Fires burned throughout the space from the various Techniques Rey had used.
"Haaa...." Rey struggled to his feet, every movent agony.
His left arm hung useless, the shoulder injury from the energy beam rendering it barely functional. His ribs were definitely broken—multiple fractures that made breathing difficult.
Blood ran from dozens of cuts and burns.
But he was alive.
And the construct was destroyed.
Rey turned his attention to Duke Kahn, still protected behind that infuriating barrier.
The Duke had watched the entire battle with clinical interest, never moving, never showing fear despite the destruction happening re feet from his position.
"Impressive," Duke Kahn said, and there was genuine admiration in his voice. "You destroyed Combat Construct Alpha. Only three people have ever managed that feat, and two of them were Category S threats."
Rey limped toward the barrier, his cutting dagger still clutched in his right hand.
"Your turn," he said through pain-gritted teeth.
Duke Kahn smiled.
"Actually," the Duke said pleasantly, "I believe I’ve bought enough ti."
Rey felt it then—a spatial distortion forming beneath his feet.
Not an attack, but a transportation Technique. The sa kind of magic the Desgarron Family had used for rapid movent through their manor.
"No!" Rey lunged forward, trying to reach the Duke before the transportation completed, but his injured body was too slow.
VWUSH!
The world twisted.
Reality folded.
And Rey found himself sowhere else entirely.
"...."
Sound hit him first.
Roaring.
Cheering.
Thousands of voices raised in excitent and bloodlust.
The distinctive acoustics of a massive enclosed space filled with spectators.
Rey’s vision focused, and understanding crashed over him like a physical blow.
He was standing in the center of the Coliseum arena.
The sa arena where he’d fought and died just days ago. The sa sand beneath his feet, the sa high walls surrounding him, the sa viewing boxes rising tier upon tier filled with spectators.
But the crowd was different now. Massive. Thousands upon thousands of people packed into every available space, their faces eager with anticipation. Nobles in the luxury boxes, commoners in the upper tiers, all focused on him with predatory interest.
"How?" Rey muttered with shock. "How did he gather this many people so quickly?"
But the answer was obvious—Duke Kahn had been planning this.
From the mont Rey had infiltrated the observation chamber, perhaps even before, the Duke had been setting up this final confrontation.
Using the chaos in the city as cover, gathering his audience, preparing the arena.
Rey had thought he was the hunter, but he’d been the prey all along.
Movent caught his attention. Ten figures stepped onto the arena from various entrance gates, spreading out to form a loose circle around Rey.
Champions. The Coliseum’s ranked fighters, each one a proven killer. But these weren’t the mid-tier warriors Rey had faced before.
These were the elite.
The Top Ten.
In fact, he had died at the hands of one of them—Rank 5, the Iron Giant.
Rey recognized so of them from posters and announcents he’d seen during his brief ti in the Annual Coliseum Festival, and he had also heard about the eventual winner after he escaped the Coliseum as a Soulless.
All of them were gathered here—as expected.
The Lightning Fist, a man whose gauntlets crackled with electrical power.
He used Spirit Art as his primary assault ability.
The Shadow Dancer, a woman whose form seed to flicker in and out of visibility.
She used Null Art and Chaos Art.
The Iron Giant, the colossus of a man was now wielding a war hamr that looked like it weighed more than Rey’s entire body. Rey knew he used Chaos Art and Curse Art, mostly for his impregnable defenses.
And there were seven others, each one radiating power and skill that marked them as genuine threats. They had all kinds of Artifacts and Techniques at their disposal that made it appear as though Rey was completely outmatched.
All of them focused on Rey with the cold assessnt.
They were clearly professional killers evaluating their next victim.
Above the arena, Duke Kahn appeared, floating on so kind of levitation platform. His voice, magically amplified, bood across the Coliseum.
"LADIES AND GENTLEN!" the Duke’s voice carried to every corner of the structure. "I bring you an unprecedented spectacle! The fighter you all believed dead—the mysterious challenger who defeated five opponents in rapid succession—has returned!"
The crowd roared its approval.
"And tonight," Duke Kahn continued, "he faces his ultimate challenge! Not one, not two, but ALL TEN of our ranked Champions! A battle royale the likes of which has never been seen in this arena!"
More roaring.
The bloodlust was palpable, a physical pressure that seed to press down from all sides.
Rey stood in the center of it all, injured, exhausted, his Artifacts depleted or destroyed.
His Scrolls were running low.
His Ether reserves were nearly empty.
His body was broken in multiple places.
And he faced ten of the deadliest fighters in the entire city.
Duke Kahn smiled down at him, and Rey understood—this was always the plan.
Not to kill him in the observation chamber, but to bring him here. To make a profit from his death. To turn his execution into entertainnt that would generate more wealth than simply having him killed in private.
"I must thank you," Duke Kahn said, his amplified voice carrying a note of genuine pleasure. "Everyone is distraught by the Desgarron estate burning and the Undead attacks. They needed entertainnt, a distraction from the horror. And you’ve provided with the perfect opportunity with your presence."
It seed Duke Kahn had still not connected Rey to the destruction of the Desgaroon Estate.
How could he?
Rey was just one man—a forr slave.
No matter how high hi strength was and how endless his potential seed, he could not achieve such a thing by himself.
Duke Kahn gestured grandly to the crowd.
"PLACE YOUR BETS!" Duke Kahn commanded. "How long will our mysterious challenger survive? One minute? Five? Will he take any of our Champions with him?"
Throughout the Coliseum, bookmakers began shouting odds.
Money changed hands in a frenzy of gambling. The spectacle had beco a business transaction, and Rey’s life was the commodity being traded.
Rey assessed his situation with cold clarity.
Ten Champions, all fresh and ready.
Himself, injured and depleted. An entire audience watching, making his escape nearly impossible even if he could sohow win.
’What an unexpected developnt,’ he acknowledged. ’Many things have gone beyond my expectations. I didn’t expect such a grand crowd caused by the Duke’s arrangents.’
But even as that thought ford, sothing else stirred in Rey’s mind.
A cold, calculating, and sinister snicker that had nothing to do with emotion and everything to do with sheer stubborn refusal to die.
There was sothing else within his dark reminisce, too.
Joy!
"You want to be entertained?"
Rey smiled.
He watched as Duke Kahn raised his hand, the gesture theatrical and grandiose.
"Let the odds be finalized!" The Duke commanded. "Let the bets be placed! And let the greatest spectacle this Coliseum has ever seen..."
His hand dropped.
"...BEGIN!"
The ten Champions moved as one, converging on Rey from all directions.
And the crowd erupted in deafening cheers as the battle for his life began.
Then—
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