-The Pits-

  The tension in the pit was palpable. The bear’s ragged breathing filled the air as he barreled toward the lizardman, fury bzing in his eyes. Every muscle in his body coiled, ready to unleash an earth-shattering blow.

  But the lizardman was in his element now, his movements fluid and precise. His yellow eyes never left the bear’s, studying, waiting for the right moment. His cws twitched, his body ready to spring.

  Sen’s gaze never wavered. (It’s a game of patience now. Whoever hesitates, loses.)

  The bear swung with all his might, a bone-crushing punch aimed at the lizardman’s head. But the lizardman was already gone.

  He darted sideways, slipping just out of reach. The bear’s punch missed by mere inches, the force of it sending a gust.

  As the lizardman dashed to the right next, the bear lunged, his massive frame like a freight train. The lizardman sidestepped, but this time, the bear was faster. His massive paw grabbed the lizardman by the ankle, yanking him into the air.

  Before the lizardman could recover, the bear smmed him down into the dirt with enough force to rattle the bones. The crowd screamed in shock as the lizardman’s body hit the ground with a sickening thud.

  The bear stood over him, his cws dripping with blood, panting heavily.

  "Yare yare…" the bookkeeper muttered, eyes glued to the scene, his pen trembling in his hand.

  As a finishing blow the bear bomb dived towards the lizardman, his body crashing down hard before the lizardman could come back to his sense.

  The lizardman let out a strangled gasp as the bear’s massive weight crushed down on his ribs. The air in his lungs vanished in an instant, and for a brief moment, the world blurred into a haze of pain.

  The crowd roared, their voices a savage chorus of bloodlust. Some cheered for the bear, others for the lizardman, but all of them wanted the same thing—violence.

  The lizardman, struggling to breathe, managed to twist his body just enough to cw his way free from beneath the bear's bulk. But before he could escape, the bear's grip tightened once again. With a sickening twist, the bear grabbed the lizardman by the tail, spinning him like a ragdoll through the air.

  The lizardman’s body soared, arms filing as he tried to right himself, but it was futile. He was smmed into the ground with a brutal thud, his head bouncing off the dirt like a dropped sack of stone.

  The bear let out a triumphant roar while the pit’s medic was already moving, vial in hand. The lizardman, barely conscious, twitched as the bitter red liquid was poured down his throat. He coughed, sputtering, but instinct forced him to swallow.

  At first, nothing happened. His chest rose and fell in shallow, struggling breaths. But then—a slow burn spread through his body, a heat that started at his core and seeped into his broken ribs.

  Bones didn’t magically snap back into pce. The healing wasn’t instant—it was painful. Flesh stung as it stitched itself together, bruises darkened before the swelling subsided. The ribs realigned, but they still ached like hell.

  The lizardman groaned, eyes fluttering open as life sluggishly returned to his limbs. His breathing steadied, but his movements were sluggish, the pain still lingering.

  The red vials worked, but they weren’t a cure-all. They sped up the body's natural healing process, forcing it into overdrive. Blood vessels repaired faster, tissue knitted together, and bones aligned—but they didn’t erase the damage entirely. The body still had to recover, and pushing it too far could be dangerous.

  Sen leaned forward, watching closely. (That took at least a minute to work—painful as hell, too. And he’s still sluggish. So not perfect… but useful.)

  The lizardman was alive, but he sure as hell wasn’t getting back in the ring anytime soon.

  The pit bosses wouldn’t let the fighters die too easily—too many bodies meant too many questions from the guards. But they also weren’t in the business of handing out miracles. The vials kept the fighters alive, not comfortable. If someone took too much damage too often, even the vials wouldn’t be enough to keep them standing.

  Around Sen, gamblers shouted, coins changed hands, and new bets were pced.

  (I’ll extract every bit of information from this pce.)

  Over the next 8 days, Sen spent most of his time in the pits, picking up enough words to communicate effectively.

  He watched the fights closely, taking notes on the strengths and weaknesses of every humanoid species he saw compete in the pits.

  While every morning, he would wander the streets, observing the various goods for sale. He also bought one red vial with three yellow coins.

  By the time the 9th day rolled around, Sen wasn’t just another spectator anymore—he was a walking library of the Pits’ combatants, their strengths, their weaknesses, and their quirks.

