?
He didn't know yet.But one thing was certain—
Round Three… would break them all.