Chapter 149: The Desperate Man

*Date: 33,480 Third Quarter — Parthanon* - A week ago

The next morning, Aris's potions were ready.

He had considered attacking Tartarus directly. Storming in with magic blazing and taking Fox by force. But the fantasy crumbled under cold logic. Any act of violence against locals would be punished harshly. He was a player in a city that feared and tolerated players. One wrong move, and he would end up in chains again.

Or dead.

So he took another path. Win the tournament. Claim the prize money. Buy Fox's freedom legally. It was slower. Safer. And it burned in his gut like acid.

But it was the only way.

---

His second-round opponent was a warrior.

The man was built like a boulder. Thick arms, thick legs, thick neck. He carried a war hammer that looked like it weighed more than Aris, and he moved with the confident grace of someone who had spent years learning to kill.

"Another kid?" The warrior laughed when he saw Aris. "Tournament's getting soft."

Aris said nothing. He had taken his tier-three potions before entering the arena. The power hummed through his veins, sharpening his senses, strengthening his magic.

The gong sounded.

The warrior charged.

Aris moved. He sent his radiant mark first, tagging the warrior with a golden sigil that would drain his stamina over time. Then he manifested his radiant orb and began the dance.

Light missiles flew. The warrior blocked some with his hammer, dodged others, but Aris wasn't trying to hurt him. Not yet. He was trying to tire him out.

"Stand still, you little rat!" The warrior swung his hammer in a wide arc. Aris ducked and rolled, putting distance between them.

More missiles. More dodging. The warrior's breathing grew heavier. Sweat poured down his face. The radiant mark was doing its work, sapping his strength with every passing second.

But the warrior was stubborn. And strong. And fast.

He closed the gap.

Aris tried to retreat, but a massive hand caught his robe. The warrior pulled him in, raising the hammer for a crushing blow.

Aris's potion-enhanced reflexes kicked in. He twisted, ducking under the hammer swing. His dagger found the warrior's arm, drawing a line of blood.

The warrior roared and released him. Aris scrambled back, gasping.

They circled each other. The warrior was panting now, his movements slower. But Aris was exhausted too. His magic reserves were draining fast.

One chance.

Aris dropped his guard.

The warrior saw the opening and charged.

Aris waited until the last moment. Then he dropped to the ground and swept the warrior's legs out from under him. The big man stumbled, off-balance, and Aris surged up, driving his shoulder into the warrior's chest.

They tumbled together toward the edge of the arena. Aris scrambled on top, pushing, shoving, using every ounce of strength he had.

The warrior went over the edge.

"OUT OF BOUNDS!" The announcer's voice boomed. "VICTORY TO NUMBER ZERO-NINE-NINE!"

Aris lay on the ground, gasping. His body felt like it had been trampled by horses. But he had won.

He had won.

---

On his way out of the arena, someone was waiting.

The figure stood in the exit tunnel, silhouetted against the light. He was lean and dangerous-looking, with light armor and twin daggers on his belt. His eyes tracked Aris like a predator watching prey.

"You're number ninety-nine." It wasn't a question.

Aris stopped. "Move aside."

The man didn't move. "You know, after my match, we'll face each other tomorrow." He smiled. It wasn't friendly. "But I advise you don't come. With that speed and weak magic, you're clearly on the lowest levels."

"Step aside."

"Wow, feisty." The man stepped closer. "Listen, kid. Don't show up tomorrow. I don't want to kill anyone, but I need to win this tournament. It's the only way to guarantee my living."

"I don't care. Move aside."

The man's smile faded. "Your funeral." He spat near Aris's feet. "I won't pity anyone who's this stubborn." He held up his registration plate. "Number zero-seven-three. Lazir. Remember the name."

A hand reached from behind and grabbed Lazir's shoulder, pulling him back.

"Come on." Turbo's voice was calm but firm. "Step aside, Lazir. Let the kid go. He needs rest."

Lazir glared at Turbo but moved. As Aris passed, he heard the man enter the arena, his voice rising in greeting to the crowd.

---

Outside the tunnel, Turbo walked beside Aris.

"You need treatment, kid?"

"No." Aris kept walking, not looking at him. He didn't want to be rude to the only person helping him, but every interaction seemed to make his anger grow. "Thanks. I don't have any money to—"

"Okay, okay." Turbo laughed. "Tomorrow, be careful against Lazir. I heard he has debts to very powerful..." He paused, scratching his head. "I don't want to say anything bad about my ex-employer. Let's just say he has debts to a very powerful fortune games organizer."

"Gambling debts?"

"You could say that."

Aris sighed. "If I defeat him, will he attack me?"

"I don't know him well enough to say. Just be careful."

"Thanks again."

Aris turned back toward the arena. Through the bars of the exit tunnel, he could see into the fighting pit. Lazir was already finished. His opponent lay face-down on the sand, a knife embedded in his back. The man groaned as healers rushed in.

The fight had lasted less than a minute.

Aris watched Lazir run a victory lap, waving to the cheering crowd. Then he turned away and headed for his inn.

He needed sleep. He had no more ingredients to cook. And tomorrow, he would face a man willing to kill for money.