Cyrus had already heard this line dozens of times before, to the point where he'd instinctively begun to filter out the old man's words as soon as he started to talk.
The damn steward of the Zyvarros family would go on to explain how the slaves he had handpicked today were the cream of the crop in the city of Morwyn, and even the kingdom of Astrea as a whole. Even though they possessed little to no divine affinity and hadn't been blessed by any gods, each of these children was now very close to becoming an 'Ironbound' warrior and regaining their freedom. Of course, this was all thanks to the benevolence of the Goddess and the Zyvarros family.
Cyrus had memorized this disgusting script after hearing it countless times in the past, to the point where he wanted to vomit just at the mention of the name Zyvarros!
Close to becoming an Ironbound warrior? He knew that this crap couldn't be further from the truth.
Indeed, there were a few… very few among the slaves who were, in fact, close to reaching that rank, but even they were less than a handful, and were only those who had spent more than half a decade in the Red Arena by now.
Having been born with little to no divine affinity, these slaves had basically no talent, which meant that tempering their bodies to reach the rank of Ironbound would take them that much longer as well.
This was why the long-limbed youth in front of Cyrus had yet to reach that rank either, despite having spent five full years in this hellhole.
Noticing the youth's cold, murderous expression gradually vanish from his face, replaced by a deadpan look, Cyrus knew that the steward's monologue was probably coming to an end.
And indeed, the old bastard up in the stands had timed it perfectly. As the tension in the arena reached its peak, he finally raised his hand and gave his order:
''For the Goddess!''
The moment his voice trailed off, both Cyrus and slave 298 lunged forward, their bare feet kicking the crimson grains of sand behind them as they rushed at each other.
Cyrus had already filtered out the roars from the crowd, along with any other distraction that could potentially make him lose the fight.
Even the steward's hateful face was no longer in his field of vision, his eyes fully focused on the tall, slender youth in front of him.
The long-limbed teen was momentarily taken aback seeing Cyrus rush at him too, but that look of confusion only graced his face for the briefest of moments before it gave way to sheer ruthlessness.
He'd expected Cyrus to gauge the difference in their physical traits and try to run away from him instead of fight him head-on. After all, whether it was in terms of strength, reach, or even experience, the slender youth had the advantage in all three, and both he and Cyrus understood that all too well!
That's why, the tall teen had already surmised that his opponent was going to run away and try to exhaust him instead of fighting him directly…To his surprise however, Cyrus's unexpected opener had thrown that all out the window.
His lunge was no different from the openings of those slaves who had just been thrown into the Bloodpit for the first time, completely incapable of assessing the situation they were in!
Still, if his opponent wanted to throw his life away, 298 wouldn't refuse.
In just a few moments, the two teens had already arrived in front of each other, as 298's eyes gleamed like the eyes of a wolf standing in front of his prey. Without hesitation, the youth's right fist flew towards Cyrus's chest, aiming to end the fight in a single strike.
Obviously, against a much shorter and more agile opponent like Cyrus, aiming for the head wasn't optimal. His opponent could always duck and turn the tables on him. If he had the chance to end the fight in one blow, 298 would always go for his opponent's solar plexus.
That… was 298's sole mistake!
Staring at the fist that flew towards his chest from a straight angle, Cyrus gritted his teeth and ignored it as he turned his attention towards 298's legs!
The tall youth had just stopped running and was stabilizing himself so he could land a clean hit!
But Cyrus didn't stop…
He kept going as his body leaned closer to the ground, almost smelling the lingering scent of blood on the crimson grains underneath him while his momentum carried him over, sending him barrelling towards the youth's bone-like legs.
Despite the difference in their age, strength, and even experience, 298 was unable to react as the weight of Cyrus's entire body was hurled against him, forcefully toppling him over.
As 298 lost his balance, the entire arena erupted in cheers of excitement, roars of exhilaration, and even boos of contempt, as the 14-year-old boy brought his larger opponent to the ground.
However, Cyrus didn't hear any of it. No, the cacophony of those cheers and boos didn't even enter his ears as 298's right fist grazed his back on the way down, bringing with it a sharp surge of pain. Still, everything Cyrus had done was for this moment.
He'd spent the past couple of hours in his isolated cell, trying to think of any way to possibly win this fight.
Unfortunately, every scenario he thought of ended with his opponent always coming out victorious.
Cyrus was faster than him, yes, but he knew that wasn't enough to bridge the gap between their physiques. His body was still growing, but his current reach was nowhere near enough to let him contend against someone like slave 298!
Besides, even if he ignored the disadvantage of his reach, Cyrus knew that in a straight fight, he was definitely weaker than the older youth. His only choice was to try and catch him off-guard.
It was a gamble, but he didn't have another choice… and luckily, it'd paid off!