  Leaning against a wooden wall, Sen swirled a red vial in his fingers, watching the thick liquid catch the sunlight.

  He’d already tested a few drops on minor cuts—the sensation was instant: heat, sharp pain, then slow healing. (A damn miracle in a bottle. What the hell is in it?)

  No vendor or medic gave a straight answer. Some muttered about alchemical brews, others hinted at blood magic—especially the reptilian merchants, who handled the vials with a reverence that made Sen’s gut churn.

  He drummed a finger on his forearm, his gaze wandering back to the savage fight taking pce in the pit.

  A brawny minotaur was caught in a fierce struggle with a massive troll. The deadlock felt unyielding, a battle of sheer strength where even a moment's distraction could lead to catastrophe.

  Losing its patience, the Minotaur poured all of its strength into overpowering the troll.

  The troll retaliated with a front kick, its massive foot smming into the Minotaur’s chest like a battering ram. The impact sent the beast staggering back, hooves scraping deep trenches into the dirt. The crowd roared, some jeering, others howling in anticipation of the next brutal exchange.

  Sen barely flinched. He had seen the Minotaur fight before—seen its stubborn endurance, its relentless charges. A single blow wouldn't be enough to put it down. And sure enough, the beast let out a guttural snort, shaking its head before charging again, horns lowered like a bull seeing red.

  The troll braced itself, pnting its feet into the dirt. It lifted its thick arms, prepared to absorb the impact. But this time, the Minotaur wasn’t going for a head-on collision. At the st moment, it twisted its body, its curved horns sweeping like a massive, spiked fil. The move was calcuted—brutal.

  A sickening crunch followed as one horn caught the troll's ribs, sending a spray of dark blood across the pit floor. The troll’s eyes widened in shock before it stumbled, falling onto one knee.

  Sen smirked. (That’s new. The brute actually adapted.)

  The Minotaur wasted no time, pressing the attack with a thunderous stomp to the troll’s chest, keeping it down. The troll snarled in pain, reaching up to grab its opponent’s leg, but the Minotaur was already one step ahead. It shifted its weight and delivered a savage downward punch, its fist crashing into the troll’s face with enough force to rattle bones.

  The bookkeeper at the edge of the pit scribbled furiously, his pen moving with frantic energy. The crowd's bloodlust peaked, gamblers exchanging frantic bets, eyes wide with excitement.

  The troll tried to rise, shaking its head to clear the daze, but the Minotaur didn't let up. It seized the troll’s arm and twisted, bones snapping audibly. A pained howl ripped through the air as the troll colpsed fully, its body spasming.

  A gong sounded. The fight was over.

  The medic rushed in, dragging a crate of vials behind him. The Minotaur stood victorious, chest heaving, blood dripping from its horns. It raised one massive fist in triumph as the crowd erupted in cheers.

  Sen leaned back, exhaling through his nose. Nine days here, and he had seen it all—raw brutality, desperation, the thin line between life and death. But there was still one thing he hadn't seen.

  Himself in that pit.

  He turned the red vial over in his fingers again, watching the liquid swirl. His grip tightened.

  (Enough watching. Time to show these bastards what real combat looks like.)

  He pushed off the wall and strode toward the registry booth, his expression unreadable. The bookkeeper barely gnced up before recognizing Sen’s presence. His pen slowed.

  Turning his head up, the bookkeeper regarded Sen with a measured gaze, his pen hovering over the registry.

  "Here to bet or to fight?"

  Sen's gaze hardened, a glint of unspoken intent behind his eyes. He leaned over the counter, his voice a low growl.

  "Fight," he spat out, his words rough from the broken nguage he’d struggled to learn over the past week. His tone was blunt, cutting through the tension in the air like a knife. "Get me in the ring."

  The bookkeeper blinked, surprise flickering across his face for a moment. He quickly recovered, though, scribbling something down on the paper with mechanical precision. The room seemed to quiet around them, the usual hustle of bets and shouted commands dimming just enough to allow Sen's words to linger.

  "Name?" the bookkeeper asked, his eyes not meeting Sen's.

  Sen didn’t hesitate. "Sen."

  The bookkeeper scribbled Sen’s name down in the registry before looking up. "You’re in. Fight starts tomorrow. Try not to die."

