Craze walked through the dim hallway, his footsteps echoing against the stone walls.
At the end of the corridor, he stepped into the arena.
It was nothing like a grand coliseum with roaring crowds.
Only a few dozen people watched him in silence.
Their eyes were fixed on him, full of cold expectation.
Their gaze said one thing.
If you lose, you die.
Craze did not care.
In a place like this, losing already meant death.
He slammed the head of his battle axe against the ground.
The sharp clang rang through the empty stands.
His opponent emerged from the opposite gate.
A Nephirid warrior, no, something more.
He carried a black scimitar that radiated heat.
The blade shimmered like hot metal just pulled from a forge.
His obsidian skin was covered in scars.
Craze's eyes widened.
His grip tightened on the axe handle.
'They paired me with an Ashborn warrior?
Are they insane?'
This was one of the five Ashborn who had ambushed the Magus.
