Arena

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The trio slowly walked down the corridor and reached a round dome connected to several other rooms, and ahead, there was a large gate leading to the Arena.

The voices and screams coming from outside were deafening; Mark could feel the excitement of the crowd without even seeing it. Gradually, the other doors began to open, and more and more gladiators or potential candidates entered.

Most were human, but Mark noticed that one of them was a Vastaya with bird-like features, noticeably young, likely captured outside his tribe.

The once-empty dome soon filled with a little over 30 people, and an announcer's voice echoed from outside, "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to our glamorous event today!" Right after the announcer spoke, the arena was interrupted by shouts.

"Today in the Arena, we will have the participation of a bird Vastaya, as well as many prisoners captured from all lands!" Another wave of shouts followed, but the announcer quickly interrupted again, "However, their opponents will not be easy either." There was a moment of silence after the announcer spoke, and soon the gates on the other side of the Arena opened.

A group of about 15 men walked in, and Mark immediately felt a knot in his throat upon seeing them. "Today, we will have the blood of deserters spilling in the Arena!" The announcer's voice roared, and the crowd responded with boos and insults directed at the 15 sturdy men who entered the Arena.

"Damn, this is really bad," Mark thought as he looked at them. Just at a glance, they were better equipped than most of the prisoners on his side, each carrying either a shield or an extra piece of armor along with their weapons.

Despite the insults, they remained calm and composed, clearly showing the poise of a professional army. At this point, Mark looked around and came to a conclusion.

"This isn't a battle; it's a public execution!" There was no way 30 armed peasants could win against 15 seasoned soldiers, even if they were deserters.

Mark tried to devise a plan to escape, but he didn't have time. Soon, the gates opened, and the soldiers guiding them pointed their spears at them.

There was no need for words; the entire group advanced into the Arena, and Mark closed his eyes for a moment to get used to the light.

He looked around and saw countless people shouting and throwing confetti, making the place seem more like a festival than an execution. "Alright, let's do this." Mark took a deep breath, and seeing that their enemies hadn't moved, he quickly called out to his companions.

"Everyone, gather here! I have a plan for us to survive!" Mark shouted several times, each time in a different language, drawing everyone's attention. He quickly started devising a simple battle plan and explained it to them.

"I know you don't know me, but if you want to survive, you must listen to me!" He said (repeating in five different languages), and when he saw that everyone's attention was on him, he quickly laid out a simple strategy.

"We stand no chance in a head-on fight with them; they're professionals. If we charge recklessly, we'll all be killed before we can even take one of them down. So, I suggest a strategy." As he spoke, Mark looked at the Vastaya, who looked back at him.

---

Nabu was a Vastaya from a tribe in Shurima. He was young and had been captured by traders a week ago while he slept and then sold in Noxus for the Arena.

From start to finish, he was extremely frightened, just following what others commanded and trying his best to understand the gestures of the Noxians.

At this point, when he entered the Arena and saw the Noxian soldiers on the other side, he was sure he would die. Even by flying, he knew a common Noxian soldier could throw a spear over 10 meters high. He had never been in a battle either, so his mind had already given up on the fight before it even began.

This was the usual despair that came when facing the Noxian army, but at that moment, he heard a voice calling him in his native language and quickly looked back.

There stood a tall, handsome man with black hair, calling the attention of all the slaves and devising a simple battle plan with him at the center. "You, Vastaya, what's your name?" the man asked, and timidly, he answered.

"Nabu."

"Alright, Nabu, I need you to stay calm and follow my instructions. See those Noxian soldiers over there? Your goal is to use your spear to stab any of them who becomes briefly isolated from their formation. Don't worry about whether you hit or miss, understood?" Nabu quickly nodded and gripped the spear in his hand tightly.

He didn't fully understand the man's plan but decided to trust him. Soon, the man divided the other gladiators into groups based on their weapons, and they slowly spread out across the Arena.

"Now, Nabu, fly and follow my instructions!" With these words, Nabu took to the sky.

---

Mark looked nervously at the Noxian soldiers who were waiting calmly, but they became somewhat alert when the gladiators he had commanded spread out across the Arena.

Clearly, what seemed to be their leader gestured towards Mark and sent three Noxian soldiers in his direction. "Alright, here we go," Mark took a deep breath, placed his hand on his sword, and drew it.

He soon felt a familiar chill cover his body, spreading through his hands and feet. "Focus," he whispered to himself and began using the breathing technique.

At that moment, everything in the Arena went silent—the shouts, the jeers—there were only his opponents, slowly approaching, seemingly unconcerned.

"I'll give you a quick death for daring to face us, boy!" said the one at the front of the trio. He wielded a traditional Noxian sword and had a chest plate.

Beside Mark were Old Soo and another man holding a spear. They wanted to step forward to help him, but Mark stopped them. "Focus on your own opponents," he said, and the two nodded and stepped back.

The Noxian soldier nodded in satisfaction upon seeing that Mark planned to face him alone and charged forward, swinging his sword, with Mark doing the same.

CLANK!

The sound of metal clashing echoed in the Arena as the two blades met, marking the start of the fight, and the crowd went wild with screams. Mark and the Noxian soldier looked at each other in surprise, seeing that neither had the upper hand in strength.

But soon after, Mark's sword pressed against the Noxian's, pushing him back in surprise, and Mark's voice followed immediately, "Sun Breathing, First Form!" Without hesitation, Mark advanced, swinging his sword in a vertical slash, and flames emerged from his blade in that brief moment.

