Prologue: The Three Rules
The arena’s underbelly felt stifling, as though the denizens of hell had crawled up for a spot of sunbathing. Only the most twisted demon spawn would hand over a piece of junk like this and call it a weapon.
Today’s menu was a single dagger. Roughly thirty centimeters long, four hundred grams. Scrap iron of dubious origin. The fractures from an amateur quench had been painted over to hide the flaws. It was a miracle the thing hadn’t snapped while being sharpened. Regrettably, it was the only tool he had to survive the day.
He gave it a few test swings. Easy enough to handle, but far too light. Sharp, yet ground down so aggressively that any impact against armor or a beast’s muscle would shatter it in a disgraceful instant. At best it might scratch the surface and draw a little blood to amuse the crowd. Anything more than that against a wild predator was wishful thinking.
The maker’s intent had been obvious. Like a book whose entire premise was spoiled by its title. Today was nothing less than the organizers’ verdict that they would be sweeping up his corpse.
The knight with the defective blade ground his teeth until they ached. Yet at the same time he clutched the worthless hunk of metal like a lifeline tossed down from heaven. In the old days he wouldn’t have accepted it even as a gift, but something was better than nothing. And anything better than nothing counted as an opportunity.
“If I survive today too, they might really give me nothing next time.”
“Not me, you crazy bastards.”
He had never waited for it. The people outside the arena might not care about such trivial details, but the fighter himself certainly hadn’t.
The iron gate rumbled open and the shackles on his wrists and ankles fell away on their own. The knight carefully massaged his soon-to-be-abused wrists.
What exactly were they planning to set on fire? Their own descent into hell?
The knight stepped forward, out into the arena that might very well become his grave today, surrounded by a roar so loud it numbed the ears. He calmly repeated the three principles he had set for himself in order to survive.
First. Avoid boring the audience whenever possible. A handful of sponsors still had to be willing to back him because they enjoyed the way he fought.
Second. Avoid fatal injuries as much as possible. There was no telling when they would throw him into the next match.
And the most important rule of all was…
For a single breath Nathan’s lungs seized. His eyelids twitched. Only the most twisted demon spawn would hand out a nickname like that.
Like throwing a lit torch onto dry straw, cheers and jeers exploded across the stands. A fresh-faced teenager waved a betting slip and screamed for his death. An obese lump of flesh shook a bucket of fried meat and bellowed. Behind that massive frame, a perverted couple enjoyed the thrill of possibly being seen while they stripped each other in the shadows. And in the elegant VIP seats on the highest level with the best view, a refined young elf wrinkled his nose in distaste at the vulgar uproar. The raw meat he was slicing with refined motions—its long ears adorned with golden trinkets—had probably belonged to a gladiator butchered an hour earlier.
Every single one of the colorful spectators shared one common trait: ears that were unnaturally long. Exactly as the old stories described. The tens of thousands who had come hoping to watch the human knight Nathan die were, without exception, elves.
The opponent those repulsive long-ears had prepared without any prior notice was an Imperatosaurus of unknown origin. A colossal predatory dinosaur easily fifteen meters from its massive head to the tip of its tail. It looked as if feeding time had passed long ago; it stood there drooling at the audience with its jaws wide open.
Of course, a solid barrier protected the stands. Even a dragon would be unable to break in and devour the spectators. Nathan, however, had no such luxury. All he could rely on to protect himself was a lifetime of training, his techniques, and a single dagger…
Clang.
Nathan realized he no longer even had that. The blade that had reached the end of its life gave a lonely ring as it struck the ground. Malicious laughter rolled across the arena. Nathan stared down at the hilt and blinked.
They gave me this against that thing?
There was no time to be stunned. The monster that had caught the scent of meat was slowly turning in his direction. Nathan let out a long sigh, extended the broken half-dagger, and settled into a stance. He finished the vow that the announcer had interrupted.
The hardest rule. The most dogshit rule of all.
“Never lose.”