  The bookkeeper’s words hung in the air as Sen turned away, a cocky smirk pying on his lips. "Try not to die." As if he hadn’t already been on the brink of death a thousand times before.

  The crowd resumed their noisy, chaotic chatter, but Sen was already lost in thought. Tomorrow, he’d show them. Show them how a real fighter moved, how a real fighter fought. None of these amateurs stood a chance. They relied on strength, brute force, and whatever cheap magic trick they could get their hands on. But he had years of experience, and a knack for turning an opponent’s mistake into a swift and painful lesson.

  That afternoon, he roamed the back alleys. The alleyways were dark, suffocating, the stench of sweat, piss, and blood lingering in the air like a permanent fog. Sen moved silently, his eyes scanning the dim corners where the lowlifes and crooks liked to gather.

  A few paces down, Sen spotted a group of three lurking at the edge of the alley. They looked like your typical scum—tough, swaggering, and completely unaware of the kind of trouble they were about to run into.

  "Oi!" Sen barked, his tone cutting through the air like a bde. The trio froze, their heads turning as one to size him up.

  One of them, a nky lizardman with a jagged scar running across his jaw, sneered. "You lost, human?"

  Sen’s lips curled into a smirk, his gaze cold and calcuting. He didn’t even need to speak the nguage fluently—he could read the tension in their bodies. They were confident, sure. But he wasn’t here to watch them swagger around.

  “Lost?” Sen chuckled, cracking his knuckles. “Nah, I’m just looking for something... fun.”

  The lizardman with the scar took a step forward, drawing a long, curved bde from his belt. “You think you can handle three of us, human?” His voice dripped with mockery.

  Sen didn’t flinch. In fact, he leaned back against the wall, letting the lizardman come closer. “You’re gonna need more than a bde, buddy. And even then, I wouldn’t count on it.”

  The other two thugs—another lizardman and a scrappy human—tensed, fingers twitching toward their weapons, but they hesitated. Their eyes darted between each other, unsure whether to trust their leader or back off.

  The scarred lizardman lunged first, the bde slicing through the air with a deadly hiss. Sen dodged the strike effortlessly, his body twisting just enough to let the bde miss by a fraction of an inch. He followed up with a swift jab to the thug's ribs, a punch that sent a satisfying crunch through his opponent's side.

  The lizardman staggered back, gasping for air as Sen didn’t miss a beat. He stepped into the space between them, using his opponent’s hesitation as leverage. A quick, brutal elbow caught the thug under the jaw, snapping his head back. He crumpled to the ground like a ragdoll.

  The other two rushed in immediately, but Sen was already moving—too fast for them to track. He ducked under a wild swing from the second lizardman, his hand grabbing the thug’s wrist and twisting. There was a sickening snap as Sen tore the arm free and smmed it down onto the cobblestones, sending the thug howling in agony.

  “You guys are pathetic,” Sen muttered, his voice dripping with disdain.

  The human thug charged next, trying to catch him off guard with a dagger. But Sen had already seen the move coming. He stepped to the side, grabbed the thug’s arm, and twisted it behind his back. The dagger dropped with a ctter as Sen yanked the thug into a headlock, squeezing until he felt the human’s body go limp in his grip.

  Sen released the unconscious thug with a casual push, letting him fall to the ground in a heap.

  He turned his gaze back to the st thug—the one with the scar—who was still trying to regain his bearings, clutching his injured side. Sen walked up slowly, his footsteps deliberate, and when the lizardman looked up, his eyes were wide with fear.

  "Thought you had me pegged, huh?" Sen sneered, his tone cutting. “Now, you're gonna pay the price for that.”

  The lizardman staggered back, raising his bde in a st-ditch effort to defend himself, but Sen wasn’t interested in another fight. He grabbed the bde with a single hand, twisting it out of the lizardman’s grip and kicking him hard in the chest. The thug flew back, crashing into a stack of crates, and then crumpled to the ground in defeat.

  Crouching beside them, Sen rifled through their pockets, his fingers moving with practiced efficiency.

  The alley was silent now, save for the ragged breaths of the battered thugs. He fished out a handful of mixed coins—four red, nine yellow—and slipped them into his pocket.

  Rising to his feet, he flexed his fingers, the dull ache barely registering. Not even a decent warm-up. With a final gnce at the unconscious trio, he stepped over them and out onto the streets.