“Phew…”
Only when the tension in the hall finally eased did Keane’s gaunt frame collapse onto the ground, as if turned to stone. Only he truly knew the frantic pace of his heart just moments before.
Just then, a fair, slender hand extended towards him.
Lifting his eyelids, he met You’er’s gaze, filled with concern.
“B-boss… thank you!”
Overwhelmed with gratitude and surprise, Keane clasped You’er’s hand, using his strength to pull himself to his feet.
As his fingers brushed You’er’s, an odd chord resonated within Keane’s heart. He found You’er’s hand incredibly soft, smooth, and pleasant to touch, and remarkably small.
It bore no resemblance to the broad, calloused hands of a man, so much so that he desperately wished never to let go.
A thought suddenly struck Keane.
While Grand Duke Feira’s tyrannical reputation was well-established, his discerning eye for beauty was equally renowned. For such a man to have been captivated by You’er, only to meet his demise because of it, what astonishing beauty must this youth have possessed just a month ago, before his eyes were gouged out and his face disfigured!
‘To hold the hand of such a person… wasn’t it thrilling?’
“Keane, you don’t want your hand anymore, do you?”
Just as Keane was lost in his fanciful thoughts, You’er’s chilling voice suddenly cut through his reverie.
Though he was reluctant, he quickly released You’er’s hand, then offered his signature fawning smile, trying to appease him.
‘Heh heh, even a death sentence wouldn’t be a loss!’
Keane mused internally.
You’er sighed, observing Keane’s ingratiating smile.
Given the man’s earlier display, he had foolishly believed Keane might have developed some backbone. But alas…
Never mind. What did it matter?
You’er’s thoughts drifted back to the warden’s gaze from earlier.
The sheer pressure he had felt then confirmed his suspicion: that corpulent warden was certainly no simple figure, despite appearances.
At the very least, he was immensely powerful—stronger even than Quia!
You’er currently lacked any confidence in his ability to defeat him.
And such a formidable individual was merely one of the Death Arena’s higher-ups!
‘It seemed escaping this prison would be far more difficult than he had imagined.’
“Keane.”
You’er turned his attention back to the man.
“Here! What can I do for you, Boss?”
Suddenly addressed, a guilty flush spread across Keane’s face, stiffening his features, before he adopted an expression of solemn readiness, as if prepared for any sacrifice.
“What do you know about this Death Arena, or rather, this prison?”
Relief washed over Keane; he hadn’t expected You’er to ask about this.
He let out a silent sigh of relief, then began to sift through his knowledge, preparing to answer.
“This humble one is also a newcomer, so I don’t know much.
The biggest rumor about this cursed place is that there’s no way out once you’re in, unless, of course, you’re a spectator, entering through the upper levels.”
“And what else?”
You’er was looking for more substantial information.
“Boss, don’t rush me. Give me a moment to recall. Oh, right!
I once overheard two nobles in a tavern discussing this place.
I remember them saying it has four sections—East, West, North, and South.
From what that big guy just said, we must be in the Eastern section.
Then, each section has a warden, responsible for managing everything within their zone.
They hold absolute power over the lives and deaths of all prisoners.”
“Did they mention anything about the wardens’ strength?”
Finally hearing something of interest, You’er quickly interjected with his question.
“Yes!
They were particularly animated when discussing this topic.
The wardens of the four sections are said to be equally powerful.
If I recall correctly, all four of them possess the strength of Swordmasters!”
Upon saying this, Keane finally grasped just how close he had been to death moments ago.
A shiver ran through his gaunt frame.
‘Swordmasters, then…’
You’er pursed his lips, his mind beginning to churn.
On the continent of Arnorah, the ranks for both Sword-Wielders and Magic Sword-Wielders began with Sword Novice, followed by Swordsman, Great Swordsman, and only then, Swordmaster.
Each rank was further divided into three minor stages: Initial, Intermediate, and Advanced.
Quia, who had just fiercely battled him, was merely an Advanced Swordsman, not even a Great Swordsman, yet he had pushed You’er to such an extent.
How much more terrifying, then, would a Swordmaster-level warden be?
At a fundamental level, You’er knew his current magic power hadn’t reached the Swordsman rank.
At best, he was an Advanced Sword Novice.
His ability to fight Quia to a standstill was largely due to the inexplicable amplification of his physical strength, and, of course, the ethereal blue ice magic Noelle Noah had awakened within him.
