The sun hung high in the sky, casting sharp shadows across the training grounds as I made my way back to the secondary sword arena. The familiar scent of sawdust and old wood greeted me as I entered, and there it was—my sword, lying where it had fallen earlier. Its hilt gleamed faintly in the bright light, a reminder of my earlier defeat. I picked it up, feeling the weight in my hand, and vowed silently that next time, I wouldn’t be so careless.

The sword was an extension of me—familiar, reliable, but in desperate need of sharpening. My fingers traced the nicks along the blade as I secured it in its sheath. I resolved to visit the mall for repairs before the day ended.

With a final glance at the empty arena, I turned and headed out.

The mall was a bustling outdoor market nestled between the training grounds and the dormitories. Its narrow pathways were lined with food stands, a bakery, an armory, and a blacksmith shop. The mingling scents of roasting meat, fresh bread, and hot metal filled the air, stirring a hunger in me that went beyond the meager meal I’d forced down earlier.

But the mall wasn’t just a place for fighters like me to scavenge for essentials; it was a microcosm of the world’s brutal hierarchy.

At the far end of the mall, behind a tall, wrought-iron fence, lay the VIP Quarter—a stark contrast to the rest of the market.

The VIP Quarter was a collection of open-air pavilions, each draped in luxurious fabrics and set on polished stone platforms. Here, only the most successful fighters could shop, browsing through high-end goods displayed on finely crafted tables. Gleaming weapons, intricately designed armor, and rare potions were on offer, each piece more extravagant than the last. The air was filled with the scent of exotic spices and perfumes, a far cry from the earthy smells of the main market.

I could only glance at this section from a distance. My battered leather armor and chipped sword felt all the more inadequate in comparison to the luxuries on display.

But I had neither the means nor the rank to step foot inside. For now, the VIP Quarter was just a reminder of what lay out of reach.

Returning to the main market, I pushed through the crowds toward the blacksmith’s shop. The rhythmic clang of hammer on anvil rang out, the blacksmith—a burly man with arms thick as tree trunks—barely glancing up as I handed over my coins and my battered armor. I also presented my sword, the blade dull and chipped from countless battles. The blacksmith grunted in acknowledgment, took the items, and set to work with practiced efficiency.

As I waited, I saw Magnus’s Factory looming beyond the mall, its smokestacks belching dark clouds. This imposing structure was a beacon of opulence, run by Magnus, a former arena competitor turned successful businessman. Despite his boast, “Magnus means great in Latin!” his true talent lay in his business acumen, not combat.

The factory was renowned for its exquisite weapons and armor, crafted with skill that made them highly prized by both VIPs and the ruling regime. Inside, polished stone floors and ornate furnishings showcased the premium gear, contrasting sharply with the factory’s grimy exterior.

Magnus, a stout man with a bald head and bushy beard, was always impeccably dressed, despite the factory’s surroundings. He proudly displayed his products with flair, contrasting sharply with his competitors. “The best gear for the finest fighters, crafted by Magnus himself!” he would declare.

The factory’s proximity to the mall highlighted the stark divide in the arena. While VIPs enjoyed luxury, Magnus’s Factory supplied the regime with top-quality weapons and armor, solidifying its central role in the arena’s power structure.

The blacksmith finished quickly, returning my armor and sword with a nod. The sword, newly sharpened, gleamed faintly in the sunlight. It wasn’t new by any stretch, but the edge was keen, and it felt more balanced as I hefted it.

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The armor, too, had been reinforced, the leather tightened and the straps secured. With my gear repaired, I felt a bit more confident, even as the opulence of the VIP Quarter lingered in my mind.

With my sword at my side and my armor restored, I headed toward one of the food stands, the scent of roasting meat drawing me in. I exchanged the last of my coins for a small portion of grilled meat and a chunk of bread—nothing fancy, but it would do. The warmth of the food was comforting as I ate quickly, savoring each bite, knowing it might be a while before I had anything this good again.

