Chapter 3: The Second Trial

A dull ache throbbed in Nile's jaw where Ethan's fist had landed the night before. Even as he rolled his shoulders and stretched his sore limbs, the sting remained—a stark reminder that whatever was happening, it was painfully real.

The iron gates groaned open once more, revealing the blinding light of the coliseum. The crowd erupted in cheers, their voices merging into a thunderous wave that rattled Nile's already fragile composure. He stepped forward, shielding his eyes from the harsh sun, but what he saw next made his breath catch in his throat.

Seated high above the arena, draped in regal gold and crimson, was a man who radiated power. A crown sat upon his head, his sharp gaze surveying the warriors below with cold indifference.

Greg.

Nile's heart pounded. He knew that face. But how? Why was Greg here? And more importantly—

"Ethan," Nile muttered, stepping closer to his only ally. "Do you see that man?"

Ethan followed Nile's gaze, then scoffed. "Yes, of course. That is King Greg—the man above us all."

A chill slithered down Nile's spine. His mind whirred, trying to make sense of it all. But Ethan's next words made everything even more surreal.

"I have no idea why you ask," Ethan added, frowning. "You speak as if you do not know him."

Nile's stomach twisted. This wasn't just a nightmare. It wasn't some cruel hallucination.

Something far worse was happening.

The Second Trial Begins

Greg lounged on his throne, surrounded by more than five wives, utterly uninterested in the carnage below. He drank deeply from his goblet, laughing as if the slaughter before him were mere entertainment.

But the second trial was different.

A low growl rumbled through the arena, cutting through the cheers of the crowd. Nile's breath hitched as he turned his gaze to the center of the battlefield.

A massive tiger stood in the middle of the arena, its golden fur marred by streaks of dried blood. Chains dangled loosely from its neck, and scattered around it were weapons—spears, swords, even a rusted axe. The beast's amber eyes burned with primal rage, its muscles coiled and ready to strike.

The announcer's voice boomed across the coliseum.

Fifty men. One battle.

The gates slammed shut behind them.

The fight for survival had begun.

The Bloodbath

A blur of motion caught Nile's attention. A warrior lunged at him, blade flashing. He barely had time to react. The sharp edge of the sword grazed his arm—a shallow cut, but enough to send a jolt of pain through his body. His breath hitched as his vision distorted for a split second.

Then he saw it.

Above his head, faint and translucent, a red bar flickered into existence.

100 HP

As he stared, the number ticked down.

80 HP

His breath caught in his throat. What was this? A health bar? Like in a video game? His mind reeled, but the battlefield didn't wait for him to figure it out.

He had no time to think.

As he started to run in circles around the arena, dodging attacks, he noticed something else—a second bar, this one blue, hovering just below the red. It flickered and drained slightly as he moved. A mana bar? His confusion deepened as he tried to piece it together.

The tiger let out an earth-shaking roar.

And the fight for survival truly began.

As Nile ran, narrowly avoiding slashes, the number of survivors dwindled—50… 40… 30… then below 22. The arena was turning into a bloodbath. His breath was ragged, exhaustion creeping into his limbs.

Then—

A shadow loomed behind him. A warrior swung his blade, aiming for Nile's neck. His instincts screamed, but his body was too slow.

"Ethan! Nile, catch this!"

A shield flew through the air.

BANG.

It smashed into Nile's head, sending him stumbling back. His vision blurred.

"Ethan?" Nile gasped, turning to his ally.

Ethan nodded, still catching his breath. "Keep your guard up!"

Before Nile could get up, another enemy rushed in. He was only inches from death when Ethan's spear whistled through the air and impaled the attacker, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Survivors remaining: 21.

Nile turned to find the source—

But the battle was too chaotic to know who or what had saved him—until he looked up and saw the tiger standing over him, a severed head between its fangs. Blood dripped from its claws.

Survivors remaining: 20.

And just like that—the fight was over.

The announcer declared the battle done. The survivors—now only 20—were herded back through the gates, the crowd roaring in approval.

The second trial had ended.

The Night Before the Final Battle

Nile collapsed onto the cold stone floor of his cell, lungs burning. Every inch of his body ached, but he was alive.

Ethan knelt beside him, his face unreadable. "You made it."

Nile exhaled, his relief short-lived. "Barely."

Ethan's tone darkened. "Now comes the real test."

Nile swallowed hard. "What do you mean?"

Ethan's expression turned grim. "The trials started with 100 men. Then 50. Now 20." He exhaled sharply. "Tomorrow, we fight until only five remain."

A shiver ran down Nile's spine.

He had been lucky today.

But tomorrow, luck might not be enough.