The Lack of Combat Skill

Looking around, Kelvin saw that the arena was quite old. Time had etched its marks on its colossal stone structure, along with its unfolded hallowed grounds. Massive archways led into a cavernous amphitheater, where rows upon rows of weathered stone seats stood. The sun's golden rays also cascaded through openings in the time-worn ceiling, casting ethereal beams upon the arena's battle-scarred floor.

Kelvin was teleported to the middle of this arena. And not too long after that, someone else was teleported a few distance in front of him.

Just like Kelvin suspected, that someone turned out to be Carl.

“I had a feeling that the last person in team A, would be you.” Carl said.

Kelvin looked at him, and replied,

“Same here.”

Carl’s training outfit was torn and burnt in multiple places. And though, he had no visible injuries, Carl looked a bit tired and exhausted. However, Kelvin’s attention was drawn to the pair of dark obsidian like daggers in Carl’s hands.