The cheers didn't follow them.
By the time the beast's corpse hit the sand and stopped moving, the excitement inside the arena had already begun drifting elsewhere. New wagers were being shouted from the upper seats. Servants hurried across the grounds while spectators leaned back into their chairs, searching for the next source of entertainment. The workers who entered the arena to drag away the carcass were treated like part of the show itself.
To the crowd, the battle was over.
To Klen, it wasn't.
The moment the adrenaline faded from his body, his legs nearly gave out beneath him. A sharp wave of pain spread through his chest as he tried to straighten himself, and his balance immediately faltered. Before he could collapse, Marna caught his arm tightly and steadied him.
"Easy, idiot," she muttered, breathing heavily herself.
Eira stepped closer from the other side, blood smeared across her cheek and staining the sleeves of her torn clothes. Her breathing was uneven, and for a few seconds none of them spoke. They simply stood there together in silence, trying to process the fact that they were still alive.
Then the guards arrived.
Two armored men approached Klen while several others moved toward the girls. The atmosphere changed immediately.
Marna frowned. "...What are you doing?"
Neither guard answered. One of them grabbed Klen by the shoulder and began pulling him upright more forcefully than necessary. Klen's ribs screamed in protest.
Eira blinked in confusion. "Wait. Where are you taking him?"
Still nothing.
Marna's irritation sharpened instantly. She stepped forward, eyes narrowing at the guards. "Hey. He can barely stand. We're coming too."
One of the men finally glanced at her. His voice was flat and emotionless. "This one is receiving treatment."
"Then treat us too," Marna shot back immediately.
The guard ignored her and started dragging Klen away.
Klen looked back over his shoulder. Eira looked worried. Marna looked one insult away from starting another fight entirely. Despite the pain spreading through his body, Klen managed to speak quietly.
"...Don't do anything stupid."
Marna clicked her tongue in annoyance. "Right back at you."
That was all they got before the guards separated them.
The infirmary was cleaner than Klen expected.
Not comfortable. Not warm. Just clean.
Cold stone walls reflected the dim lantern light while metal instruments rested in perfect order across long tables. Shelves were lined with neatly arranged tools and bandages. Beds stood side by side with mechanical precision, everything organized so carefully that the room almost felt lifeless.
There was barely even a smell.
No scent of medicine. No scent of blood.
Only maintenance.
The moment Klen was placed onto one of the beds, several people surrounded him at once. Nobody introduced themselves. Nobody asked if he could still feel his arms or whether he was conscious. Hands simply began moving across his body like workers inspecting damaged equipment.
Someone tore away the ruined remains of his shirt. Fingers pressed against his ribs.
"Deep tearing along the chest," one voice said calmly.
Another answered from somewhere behind him. "No permanent structural damage."
"Good response speed despite blood loss."
Klen frowned faintly.
Not one of them asked if he was in pain.
No reassurance. No concern.
Only observations.
Another person began stitching the claw wounds across his torso while someone else poured a strange liquid over the injuries. The burning sensation was immediate and violent, but Klen barely reacted anymore. Pain had already become too familiar.
Then footsteps echoed through the room.
The entire atmosphere shifted.
One by one, the workers stepped away from the bed until only Klen remained inside the silence.
The door opened.
Master entered.
His hands rested calmly behind his back as he walked into the room, the door closing softly behind him. For a moment he said nothing at all. He simply looked at Klen, his eyes slowly traveling across the injuries covering his body.
Then he smiled.
And quietly began clapping.
Slow. Measured. Almost appreciative.
"...Wonderful."
Klen stared at him without answering.
Master approached the bedside, expression calm and composed as always, yet there was something deeper beneath it now. Something too focused.
"You know," he said softly, "I have watched many fighters over the years. Men stronger than you. Faster than you. Far more experienced."
He took another step closer.
"But very few continue fighting after they truly understand they can lose."
Klen remained silent.
Master tilted his head slightly. "That moment when the beast held you in its claws..." His gaze stayed fixed on Klen's face. "You believed you were about to die."
The silence between them stretched.
"You accepted it," Master continued quietly. "And then you stood back up anyway."
His fingers lightly brushed the edge of Klen's stitched wound.
"...Beautiful."
Klen immediately slapped his hand away.
The sharp sound echoed across the room.
For the first time, Master blinked in surprise.
Klen looked at him coldly before turning his eyes toward the ceiling again. "If you came here to congratulate me, don't."
Master stayed silent.
"I don't care," Klen muttered tiredly. "Keep your congratulations."
His eyes shifted back toward him.
"...I don't give a shit what you think."
For a second, Master simply stared.
Then his smile widened.
Not angry.
Not offended.
Delighted.
