The trial of a combat oriented day was rather simple, the 501 slaves would be divided into 100 groups of 5, then a single flag would be placed upon a designated area. He who manages to claim it shall be granted the 500 reward points, with the other 500 points being decided by the performance of the individual slave. 

The different groups were decided upon at random, however the usage of magic was not allowed. Furthermore, throughout the vast circular walls of the arena which trapped them laid countless varieties of weaponry and equipment. 

Everything was free for use, and the Record Keepers would stand by ready to take away any slave which brushes with death. 

It was truly a familiar format. Many of the Walker Ranked slaves could even be seen with smiles etched upon their lips. They had fallen in ranks due to their lack of magic proficiency, however many among them could rival those within Dagger Ranks, Silver Ranks and even some of the Gold Rankers if it was solely on combat skill alone. 

A bell in the distance rang three times, and the Record Keepers walked to each slave, allowing them to reach inside upon a vase filled with cards. The color of the card was the first indicator, along with the number which it had written upon it. 

When Arren pulled his, it was of a blood crimson color and had the number ‘3’ on its surface. His head rose and he examined the area in which he saw such a flag be placed. When everyone had taken theirs, the distant bell rang forth again and all the slaves moved towards their designated area. 

Upon arriving, gasps could be heard reverberating throughout the arena. When Arren heard this he could not help but feel sorry for the Walker Ranks which he saw end up in groups filled with Gold Ranks or even worse, the 10 Swords. 

Arren was the first to arrive. He hovered around the crimson flag, already examining the different weapons available to him upon the nearest wall. It was as he did so however that a sudden voice called out. 

“Hah-hah, has fate played a joke on us both?” 

The amicable, yet sharp voice rang in Arren’s ears like a death siren. His body tensed and he turned with a guarded look. Meeting his crimson gaze was a familiar dark pair of eyes. His heart sank and a single thought emerged within his mind. 

Fuck…

Before him was a wide grinned First Sword, a crimson slit grasped between his fingers. 

“Venerable First Sword, I’m afraid it is me alone who fate is hoaxing…” 

Arren said, his caution apparent in his voice. The First Sword laughed, yet his eyes obtained a ferociously ecstatic glint within their dark depths. It made Arren’s body stiff with tension. 

“Regardless, this is wonderful! Without magic at play, I might have the honor of seeing that feral beast once more! And besides…” 

First Sword began clenching and unclenching his fists as he spoke the following words with sinister excitement in his voice.

“I have improved leagues above the days when I watched upon you with trepidation. Today will be an opportunity to evaluate whether my efforts bore any results.” 

Arren could not help but sigh within his heart upon seeing such a sight. He felt that his luck had been truly dreadful. Suddenly, he felt less sympathy for those gasping voices from before, if anything he now felt empathetic. 

He sighed then a glint of his own fighting will surfaced upon his crimson eyes. 

If there is no magic involved then what is there to fear?

“So be it, let us reenact the past with great fondness then, Second Sword… Oh wait, my bad, it's The First Sword right? I keep forgetting.”  

His blatant disrespect and provocation against The First Sword made those within the surrounding designated area freeze. They could not believe that Walker 248 dared to be so bold.  

“I suppose the fallen top dog is still bitter…” 

“Does he not understand what the word ‘fondness’ means perhaps?” 

“He's dead for sure…” 

“I don’t think Walker 248 understands the concept of past and present. I mean if he did he would know not to challenge the king of this generation with such provocation.” 

They whispered amongst themselves. After all, those within the designated areas around Arren and First Sword had not gotten any big fish within their shallow lake. Instead most were at the Walker Rank, with a Dagger Ranker here and there.   

The First Sword could not help but smile wide upon hearing Arren’s provocative words, revealing his white teeth. 

“Good! I want to see a glimpse of those past days too! Don’t you dare hold back!” 

With nothing more to be left for words to convey he turned and began making his way near the wall which hosted all the available equipment. Arren tracked him with his eyes, his guard up. However when he saw that The First Sword was truly walking away, he let out a sigh of relief. 

It was as he did that a sudden, pathetic squeal reached his ears. Arren raised a brow then turned towards the direction of the sound. His eyes lit up immediately after. Standing just outside the designated area was Walker 247, a crimson card grasped on his hand. 

His brown eyes were that of utter horror upon seeing Arren within his group. Arren on the other hand gave the most radiant smile he could muster. 

“Ah! So fate slaps you with one hand but offers you a gift with the other!” 

Walker 247 had a look filled with spite and trepidation, his feet hesitated to enter the marked designated area. Meanwhile as he saw a dazzling smile emanating from Arren’s face, a single thought surfaced within his mind. 

Fuck!