Chapter 20: Won the Fight?
Ethan took a slow step back from the edge of the arena, sweat beading down his temples. His eyes flicked toward the stands.
Rows upon rows of dark-robed mages leaned forward in silence, hoods shadowing eager eyes. The atmosphere was electric—a lethal mix of curiosity and cold indifference. They weren’t there to cheer him on. They were there to see if he’d die horribly.
"Fuck... no pressure," Ethan muttered under his breath.
He sucked in a sharp breath and wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the blade strapped to his back. In a single fluid motion, he drew it out—a long, slightly curved sword whose steel shimmered like tarnished silver. Jagged runes etched along the fuller glowed with a faint crimson pulse.
Warlord’s Fang.
A rusted piece of metal to the naked eye. But to the system—and to Ethan—it was a forgotten relic of a legendary warlord who’d once brought empires to their knees.
"Alright, big guy," Ethan said, eyes narrowing at the Grimfang Revenant. "Let’s dance."
The creature roared, rattling its chain-lashed arms, necrotic flames flaring from its skeletal jaws
Ethan shot forward like a bullet. The crowd’s murmurs hissed through the chamber like distant wind.
Steel clashed against bone. Sparks burst into the air.
The Revenant swung a spiked limb downward, aiming to split Ethan in two. Ethan rolled under the blow, dust spraying around him, and lashed out with Warlord’s Fang across the monster’s ribs.