[Planet Eunos of the Endless Worlds - in the Arena of Valour]

A certain young boy was soon to awaken with the memories of his past life; of his memories as a legendary mage.

But that is a story for a later day; for today he was still just a boy.

But by no means was he just *any* boy...

* * * * *

Mikael - Miller Knight Larsson (Lars) panted; cold sweat pouring down his scalp and covering his entire body. He cursed at the slippery sweat; an uncontrollable reaction from the blood loss and pain lancing through the right side of his body.

But the sweat was not the worst of it - the worst was his bloodied right arm hanging limply by his side; crippled and useless until he was healed of the tendon-severing cut.

He held a long dagger in his remaining good hand; equally skilful as his right - but his chances were grim.

He faced his erstwhile best friend Gardner. An opponent who was also injured, but had no critical wounds; and who held the absolute advantage with his two long daggers identical to his own. Lars' own second dagger was lying far away behind Gardner; lying where he had dropped it - where he had fallen victim to the bigger boy's deception.

'How... How can I...' He racked his mind; trying to find a way to live without unveiling his trump cards - trump cards reserved to take down the "raid boss" of the Death Arena - the dark-skinned berserker beast-man; Linges.

To take him down, and pave the way for Moira to be crowned as champion in the inhumane death battles.

'I... I won't make it by defending anymore... I-I have to take him down; best friend or not! For Moira! I... I cannot let myself lose!'

Lowering his stance, Lars prepared to take the offensive once more; prepared to take a life-and-death gamble with his best-friend - now his partner in this dance to the death.

* * * * *

[3 minutes earlier]

"Number 14 - Larsson! Number 6 - Gardner!" The scar-faced arena invigilator called out harshly; striking fear into the normally fearless trainees. All the trainees released a collective sigh of relief; glad that their names were not called; that they would live to see another day.

Except for Lars and Gardner.

Lars swallowed all his emotions; forcing his nervous face to look composed; killing his heart as he had been taught to since being sold to the Sea of Sands. He exchanged a quick glance with his best friend and opponent, Samuel Gardner; then stilled his jitters; desperately keeping the tremors and b.u.t.terflies in his stomach from rising up. He could afford no signs of weakness; or the invigilator might just execute him for being a "lily-livered coward".

He drew upon what he had learned and calmed his heart - and his hands. Things he had learned to do for many years in the Arena of Valour.

Despite the glamorous name; the Arena of Valour had nothing to do with valour - it was a place of death, darkness and cruelty. It was a place where child slaves were brought to be trained into fighters; trained in every form of weapon, killing art and facet of combat from their childhood. If you discounted that they were not taught any arcane arts; there was no form of murder that the child trainees were not masters of.

They were turned from sweet-natured; innocent and pure children into monsters - emotionless killing machines.

Except; not all of them were devoid of emotions.

Lars was one of those who still retained a heart - buried somewhere deep inside; only unveiled to those closest to him; others who still kept their humanity beneath their cold, ruthless exteriors.

And another one of them being Gardner, his best friend who had protected him, mentored him and shown him the ropes to survive in this h.e.l.lhole. It was now some days or months after Lars' 14th birthday, the actual date unknown.

He only knew that he had been here for more than 9 years now - since the tender age of 5.

And the big-hearted, red-headed Gardner was also ranked number 6 in the weekly rankings. Lars himself was only number 14.

Lars stood up when his name was called; the thin, wiry and slightly malnourished boy silently shuffled over to the entrance of the combat ring.

He was handsome; with a smooth; squarish face, clear eyes that would drown the beholder and soft and short golden hair. All features that made him the perfect target for bullying in the Arenas. In fact, if not for him being slightly too thin (a facade he used to hide his inhuman strength), he could be mistaken as a fallen prince or enslaved n.o.ble scion!

He stepped into the ring, standing in a designated circle - the waiting area for "contestants".

He had stood in this same spot thousands of times before; facing off against each and every one of the trainees dozens of times - both for training and to settle arguments with violence - most often, Lars came out on top. By now, he was familiar with all of his fellow trainee's habits, strengths, and weaknesses - and used them to his advantage.

But the most familiar opponent of all was the one he was about to face - Samuel Gardner - his training partner day in, day out.

His best friend of these tortuous 7 years.

Today, there would no concept of friends.h.i.+p in the ring.

It was no longer training, no longer sparring for learning or growth.

All that mattered was survival.

The invigilator clapped his hands. At this signal, the stewards dropped the metal barriers, sealing off the only entrance to the combat area.

Lars and Gardner looked each other in the eyes, then bowed slightly to one another.

Then they took their combat poses; ready for the fight to begin.

*Clap clap!*

It was the signal to start.

Before the second clap could even fade; the smaller, shorter and faster Lars had already crossed half the 10m distance separating the two boys. He kept his stance low; twin daggers held tightly in reverse grip.

Gardner remained in his original pose; defaulting to his style of defence and counter-attacks - an effective strategy against a faster opponent; to wear him out with small, solid parries and dodges. He stood with his left foot in front; slightly angled to reduce the surface area his opponent could strike.

The brown-haired Lars darted forward; entering attacking range. Gardner lowered his left dagger to guard against attacks from below; while keeping his right dagger above his head; pointed forward and guarding the middle and higher zones.

Their daggers clashed more than 10 times in 2 seconds; going through the usual pattern of feeling each other out - just like they had countless times in their spars.

Then, utilising his greater agility and speed; the thin, brown-haired boy twisted his wrists; changing the angle of his daggers and skipping away from the larger boy's defence. He managed to land two long gashes on Gardner's shoulders, shocking the boy; before jumping backward; using his superior speed for a hit-and-run tactic.

'You want a battle of attrition? I'll show you my new strategy - created just for cracking open your vaunted guard stance!' He sprung backwards to safety; away from the redhead's attacking range and prepared to dart in again to slow whittle away at his opponent's defences.

Or so he thought.

Gardner's face changed from one of feigned shock to a confident, chilling smile. Then his right leg bent, and he kicked off the ground with uncanny speed - speed far exceeding Lars'.

Speed great enough that he far exceeded even rank number 4's Kaido; the so-called fastest trainee.

Speed great enough to land a near-lethal strike on Lars' shoulder; cutting into his bone and severing tendons and muscles.

"Urgh!" He would have screamed louder if not for his toughness built up from years of being cut and beaten b.l.o.o.d.y. Instead, he just let out a grunt; incongruent with how serious his injury was.

And incongruent with his situation - one in which only one outcome awaited him if he could not turn things around.

The cold embrace of the grave.

* * * * *

[In the present]

'Gardner looks winded from the move earlier... looks like he's trying to hide it... Or is he feinting fatigue to lure me in? Can he use that super-speed freely? Or are there limitations...? I... I don't know...' Lars a.n.a.lysed his opponent again and again; an adversary that he thought he knew well. But seconds ago, he realised that he probably knew nothing of the true Gardner; and his true skills.

Perhaps his 6th rank position had just been him hiding his strength all along.

Regardless of whether Lars could suss out his foe's strategy and trump cards or not; he had only 1 choice - kill or be killed.