A ragged breath echoed in a small, filthy room. A boy, smeared with grime, panted heavily, his eyes wide and dilated in terror.
'Where... where am I?' he whispered, his voice cracking as he took in the miserable surroundings. 'Did someone kidnap me? I'm literally a college student, for fuck's sake!'
He screamed inwardly, panic rising as reality dug its claws into him. He was Julien—a first-year college student, barely scraping by with his parents' support—and now he was chained like an animal in a room that reeked of rust and mold.
'Am I dreaming? Maybe if I pinch myself—'Pain. Sharp and real.'Fuck! No, I'm definitely not.'
Julien forced himself to breathe, to think, to not spiral. Maybe he got blackout drunk at a party? Maybe a homeless guy dragged him somewhere for help? He clung to hope—until he looked down.
Rusty chains.
Around his ankles.
Bolted to a thick iron pole.
'What the fuck... did I offend someone? Did I get Isekai'd as a slave or something?'
Panic gave way to reflection as he searched his scrambled memories. The last thing he remembered—
A fight.
His girlfriend had cheated on him. He got wasted, furious, spiraling. Then he saw someone who looked like the guy she'd cheated with—one of the local crackheads.
He remembered lunging at them.
He remembered pain.
Stabbing.His face crushed under boots.His body left in an alley, violated and broken.Left to die in a puddle of his own blood and piss.Everything faded into blackness.
And now—now—he was here. Shackled. Awake. Alive?
A sudden clank outside the room snapped him back. The door creaked open, revealing a man clad in chainmail and leather, like something out of a medieval drama. A guard.
No words. No kindness.
Just a rough hand yanking him to his feet.
Julien tried to resist—his limbs weak, his throat dry, voice silent. Futile. So he let himself be dragged, mind racing, still trying to make sense of the impossible.
He didn't know how much time passed—minutes, hours? The corridor stretched on endlessly, foul and dark. But then, light. Faint, growing brighter. Sounds filtered through—cheers? Roars of a crowd?
Anticipation and dread warred inside him. He had no clue what was coming, but he felt it. A shift. Something big.
Ring of Valor—the most famous gladiator arena in the Kingdom of Kuleth. The pride of the nation, the personal jewel of their king.
Today, it brimmed with more bloodlust than usual.
On a raised platform, an eccentric figure dressed in an explosion of color grinned manically at the crowd, gripping a mana-infused mic.
"LADIES AND GEN-TLE-MANN!!!" he roared, his voice echoing through the colosseum.
It was Flash Bang—top-tier commentator, master of crowd control, and recent star addition to the arena's entertainment division.
"Our first match has concluded, and while our seasoned warriors prepare for tonight's highlight, let me tell you what's coming… ohhh yes, it's REAL!"
He spun dramatically.
"A JUVENILE! RED! DRAGON!!!"The crowd exploded.
"Do you believe it?! A red dragon! The tyrant of the eastern hills! And we, noble citizens of Kuleth, shall witness its glorious fall! All thanks to our beloved king—his highness himself! So bow—bow, all of you, to the king!"
Flash Bang dropped to one knee, facing the VIP section high above the colosseum. The crowd followed like puppets on a string, solemn silence spreading like mist.
The light stung Julien's eyes like needles as he was yanked into the open.
The deafening roar of thousands assaulted him all at once, a wave of cheers and howls vibrating through the massive stone arena. It was a sea of bodies, all screaming for blood.
He squinted. The sun was brutal. His body felt like dead weight.
Around him were others—men and women, ragged, bruised, malnourished, barely human. Some old, some young, all in the same filthy rags as him. Chains dangled from ankles, dried blood crusted on their skin, some trembling, others gritting their teeth like they'd seen this before.
Peasants. Criminals. Fodder.
A man next to Julien whispered, voice cracked and low."Welcome to the meat grinder, newbie."He had no teeth, only gums and one cloudy eye.
Julien didn't answer. He couldn't. His throat burned, and his mind refused to catch up. He just stared at the center of the arena where sand soaked with old blood turned a sickly brown.
Above, Flash Bang's voice continued echoing:
"And now, the king's gracious gift for the common folk! A little dessert, if you will, before the main course! Our cherished prisoners, the wretched and forgotten, will now entertain us in a… special warm-up round! Hahahaha!"
The crowd jeered, tossing scraps and bones into the arena.
"Will they cry? Will they run? Will they beg? Who cares! Because what's coming is gonna tear them to pieces either way! RELEASE THE HOUNDS!"
A loud clang echoed.
Julien flinched.
From a grated gate on the far end, a pack of mutated beasts lunged into the ring. They weren't just dogs—they were monsters, bred for carnage. Grey-skinned, spines protruding from their backs, eyes glowing faintly red, foam already dripping from their fanged maws.
Someone screamed.A woman broke and ran.The crowd loved it.
Julien's body froze—his heart pounded, ears ringing.
He wasn't ready. None of them were.
But instinct kicked in when the first beast lunged at the toothless man beside him, tearing into his shoulder like paper.
Blood sprayed.
The man shrieked. Julien fell back, scrambling, slipping on blood and sand as chaos erupted.
Everyone moved.
Some tried to fight with rusted chains, some ran, some just dropped and prayed. One of the bigger guys picked up a broken femur and started swinging like a madman, catching one of the hounds in the eye.
Julien's legs moved without asking.
A flash of claws.A scream behind him.He didn't look back.
His breath burned in his lungs. His muscles screamed. But something shifted in his head—an old survival instinct he didn't know he had, awakened by the taste of death.
He grabbed a shard of iron off the ground, probably once part of someone's shackle.
One of the beasts noticed him—its body low, snarling, stalking like a predator playing with food.
Julien stood his ground, barely. Legs trembling, blood on his face—not his own, not yet.
"Come on then," he muttered through gritted teeth, voice hoarse and cracked. "Let's fucking go."
The beast lunged.
Julien didn't dodge. He couldn't.
But he moved—and that rusted piece of metal drove straight into the side of the hound's neck.
Not deep enough.It thrashed, throwing him down.
Pain shot through his ribs as he hit the ground, vision blurring.The beast howled, blood leaking from its wound.Julien coughed, rolled, dodged the next bite by inches.
Someone else tackled the monster with a chain, shouting something incoherent as they both went down.
Julien gasped for air, still gripping the bloody shard.
This wasn't a fight.
This was a slaughter disguised as sport.
And yet—he was still alive.
Barely.
But alive.