Ever heard of the Crimson Arena, where warriors test their limits? I've fought there, and the stories are as brutal as they are legendary.

The night I faced the Beast of the North, his roar shook the arena walls. I was the last man standing, his claws snapping at my flank. I slipped a blade between his ribs, felt the hot iron sting, and then the ground gave way—my foot slipped, I fell, and in that instant the crowd went silent. When I finally got back up, I was covered in blood and his howl echoed behind me. That night, I carved my name into the stone wall of the arena, and that mark became the hidden legend—people say whoever sees it gets the courage to fight any beast.

When I carved that mark, the heat from the blade and the taste of blood were all I felt—nothing else mattered. The silence that followed? It was like the world holding its breath. People come and stare, eyes wide, and some swear the stone’s cold gives them a fire in their gut. It’s the same rage that burns inside me, and if a fellow fighter can see that, maybe he’ll step forward and not look back.