The Noxian soldier tried in vain to defend himself from the sword aimed at his neck, but it was too late.

SLASH!

"ENBU!" (Waltz)

The sound of a slash echoed through the air, and a head flew. The public's attention was captured, and they burst into applause. "HAHAHA! What a surprise! We have a mage in the Arena; it looks like these deserters are in trouble now!" The announcer laughed aloud, and the crowd cheered even louder.

But at that point, Mark couldn't hear anything, just the sound of his breathing resonating in his mind as the decapitated body fell at his feet.

"ARGH!" Mark heard a cry of pain coming from his right and saw the man beside him having his chest pierced by a Noxian soldier's sword, which was immediately pulled out.

Thud—his body fell lifeless to the ground, and the Noxian soldier turned to Mark, sword stained with blood, advancing toward him. "This is really strange," Mark's thoughts echoed in his mind, and with his sword still ablaze, he made another quick slash.

Slash!

The Noxian soldier's body passed by him headless and fell to the ground. "You damn brat!" The soldier fighting Soo shouted, charging at Mark with a shield in his right hand and a small dagger in the left, completely ignoring Soo, who had a slight cut on his arm.

Seeing the soldier coming at him, Mark sidestepped, retreating and forcing the shield-bearer to reposition himself, but that was his mistake.

A dry sound of piercing was heard as Soo's fishing spear drove into his back, and the old man's face, full of pent-up rage, was reflected in his eyes.

"Damn old man!" the soldier cursed, glancing back, but at that moment, he heard the sound of approaching fire, and before he could turn his head, a fiery trail passed over his neck.

With a dull thud, the third body fell to the ground, headless, and the Arena fell silent. Even the other Noxian soldiers, who were fighting the prisoners, paused their offensive for a moment.

It was at this point that their morale faltered, and they began to be attacked with more fervor. The prisoners, inspired by Mark's strength, suddenly burst with willpower and hope, attacking the Noxian soldiers in pairs or trios, unafraid of being injured.

"Damn slaves!" one Noxian said as he stabbed a prisoner, but at that moment, a shadow loomed over him, and Nabu pierced his chest with the spear from the sky.

The crowd exploded with cheers and confetti. Bettors in the stands began cursing or making new bets, and nobles in the VIP sections smiled as they watched the slaves with interest.

Soon, the battle's rhythm shifted in favor of the prisoners, reducing the Noxian gladiators from 15 to 4, with the prisoners suffering only seven casualties, leaving 23 remaining.

"Surrender!" Mark said firmly to the four gladiators now cornered in the Arena. There was a moment of silence, and the tallest of them, who initially appeared to be their leader, spoke with a steady voice.

"Boy, you don't know the rules of the Arena, do you?" he said with a weak smile, raising his blood-stained hammer, responsible for half the casualties.

"In the Arena, there is no surrender; the only mercy here is death!" he declared firmly, causing the prisoners around Mark to take a step back in fear, yet they still pointed their weapons at them.

Mark sighed heavily, holding his blade and looking at the remaining Noxians. Surely, a few more of his side would die before they could bring down the giant. "Tell me your name."

Mark asked him, gesturing to Nabu in the air before speaking a word in his language. The Noxian soldier didn't understand, but seeing the Vastaya lower his spear, he decided to speak his name.

"My name is Dors, former sergeant of the Du Couteau family's legion!" Mark's eyes widened in surprise upon hearing that name, and he soon responded, "I will remember you!" He nodded.

At that moment, Nabu suddenly raised his spear and threw it at Dors. He threw it awkwardly, clearly inexperienced, but it forced the gladiator to lift his war hammer in defense.

The spear struck the hammerhead, breaking apart, and without hesitation, Mark charged forward, flames erupting from his sword, "Sun Breathing, Second Form!"

"You bastard!" Dors roared, realizing the deception and bringing down his war hammer with all his strength towards Mark, who raised his blade above his head. "I will crush you!" he shouted, but at that point, there was a flash of focus.

"Heki-ra no Ken!" (Blue Sky)

A circular fiery slash appeared above Mark, severing Dors' arms and causing him to scream in agony, "ARGHHHHH!" Blood sprayed everywhere, distracting the other soldiers and opening a gap for the prisoners, who advanced with their spears from all directions.

Soon, the bodies of the three soldiers fell to the ground, pierced by countless spears and swords, leaving only Dors standing, who cursed Mark one last time before also being pierced by a spear and dying.

At this point, the crowd burst into cheers and applause, and all the prisoners relaxed their muscles with the battle's end. Even Nabu descended from the sky to celebrate.

Thud!

At that moment, something caught their attention. Mark fell to his knees, panting, as sweat dripped down his face. "The Sun Breathing is still too much for me! It's impressive I managed to use it four times and stay standing." He thought while his companions rushed to help him up, all worried about him.

Everyone there knew that if it weren't for Mark, they would now be cold corpses on the ground, and they instinctively treated him as their leader. Mark stood up with the help of his companions and looked around.

With one final move, he raised his sword high, and the crowd went wild

 once again, cheering with their hands raised.

At that moment, the announcer's voice echoed once more, "Incredible! Incredible! This is not a battle; it's a massacre, folks!" His excitement was palpable.

"And with that, we end today's event with a victory for the prisoners! Who would have thought, folks? Who would have thought!"