The clear skies were forming a blanket of dark clouds, blocking out the sunshine. The short man was toying with me, slicing my body with wind magic from every direction. He was continuously striking me even after I hit the floor and stopped moving.

All were non-lethal blows but enough to cause severe amounts of pain. The crowd was invigorated from each and every cry of agony that escaped my mouth.

“Finish him!” The crowd began chanting and the short man complied with their wishes. Gathering his mana for a final blast, he stood above my curled-up body.

<>

Back up in the stands, the slave girl took a peek at her master. Her ruffled brown hair swayed as she noticed her master was fully engrossed and enjoying the boy’s imminent death. Her back ached from the freshly healed whip lashes, leaving only crusted blood as evidence of her previous whipping.

She barely raised her hand to avoid the attention of her master and separated a fragment of power that fielded her mana shield, sending it down to the combatants in the arena below.

<>

I spat out a mouthful of blood as pain spread everywhere. ‘If I’m going to die here, then I’ll take you with me!’ I curled up, ready to strike.

The moment before he unleashed his magic onto me, I used all my strength to push up from the ground, diving dagger first. The short man noticed my leap and stopped his magic formation. I panicked, realizing too late that he was luring a last-ditch attempt. Similar glowing blue boots shined, but this time with a flickering disappearance. My eyes stared at the ground and boots, then focused on my target.

To my amazement, his speed magic failed to activate. My dagger plunged into the man’s chest as we crashed into the floor. I thought of standing to pull out the dagger, but my body disagreed with that plan. With that not being an option, I questioned why his wind magic suddenly stopped. It didn’t look like he had any mana deficiencies, so why?

The coliseum's crowd sat in silent shock at the scene, devolving into chaos once they realized their bets were lost for the third time in a row.

“Little brat made me lose my bet!” The master’s yell drowned out within the crowd as he noticed his slave girl’s attention on him. He whipped her out of annoyance to set her attention back to looking forward.

“No way, how did he survive?” A bully next to Arisa shouted in disbelief.

“He won’t survive the next one; that’s for sure!” Another kid said as the announcer revealed the results, calling for the next contender and their choice of an opponent.

I was battered to a pulp. My face felt disfigured, my body riddled with bruises and cuts. Blood soaked my clothes. The next opponent walked up the stairs onto the arena, like normal without a flashy show of their magic. His aura made me feel as if I was about to face off against a skilled veteran, calm and dangerous.

“I’m here for a challenge, scram no-mage brat!” The warrior dismissed me and called out a buff-looking guy from the sideline to be his first opponent. I was far too relieved to be insulted.

Again my body did not comply, and one of the staff members had to help me off the stage. All winning contestants allowed offstage were given the benefits of a healer to mend any injuries accumulated during previous matches.

This was the main reason why so-called luck played a huge part in obtaining a good number at the beginning. No one in their right mind would allow a free meal to slip by, only to fight a full strength and healed opponent later on.