Shadow Slave

Sunny stared at the wooden knife, suffocating pain still radiating from the spot where Solvane had hit him. The Transcendent was so fast that he had not even seen or sensed her strike… not that it mattered anymore.

As he studied the familiar blade, different pieces of knowledge suddenly clicked together, revealing a chilling truth. Stunned by the grim revelation, Sunny shuddered.

'Of course…'

Finally, the purpose of the Red Colosseum made sense to him. The cruelty of the Trials, the perverse faith of the zealous warriors, their worship of struggle, battle, and death… the tale of a wooden blade that granted the champion a chance to win their freedom.

When he looked back, it all seemed so obvious.

The strange cult of War that had blossomed on the ruins of the Kingdom of Hope was built around the tenet of glory. Glory was both the highest virtue and the highest of honors, and it could only be won by prevailing against overwhelming odds, through mortal struggle — which was the essence of life, and war, as far as these zealots were concerned.

So, they enslaved a horde of abominations and threw themselves against it, fighting to the death against their slaves in the arena. With each battle, the weak were slaughtered, and the strong got to live and fight against more powerful enemies the next day. All under the beaming gazes of the jubilant crowd.

Those who died perished in the pursuit of glory, and those who lived came closer and closer to earning it… that was the sacrificial ritual the followers of War performed every decade or so, spilling blood in the name of their glorious dream.

…However, there was one problem with this demented arrangement. A glaring flaw that made the Trials of the Red Colosseum seem futile, hollow, and senseless.

end of all

victor? What happened to the person, or creature, left standing at the very

death, freely offered

and a chance to fight for their freedom — just like Elyas had learned from the fairy tales in the Ivory City. They just

fight against

feverish hell — the Red Colosseum, the bloodsoaked arena, the cult of murderous glory she had built — existed for one single purpose. To find, or rather create, a warrior capable of killing

of this nightmare was born out of the thousand years of immortality the beautiful priestess had endured, out

Solvane didn't just want to die. She wanted to die a glorious death, one worthy of a true servant of War. Or rather, she simply could not allow herself to give up. Giving up without struggle was a sin against her faith,

to die if she was defeated. That was

to kill her was Solvane's

correct... but at the same time,

no time to

to save their lives. All they

But he wasn't fooled.

just a death sentence. Sure, the knife contained a death… Solvane's death… and would be able to slay her with one strike. At this point, Sunny was certain that there had been seven knives once, each meant to kill one of the seven immortals created by the Lord of Light.

it was only going to spell their

the beautiful priestess was still a Transcendent. A servant of War with a thousand years of battle experience, an ancient warrior who had fought and triumphed in battles too many to count. And despite her desire to be defeated, she would not throw this fight. Giving in without struggling with all

her was