The air in the fighters’ resting area was heavy with tension and the lingering heat from Yun Jin’s last match. He eased himself down on a rough wooden bench, muscles sore and qi pathways still humming with the residual warmth of his newly learned technique. It had tripled his strength in a flash, but that sudden surge of power was a struggle to control. Even so, the corners of his lips curved into a weary grin—he’d accomplished one of his key goals.

The first: to eliminate those who preyed on the innocent.

The second: to face skilled warriors of this world, learning how they merged magic and martial arts.

A stiff silence gripped the lounge, broken only by the occasional scrape of weapons being cleaned and the ragged breathing of exhausted fighters. Yun Jin sensed the weight of dozens of eyes upon him—some fearful, some uneasy, others coldly calculating. They’d witnessed his astounding strength and were now reevaluating their odds against him.

Suddenly, a sharp voice cut through the hush:

“I’m coming for your throat next.”

Yun Jin turned his gaze to see Reva, standing firm beside another fighter. Her fierce eyes lingered on him for a heartbeat, then she pivoted and walked off without waiting for a reply.

Yun Jin let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “I’ll be waiting,” he murmured as she disappeared into the corridor.

“You really shook them,” came a deep rumble from behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder to see Olag, the towering northern warrior. A half-empty flask dangled from his massive hand, a grin twisting his scarred features.

“Mind if we share a drink? Talk a bit?”

Yun Jin arched a brow. “We might have to kill each other soon. Doesn’t that make things… complicated?”

Olag shrugged, tapping the side of his flask. “True. But this might be the last chance we get to know each other.”

“Fair enough.”

They moved to a quieter corner. Olag unhooked a second flask from his belt and poured its contents into two battered metal cups. He downed his in one gulp, while Yun Jin took a more cautious sip. The liquor burned sweetly, leaving a pleasant smoky aftertaste.

“Sweeter than anything I’ve had before,” Yun Jin noted, rolling the taste on his tongue. “And smoother.”

“I had better,” Olag replied, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Not half bad for a king last drink.”

Yun Jin studied Olag’s somber expression. “Why so sure it’s your last? From what I’ve seen, you’re the strongest fighter here.”

Olag let out a low chuckle. “Not counting you, I assume.”

“Obviously,” Yun Jin said, only half-joking.

Olag’s sharp glance flicked to Yun Jin’s hands, lingering on the subtle calluses and positioning of his fingers. In an instant, he seemed to read Yun Jin’s specialty—swordsmanship. His eyes gleamed with the kind of wisdom and experience that only came from countless battles.

“Haha, who knows?” Olag teased. “Maybe if you had your blade with you, the odds would even out.”

Yun Jin’s face twitched in surprise at how quickly Olag read him. Then he regained his composure with a tight smile.

“But that’s only because you’re crippled,” Yun Jin said, though his tone was somber, not mocking. “If you were at full strength, I’d probably be the one losing.”

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The grin disappeared from Olag’s face, replaced by a flicker of pain. “You noticed.”

Yun Jin’s gaze drifted to the jagged scars crossing Olag’s torso. “Someone I knew—Merlin—had a fractured mana signature, too, but his was more like a small dam with a large valve; as long as he channeled carefully, he could keep it from overflowing.” He paused, voice dropping. “Yours is different. You’re like a huge dam that’s fractured in a dozen places, holding back a tidal wave that crashes every second. You have no choice but to endure or burst.”

Olag gave a resigned sigh and lifted the hem of his shirt, revealing a long, uneven scar. The skin around it was pale, with dark veins snaking beneath the surface—visible proof of the poison that coursed through him. Further along his sides, more black veins traced a web of old wounds.

“After the Unification War, they captured me,” Olag said quietly. “Didn’t kill me—too merciful, I suppose. Instead, they poisoned my organs and mana circuits, then paraded me around the north like a trophy before finally selling me as a slave.”

Yun Jin felt his jaw clench. He’d heard rumors of brutal conquests, but never something so sadistic. “You survived all these years… for revenge?”

Olag let out a bitter chuckle. “No. I’m not as strong as you think. I wanted to die every day after losing everything. But a slave curse forces me to keep living, no matter how broken I become. Whenever a master tries to kill me, the curse turns on them instead.”

“So that’s why you’re here…?”

Olag nodded. “I begged my current master to send me to the Death Throne. It’s a sanctioned bloodsport—if I die here, maybe the curse will finally let go. That’s all I want now.”

A weighted silence settled over them, each man absorbing the other’s story. To Yun Jin, Olag looked like a dead man walking, a warrior whose soul had given up long before his body would let him go.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Yun Jin asked quietly. “I have a friend who’s a mage—maybe he could lift that curse.”

For a moment, Olag’s eyes shone with hope. “I’d appreciate it, truly. But don’t risk your own life for me. I made my choice long ago.”

“We’ll see,” Yun Jin said, already trying to think of a way around such dark magic.

Olag forced a grin, hoisting his flask. “Enough grim talk. I have something for you.” Without warning, he opened his mouth and, with a nauseating crunch, pulled out what appeared to be one of his own teeth. Yun Jin’s stomach turned, but he kept his face neutral. The object wasn’t a tooth at all—it was a small, roughly cut stone etched with strange carvings.

“What is that?” Yun Jin asked, eyes narrowed.

Olag dropped the stone into his half-empty cup. The liquor hissed and turned an inky black. After a few moments, he fished out the stone, wiped it clean with a rag, and handed it to Yun Jin.

“A shard of my homeland,” he said, voice quiet. “Nothing I need anymore, but you might.”

The instant Yun Jin’s fingers closed around the stone, a faint blue interface shimmered before his eyes:

[Rune of the Glacier Lord (Rank A): A shard imbued with ancient northern frost magic. When integrated into a weapon or body, it grants enhanced resistance to heat-based attacks and boosts cold-based abilities. Can be consumed to receive Ice Affinity but will also link you to the tribe’s spirit realm.]

Yun Jin’s heart thumped once. “Olag… this is priceless.”

The warrior shrugged. “Not to me. I’m a failed king, worth less than nothing. But you—I suspect you have a real purpose here.” He gestured around at the room to all other wary fighters.

“My life is destined to end among slaves, scum, and killers. That’s my fate.”

Yun Jin’s eyes flickered with determination. “I promise to use it well.”

Without hesitation, he brought the shard to his lips and swallowed. Immediately, a surge of icy energy raced through his veins, and a frost-laced aura coiled around his body.

[Ice Affinity (Rank C) Acquired]

He winced at the shock of cold, but in that moment, the burning soreness in his muscles receded. A soothing chill took its place, offering momentary relief from his battered state.

Before Yun Jin could say more, Reva reentered the room. Her hair was matted with sweat, her arms streaked with bruises and cuts. She slumped into a nearby chair, breathing in sharp, ragged bursts.

“You look like hell,” Yun Jin remarked, though the concern in his voice was genuine. Reva shot him a glare that clearly said, Not now.

Olag rose to his full height, rolling his shoulders until a series of pops echoed through the quiet space. “My turn,” he said simply, striding toward the arena gates.

Just then, a voice crackled over the arena’s announcement system:

“Presenting Olag, the fallen king of the barbarian north! Once a warlord who led armies, now stepping into the Death Throne! And his opponent… our reigning champion!”

Yun Jin watched Olag’s massive form recede into the corridor, a knot of respect and sadness tightening in his chest.

In that stillness, a memory of his master’s words rang clear in his mind:

Life as a warrior is brief and sorrowful.

Remember that the person you cut down may carry an entire library of untold stories.

Choose carefully, for once you take their life, the world will never hear their tale again.