The Arena District wasn’t what Max expected.

  From the front, the structure loomed like a fortress — broad stone arches, statues of long-dead champions glaring down with chipped and broken faces. The entrance was grand enough, but once Max was herded through with a dozen other fighters, the illusion fell apart.

  The interior was a crumbling ruin.

  Four smaller arenas were arranged in a line, their walls cracked and pitted, moss creeping through fissures where rainwater had long since seeped in. The air was damp and smelled faintly of mold, mixed with the tang of sweat and blood. Instead of polished seats and banners, rough wooden bleachers sagged under the weight of goblin onlookers. Enforcers in rusted armor stood at intervals, leaning on halberds like they’d rather be anywhere else.

  This wasn’t the grand stage promised by the town crier. This was a proving ground. A pit.

  The crowd jeered and spat as the next batch of contenders was shoved forward. Max felt eyes on him immediately — whispers about the human spread like wildfire. Some pointed, some laughed, some sneered. To them, he wasn’t a competitor. He was entertainment.

  They were herded into a narrow stone hallway, damp air pressing down from the moss-covered walls. Torches guttered in iron brackets, throwing shaky light across a line of fighters already waiting their turn. The floor was slick with grime, scored with scratches from weapons and boots that had passed this way countless times before.

  Max fell into line, letting his eyes scan the others.

  A massive goblin loomed just ahead, leaning lazily on a Warhammer that looked like it could crush a boulder. His scarred face tilted toward Max for a heartbeat, lip curling in contempt. A familiar chime rang softly in Max’s ear.

  [System Prompt]

  You have observed: Korrak the Breaker — Level 20

  Weapon: Warhammer

  Known For: Crushing skulls in a single swing.

  The big goblin’s sneer deepened, as though he knew Max had taken his measure, before he turned away with disinterest.

  Farther down the line, a wiry goblin twirled a length of chain idly around his wrist, the hooked blade at its end scraping sparks from the stone floor. His companion — thinner, with sharp knives strapped across his chest — muttered something in his ear. Both looked Max’s way, eyes narrowing. Again, the System flickered.

  [System Prompt]

  You have observed: Drask and Veyl — Level 18

  Weapons: Chain-hook & Twin Daggers

  Known For: Coordinated attacks and ambush tactics.

  Drask’s grin was all teeth as he noticed Max looking, while Veyl dragged a thumb slowly across his throat in a silent promise. Max held their gaze until they chuckled and went back to muttering.

  Behind him, a squat goblin with bandaged fists rocked on his heels, whispering under his breath like a prayer. His eyes were bloodshot, fists flexing repeatedly until the knuckles cracked.

  Not all of them looked hardened. Near the back stood a smaller goblin barely fit into his armor, clutching a crude spear with both hands. His oversized helmet wobbled as he moved, the weight of it almost too much for his thin neck. The things’ eyes were wide, fixed on the gate ahead — terrified, but unwilling to step out of line.

  The hallway stank of sweat, oil, and fear. Max had smelled it before in goblin raids, but here it was different. This wasn’t chaos — it was ritual. Fighters of every shape and size lined up to throw their lives into the pit, each with their own reason. Glory. Survival. Desperation.

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  At the far end, a bony goblin in a crimson cloak clutched a battered ledger. His voice rasped through the hall, echoing as he called names one by one. Each fighter stepped forward, touched their mark, and disappeared through one of the cracked gates leading into the pits.

  Max shifted his grip on Solaris Edge, its weight familiar yet heavier than it had ever felt. For a month he had been hunting goblins in forests and caverns, cutting down raiders and beasts alike. But here, in this line, he wasn’t a hunter anymore.

  Now he was a competitor.

  When his name was called, Max raised his hand and strode forward. The clerk barely looked at him before scribbling something on the page. “Pit three. You’ll fight until one of you yields or can’t stand. No killing unless the other refuses to quit.” His eyes flicked up briefly. “You understand?”

  Max nodded. No killing… unless they force me to. Good to know.

  He stepped through the gate.

  Pit three was worse than he expected. The floor was uneven stone patched with dirt, weeds growing stubbornly in the cracks. A faint shimmer of mana hummed across the walls, a containment barrier that buzzed like flies in his ears. Opposite him, another gate creaked open.

  His opponent shuffled through.

  The goblin was small, wiry, with a hunched back and nervous eyes that darted everywhere but at Max. His armor was little more than scraps of leather tied together, and his weapon — a short, jagged spear — shook in his grip. He looked like he hadn’t eaten in days.

  Max’s brow furrowed. This isn’t a champion. He’s just trying to survive.

  The gate slammed shut behind them, and a crude gong rang out above the pit.

  The fight had begun.

  The goblin didn’t charge. He shuffled side to side, spear raised defensively, clearly hoping Max would rush in recklessly. His movements weren’t without thought — he knew enough to guard his chest and keep distance — but the fear in his eyes betrayed him.

  Max held his ground, Solaris Edge resting loosely in his grip. He had no reason to rush. The crowd jeered at the lack of action, booing and throwing scraps of food into the pit.

  “Fight!” someone screamed. “Make him bleed!”

  The goblin flinched at the sound, sweat beading down his forehead. He finally lunged, spear jabbing clumsily at Max’s chest.

  Max sidestepped and slapped the weapon aside with the flat of his blade. The force sent the goblin stumbling past, almost tripping on the uneven stones. He recovered quickly, but Max could see his breathing grow ragged.

  He’s stalling. Just wants to get through without being crippled. Maybe if he survives a round or two, he earns something.

  The thought made Max’s stomach twist. This wasn’t a fight for glory for some of these goblins. It was a desperate gamble for scraps.

  The goblin tried again, this time with a feint to the left before stabbing low. Max let the spear scrape along his bracer, then twisted Solaris Edge upward, knocking the weapon from his grip. It clattered against the wall and fell uselessly to the dirt.

  The goblin froze. His hands trembled as he looked at the sword now leveled at his throat.

  “Yield,” Max said quietly.

  For a long moment, the goblin’s eyes darted from the blade to the crowd. The jeering was deafening. They wanted blood, not mercy. He swallowed hard, jaw clenching, then dropped to his knees and slammed his fist against the ground.

  “I yield!”

  The gong rang out again. The containment barrier flickered and dissolved. The crowd booed, some throwing rocks and scraps of food into the pit, disappointed by the lack of carnage.

  Max lowered his blade, disgust twisting in his gut. This isn’t a tournament. It’s a spectacle. A circus of blood for the rich to get their kicks off in this city.

  The goblin scurried back through his gate without a word, clutching his side where sweat had soaked through his leather.

  [System Prompt]

  Qualifying Match Complete

  Result: Victory by Surrender

  Credits Earned: 50

  Status: Advanced to Next Round 1/10

  Max sheathed Solaris Edge as the gate behind him creaked open. A pair of enforcers gestured for him to follow, their expressions bored, as though they’d seen a hundred matches just like his.

  The holding area smelled even worse than the pits — sweat, piss, and the metallic tang of blood thick in the air. Fighters who had advanced slumped on benches, clutching wounds while healers charged outrageous fees for simple bandages or spellwork.

  Max leaned against the wall, watching quietly. Some fighters celebrated, others nursed injuries, but all of them wore the same look in their eyes: desperation. Winning wasn’t about glory. It was about survival.

  He clenched his fists. If this is just the qualifiers, what’s the grand arena going to be like?

  The gong outside rang again, announcing another bout. A goblin was carried past, limp and bloodied, his chest barely rising. The healers didn’t even move until someone shoved coins into their hands.

  Max turned away, jaw tight. The System had dragged him into this mess, and now he was just another pawn in its game.