Chapter 70 The Stranger in the Pit

The handlers led Kai down a narrow passage cut into the stone, torchlight flickering against damp walls. The roar of the crowd shook the ceiling, a living thunder that rattled his bones.

“Strip him,” one handler muttered.

Another shoved a rack of weapons toward him—swords, axes, spears gleaming in the flame. Kai reached for a blade, but the handler’s boot slammed the rack, toppling steel out of reach.

“Not for you.”

A wooden shaft clattered at his feet. A simple staff, cracked along the grain.

Kai frowned. “This? Against what’s waiting out there?”

The handler smirked. “Real warriors earn their weapons.”

Kai bent, fingers brushing the rough wood. It felt familiar. Not the staff itself, but the moment—standing at the edge of something impossible, empty-handed.

The gate creaked. Hands shoved him forward.

Sand crunched under his boots as he stumbled into the arena.

Cheers swelled.

And then it came.

A Cyclops—towering, broad as a fortress wall. One glaring eye burned red. It dragged a crude iron club, each step shaking the pit.

Kai’s throat tightened. He had seen something like this before. A blur of teeth and rage flashed in memory—then vanished.

The Cyclops roared.

The club swung.

Kai dove aside, sand spraying as the weapon cratered the ground. He rolled, staff raised out of instinct. Another blow thundered down. He ducked close, striking the beast’s knee. The wood cracked, barely making it stumble.

The Cyclops backhanded him across the pit. Pain flared through his ribs.

He should have stayed down.

But something in him refused.

The next strike came. Kai thrust both hands upward, gripping the massive club. Muscles screamed, boots sinking into sand. Yet the weapon stopped.

The Cyclops bellowed.

Kai’s teeth clenched, breath ragged. How am I—?

Then the thought surfaced: I must be dreaming.

If it was a dream, then strength was his.

He roared, twisting the club aside, staggering the beast. Sand flew as Kai sprinted forward, staff forgotten. He leapt, shadow crossing the Cyclops’ eye.

His fists came down like a hammer.

The impact rang through the pit. The monster reeled, roared once—and collapsed in dust and blood.

The arena erupted.

From the lowest stands, two figures leapt to their feet.

“KA—!” Revoli’s voice broke, but the name was swallowed by the roar.

Patrona grabbed her arm. “Don’t shout his name!” Her own breath caught. It was him. Alive.

Below, Kai staggered to one knee. Handlers swarmed in, dragging him away before the dust settled.

Patrona shoved through the crowd, hauling Revoli behind her. The stands pressed tight, bodies shoulder to shoulder, stamping and howling. No one moved aside.

By the time they reached the steps, Kai was gone.

Patrona’s hands curled into fists. Revoli trembled beside her, ears twitching, eyes fixed on the gate where he had vanished.

They had found him. But not soon enough.