“Tomorrow, you finally fight! My guess? One of you gets out alive! The rest of you either ends up dead or maimed beyond useless.”

The clean shaved guard stared in their eyes, looking for fear, anxiety, any weaknesses he could find. Wanting to take the last punishment on the recruits before their impending departure from this world. The guard made it a point to never share his name and others didn’t know or dared to share it with the new slaves.

“But, the master has a different idea. He thinks you can bring him money, honor and perhaps gain some kind of redemption for yourselves. Don’t kid yourself you little shits. The pits aren’t that easy. Most never come out of them after their first time, and those who do, rarely remain the same.”

Pausing and looking into the sky the men continued.

“But, for the few of those who do, there is an opportunity. Climb high enough in the ranks of the pits, be the best, and make the losers love you. Then you might get the chance to fight in the arena! Among the best warriors, gladiators in this realm. In front of the patrons who have the power, you can’t even dream about.”

Walking the same way Raijen always did for the past month or so, he climbed into his bed. The turmoil of emotions assaulted him, he knew this day would come. Forced into the pits under the arena to fight another trained slave. The tests in the clan were easy, he knew he had the biggest advantage over them all, being reborn has always the greatest benefits at a young age, when the experience is scarce and boys are prone to mistakes.

But here it is different, these people train with only one goal, to survive. The fact that we are going to the pits and not the arena is making my chances to survive even smaller.

The most worrisome thing about it is that the only reference to such an environment I have from my old life is the movies. These pits are pure survival, with little to no rules, where men savagely tear each other apart.

Hours passed before Raijen finally fell asleep, it was the first time no one came to wake them. Fights started around midday, and on a fighting day there was no training for the fighters, so there was little reason to wake them sooner than necessary. Getting into his waistcoat, the only piece of cloth slaves at his stage were allowed to own.

Raijen decided to grab a meal and meditate. It was a practice he started to do to calm his nerves and bring himself at least some peace of mind. Taking his thoughts inside, instead of focusing on what was to come from the outside madness. Thinking about the incoming fight felt like the best way to stress himself to the point where he would just freeze and die with the first strike.

Focusing on his breath and feel of the gravel under his feet made his shoulders relax. The iron bars once unbearably cold brought a sense of comfort to his heating body. Raijens heart stopped pumping against his ribs and calmness overtook him as he opened his eyes to the men who came to escort him out of the cell.

Raijen knew himself, he was seldom stressed-out hours before the big events, the real pressure will settle in just moments before he enters the ring and sees his opponent. Going down the hall he missed the safety of the cell.

The worst thing was probably the smell. The sweat of people in the hot midday air which didn't move in the underground spaces under the city made them all nauseous. While the guards and locals looked perfectly comfortable, Raijen’s group looked like they would flip their stomach at any moment.

Drying blood, and rotting flesh tickled their nose promising gruesome death. Piss and shit with corpses piled on the side, forgotten even before given the chance to make a mark, draw everyone's attention as they passed next to it.

The noise was so loud, one couldn’t hear the person next to him, as booming and cheering of merchants, soldiers and other patrons carried from the oval sand rings scattered between the underground stalls and balconies.

Looking with distaste at the guards next to the rack with the weapons, Raijen contemplated his options. Spears weren't allowed at the beginning stages of the pit fighting, as there was no space for it in the narrow rings. Raijen remembered his training in the other weapons like swords and axes, but he was nowhere as proficient with them as with the spear and shield.

So, how in the mist am I supposed to survive against someone with much longer and harder training in swords and short weapons than me?

No matter what his option would be, Raijen couldn’t imagine himself walking away from the fight without serious injuries at the very least.

And from what we were drilled with, for the last month or so, both fighters generally never walk out of the pits at all. One wins and is helped out of the sand and the other is dragged away to that pile of meat.

Looking down on his palm the rune had the faintest of glows, light yellow with a mist emanating from the scarred flesh. He could tell it was doing something but had no idea what it was. It was clear that no one else could see it, even when he waved his hand in front of the other men, they didn’t give him any reaction other than annoyed looks.

Focusing on the light glow, Raijens mind started to calm down, his heart stilled and he found himself in a strange state similar to the meditation he did over the long sleepless nights when desperation and fear seemed to overcome all reason. Desperately clinging to that feeling of calmness he let out a long breath

The guards prompted them again to choose the weapons and prepare for the fight.

Scanning the racks of tools one more time he saw dozens of weapons in front of him, each telling him the same story of his horrible death at the hands of another man. His eyes eventually fell onto the one thing that he could rationalize the use of. The mace, with the length of his forearm, oval-shaped head with protrusions from it, but no spikes.

Not ideal, not even close to what I would normally use, but at least maces are easy to handle. I just have to smash my opponent with any part of it and I’ll do damage just fine.

Looking around he saw other lifting swords, daggers, and axes, but they were too technical for him, expecting too much precision he didn’t have the confidence to execute in the deathmatch. Picking one of the biggest shields he could find, which thanks to his smaller frame would serve almost as a wall Raijen turned around for the rings.

“Hell no.”

Said the guard immediately.

“You are not using that slab of wood in here. If you want a shield, go take the aspis.”

“Why can’t I use this?”

Raijen blurted out without even thinking about it.

Staring at Raijen dumbfounded the grey-haired guard could barely believe someone was talking back to him at this point. Knowing he couldn't beat the boy up for it here, he took a few steps closer.

“Because I said so, no one takes these shields into the rings here.”

Narrowing his eyes Raijen wanted to protest, but the guard continued with a little grin.

“There is no fun in that. And the master wants people to have fun. The more blood on the send the more gold in the pool.”

Pointing to the racks he growled through the thin lips.

“Leave it here and take something else or go with just that stick. Before I drag you there by my teeth”

Considering him and the shield for a moment Raijen realized there was no way around it. Dropping his shoulders Raijen went to exchange the tower shield for the smaller aspis. He would usually use the smaller kind of shield with the spear, which he couldn’t have here. His mood started to turn from the worst he had in the last months to one where he just wanted to die.

Nearing one of the sand rings Raijens feet become harder to lift and his legs didn’t want to take another step closer to the rope. Pointing to the ring from which a body was just dragged away the grey men seemed pleased.

“That one is yours. Don’t die too soon.”

“From the house of Atraga, we have another new meat! A young man brought to us from the borders ravaged by the war. Looking to find his way in the world! Raijen, the slayer!”

Unsure what the hell is he talking about Raijen entered the ring. His skin crawled with the following stares of onlookers, a shiver of coldness ran over his arms and legs. His back stiffened, belly sucked in, Raijen was doing his best not to shake. He could feel his balls shrinking, with the sound of the metal clanking. His entrance was met with booming and occasional cheer from someone finding the situation funny.

“And his opponent, who has already shown his proves to us once, surviving his first fight, while drawing his first blood. Corg the crawler!”

More cheers were heard from the crowd, from a few funs his previous fight brought.

“Will he repeat his success today or will the newcomer claim the victory?! The blood will tell!”

The crowd joined the announcer with a single sentence.

“The blood will tell!”

“Fight!”