As I finished my meal and prepared to leave, I found myself face-to-face with Freddie, better known as Bulldozer—the massive VIP who had tormented Finn at the dining pavilion earlier. His broad frame blocked the narrow alleyway, and the sneer on his face made my stomach churn.

“Well, look who’s wandered into the wrong place,” Bulldozer’s voice boomed, each word thick with disdain. His presence was suffocating, a wall of muscle and menace. “What’s the hurry? You lost?”

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my voice, but the words caught in my throat. “Just heading back to the dormitory. Didn’t mean to intrude.”

Bulldozer’s eyes narrowed, his gaze sliding over my repaired armor like a predator assessing its prey. “Intrude? Is that what you call it? Or are you just too dumb to know when you’re out of place?”

A cold sweat broke out on my skin as I took a step back, the alleyway behind me shrinking with every second. The weight of his stare bore down on me, freezing my limbs in place. “I’m not looking for trouble. I’ve got no business with you.”

“Trouble’s the only thing you’re gonna find,” Bulldozer snarled, his voice a low growl that reverberated through the narrow space. He took a step forward, his grin widening into something cruel. “You think you can just stroll around here without paying the toll? Maybe you need a lesson in respect.”

Panic flared in my chest as my eyes darted around, searching for an escape. But the alley offered no refuge—just walls closing in, a trap tightening around me. Bulldozer cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing like the prelude to an execution. I knew I was outmatched; fighting wasn’t an option. My only chance was to run.

I spun on my heel, trying to dart past him, but he was faster than I’d anticipated. His massive hand shot out, gripping me by the collar with bone-crushing force. In one swift motion, he slammed me against the wall. The impact stole the breath from my lungs, and I gasped, struggling to regain my composure. But there was no time—Bulldozer leaned in, his foul breath hot against my face, suffocating me with the stench of sweat and stale tobacco.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Bulldozer sneered, his voice dripping with malice. His fist pulled back, the promise of a brutal strike imminent. I braced myself, every muscle tensing in preparation for the pain that was sure to follow.

But the blow never came.

A loud splat echoed through the alleyway, followed by a stunned silence. I opened my eyes, blinking in disbelief. Bulldozer stood frozen, his face smeared with what looked like… frosting?

Finn stood a few feet away, holding an empty cake box with a grin so mischievous it bordered on insanity. “Hey, Bulldozer! Thought you might need a little dessert.”

Bulldozer’s expression shifted from shock to a terrifying rage, his features contorting with fury. “You little—!”

Finn didn’t wait for him to finish. With a quick, fluid movement, he ducked and rolled aside just as Bulldozer lunged at him, the larger man’s momentum carrying him forward in a blind charge. He nearly crashed into the wall, his bulk smashing into the narrow space as Finn bolted down the alley, moving with a speed and agility that left me in awe.

Bulldozer roared in frustration, his bellow shaking the very walls around us as he tore after Finn, his heavy footsteps pounding the ground with the force of a stampede. I stood rooted to the spot, watching them disappear around a corner, the sounds of their pursuit fading into the distance.

For a long moment, I couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t process what had just happened. Why had Finn done that? Was he trying to help me, or was this just another one of his twisted games—a new way to needle the VIPs after they’d mocked him earlier?

The more I thought about it, the less certain I became. Finn was unpredictable, dangerous even, and while he might have enjoyed provoking Bulldozer, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to his actions than just a prank. But whatever his reasons, one thing was clear: Finn had given me a chance to escape.

I took it.

With my heart still pounding in my chest, I hurried back to the dormitory, keeping to the shadows and avoiding any more confrontations. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long, eerie shadows as I finally reached the safety of my room. I shut the door behind me, leaning against it as I struggled to calm my racing thoughts.

Finn’s intervention had saved me from a beating—or worse—but it also left me with more questions than answers.

As I lay down on the hard mattress, the day’s events replayed in my mind, over and over. One thing was certain: Finn was more than just an adversary. He was a wild card, unpredictable and deadly.

But was he dangerous to me—or for me? Only time would tell.