"...Good," he said softly.
Klen frowned slightly.
Master stepped back from the bed, nodding slowly to himself. "Yes. Keep saying things like that."
The response only made Klen more uncomfortable.
Master turned and began walking toward the door, but before leaving, he stopped without looking back.
"Brace yourself," he said quietly.
Klen's expression hardened.
"The coming battles are less forgiving."
Then he left.
The door closed behind him, leaving the infirmary silent once again.
Klen stared at the ceiling for a long time afterward.
It wasn't humiliation he felt.
It wasn't even fear.
Something about the conversation had felt personal.
And somehow, that was worse.
Days passed after that.
Or maybe they didn't.
Inside the arena, time no longer felt real.
One battle blended into another until the victories stopped meaning anything at all. They fought beasts dragged from cages beneath the colosseum. They fought hardened criminals. Desperate slaves. Men who begged for mercy and men who smiled while trying to kill them.
They survived every time.
Not because they wanted to.
Because losing meant death.
The injuries accumulated slowly.
Klen's shoulder never healed properly after one match and started moving strangely whenever he lifted his arm too high. His ribs hurt every time he breathed too deeply. Sometimes his hands shook long after fights had already ended.
Marna spoke less now.
Eira had stopped looking at the audience entirely.
Still, somehow, they reached the final round.
Klen found himself back in the infirmary once again, lying beneath the cold lantern light while strangers moved around him.
Different wounds.
Same room.
Someone cleaned blood from his arm while another checked the bandages around his side.
"He'll recover," one voice said.
Another answered, "He should be ready."
Klen closed his eyes tiredly.
Then something cold touched one of the wounds across his chest.
A second later, heat spread through his body.
His eyes opened slightly. "...What was—"
Nobody answered.
The room suddenly blurred around him.
His thoughts slowed.
The voices became distant.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Cold.
That was the first thing he felt when consciousness returned.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Cold.
Klen slowly opened his eyes.
Stone walls surrounded him.
A dark room.
Not the infirmary.
He moved instinctively, only to stop immediately as tension pulled against his wrists.
Ropes.
He frowned and pulled harder, but nothing happened.
The restraints didn't even shift.
His expression darkened. He could still feel his strength inside his body. It was there.
But the ropes refused to move.
Klen slowly looked around the room.
Metal trays.
Hooks hanging from the walls.
Needles.
Blades.
Surgical instruments laid out with disturbing precision across long tables.
Far too many of them.
The room felt wrong.
Then the door opened.
Slowly.
Klen's eyes lifted toward the figure entering the room, and for the first time in a long while, genuine unease crawled through him.
Master stepped inside.
No.
Holwas.
Something about him looked different now that the mask had finally slipped. Color stained his cheeks faintly while his breathing sounded heavier than normal, controlled only through effort. His smile stretched unnaturally wide, and his bright eyes locked onto Klen with terrifying focus.
He closed the door carefully behind him.
Then locked it.
And simply stood there staring.
Several seconds passed in silence before Klen finally spoke.
"...You."
Holwas smiled wider.
Klen's face remained cold. "...Bastard."
Holwas exhaled softly through his nose, almost amused. "Don't call me that."
Klen said nothing.
Holwas stepped closer to the chair near the table and sat down calmly. "Call me by my name instead."
Silence lingered between them.
"My name is Holwas."
Klen leaned his head back against the wall behind him before looking at him again with complete indifference.
"...Great."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Holwas."
A pause.
"Bastard."
Holwas closed his eyes briefly.
Then laughed.
Quietly.
There was something deeply wrong about the sound. His shoulders trembled faintly like he was suppressing excitement he could barely contain. When he opened his eyes again, they somehow looked warmer than before.
That only made them worse.
"...You really are remarkable," he murmured.
He settled deeper into the chair, studying Klen in silence for several moments before finally speaking again.
"People misunderstand beauty."
Klen stayed silent.
"They spend their entire lives chasing wealth. Status. Recognition." Holwas smiled faintly to himself. "And I enjoy those things too."
His gaze slowly drifted across Klen's injured body.
"But none of them compare to this."
Klen frowned.
"The body," Holwas whispered.
He shook his head slowly. "Not appearance. Not superficial beauty."
His eyes remained fixed on Klen with unsettling intensity.
"Potential."
A quiet excitement entered his voice.
"A body that survives. A body that changes. A body that continues functioning even after failure should have destroyed it."
His fingers tapped lightly against his knee.
"And above all else..."
His smile widened again.
"...A will that refuses to break."
For the first time since waking up, Klen felt something colder than fear settle inside his chest.
Holwas leaned forward slightly in his chair, eyes gleaming with near reverence.
"...I've been waiting for someone like you."