You’er clearly perceived that his ice magic far surpassed Quia’s fire magic in both quality and purity.
It was this natural elemental counter that had created such an evenly matched, inextricable situation.
‘If a local strongman with a different elemental affinity had been here, would the outcome have been the same? That was a question worth pondering.’
‘I must increase my strength as quickly as possible!’
You’er gazed tenderly at Noelle Noah, who slept peacefully in his arms.
He silently vowed to himself, knowing with certainty that until he reached the Swordmaster rank, he would be utterly incapable of escaping this place with Noelle Noah.
“Um… Boss, what do we do now?”
While You’er was lost in thought, a throng of people had unknowingly gathered around him.
These were the newcomers, now dressed in their standard attire, and having chosen You’er as their leader, they now looked to him for direction.
What they didn’t know was that You’er was just as bewildered.
He, too, was a newcomer; he’d be damned if he knew what they should or could do.
However, the arena guards soon made the decision for them.
They were forcibly herded into an even more squalid and chaotic area.
This place was the prisoners’ living quarters—in other words, the cells.
Observing the dormitory, which resembled a small, undifferentiated plaza with hundreds of beds haphazardly crammed together, You’er instantly understood why it was so filthy.
A wave of concern also washed over him: could Noelle Noah’s delicate body endure long-term living in such a place?
The answer, of course, was a resounding no!
Therefore, You’er immediately set about an undertaking that utterly astonished his new followers: cleaning!
He acted without a moment’s hesitation, putting his plan into motion.
Though the environment was dire, basic cleaning tools were available.
The latrines weren’t far, and the area was close to underground water sources and lakes, meaning water wasn’t scarce, making the task considerably easier.
“Boss is… what is he doing?”
“What are you asking for? Everyone, get to work!”
You’er didn’t even need to give the order.
Seeing his actions, the others quickly grabbed tools and started working.
It wasn’t that they possessed exemplary character or diligence.
Rather, in this hellish place, their lives were, in essence, tied to You’er’s, weren’t they?
If their boss was already working, how could they, his subordinates, dare to sit idly by?
‘At least these guys have some self-awareness.’
Thinking this, You’er mused that helping them wasn’t entirely useless.
You’er hadn’t forgotten that everyone sent to this place undoubtedly had a criminal record.
They were surely guilty of serious crimes—murder, arson, pillaging, and robbery were likely common offenses.
Truly innocent individuals like himself and Noelle Noah, or even petty thieves like Keane, were exceedingly rare here.
This massive clean-up operation lasted a full four hours, from noon until evening.
By the time even Quia’s faction in the opposite dormitory could barely tolerate it, You’er finally deemed the environment entirely safe and clean, clapped his hands, and declared the work finished.
He then brought in the sleeping Noelle Noah and gently placed her on a small bed he had made as soft and comfortable as possible.
“Boss, this is the schedule for the brothers tomorrow. Please take a look.”
Sitting by Noelle Noah’s bed, You’er accepted a schedule slip handed to him by Keane.
You’er hadn’t specifically asked him to prepare this; the man was surprisingly sharp and proactive.
The schedule was presented in a clear, tabular format:
7:00 AM – 8:00 AM: Assembly, Morning Training + Breakfast.
8:00 AM – 9:00 AM: Pre-Gladiatorial Preparation.
9:00 AM – 12:00 PM: Gladiatorial Combat.
12:00 PM – 1:00 PM: Intermission + Lunch.
1:00 PM – 4:00 PM: Gladiatorial Combat.
4:00 PM – 7:00 PM: Gladiatorial Drills.
7:00 PM – 9:00 PM: Dinner + Free Time.
After 9:00 PM: Lights Out.
On the surface, it appeared to be a rather ordinary schedule.
Yet, only those intimately familiar with the perils of this place would comprehend the profound murderous intent hidden within.
A full six hours of gladiatorial combat each day.
Even if it wasn’t every single day, no one could possibly guess how many lives would be extinguished within just those six hours.
The so-called morning training and drills were not intended to strengthen the prisoners’ bodies.
Instead, they served to professionalize and standardize their struggles in the arena.
In essence, it was all for a more captivating performance.
It was an extreme act, one that sacrificed prisoners’ lives for the entertainment of the audience.
No wonder this arena was called the Death Arena.
No wonder people said only death and darkness resided within.
For it was truly so dark, so fraught with peril!