Lord Kohali's power continued to expand. Over the past few years, he had built ports, warehouses, gambling dens, and even small salt mines on the Whitesand border, all while tightening his grip on slavery in Blacksand. But his latest business empire revolved around one centerpiece: a combat arena known as Ebeagha Arena—a place where strength met coin, and where the lower class was kept in check under the illusion of entertainment.
One overcast morning, Damerius was summoned to the grand hall of Lord Kohali's estate.
"Damerius," Kohali said, reclining on a tall chair carved in Larfexian style, "you've worked for me for five years now. And I'm not blind. You're no ordinary slave."
Damerius bowed respectfully. "I'm only doing my duty, my Lord."
Kohali grinned. "Duty, is it? Then I have a new task for you. You'll go to Patisia. I've secured permission from the regional lord, Master Meruz. Meet with merchant Nicolo and take charge of the arena we're building there. This is the Kronos badge." He handed over a large metal plate bearing a three-eyed emblem. "You'll carry our name. Find fighters. Train them. Use them to secure our trade."
Without hesitation, Damerius accepted the badge. "I'll leave today."
Two days later, he arrived at Patisia's gate. The iron carriage he rode came to a halt in front of Lord Nicolo's main hall—a grand three-story building with marble pillars scarred by time.
Damerius stepped down in simple clothing, and immediately the merchants lounging on the veranda gave him condescending glances.
"A slave?" one of them muttered. "Lord Kohali sent a slave?"
Another laughed. "What do they think we are? Stable hands?"
Lord Nicolo tried to intervene. "Calm down, brothers. Perhaps… he's trusted."
"Trusted? He's wearing rags on his feet! This is an insult."
Damerius said nothing. He knew his job wasn't to argue, but to get things done. Inside the meeting hall, he sat in a small chair while the merchants spoke as if he weren't even there.
"Listen, Lord Nicolo," one merchant said. "If this is how Kohali does business, I'm out. I'd rather move my investment to Lord Toish's arena."
"Exactly! Toish's Ebeagha Arena is grand. Classy. Exclusive. Only nobles are allowed to watch."
One by one, they left the room.
Lord Nicolo let out a long sigh. "You heard them."
"I did," Damerius replied flatly. "But I'm not here to please merchants. I'm here to build an arena—not just for the rich, but for the people who hunger for justice and opportunity."
Nicolo eyed him sharply. "You're a slave, but you speak like a man who owns a throne."
Damerius didn't reply. He knew saying more would only invite danger.
That night, he got to work. He drafted a plan for an alternative combat arena—simple, but adaptable. Entry fees were low. Anyone could fight—as long as they passed a physical test. The match system was designed to be progressive. Winners received small prizes, and the best were recruited as mercenaries for Kohali's territories.
At first, few came. But within a week, the poor, the jobless, even ex-soldiers started lining up.
"Your name?" Damerius asked an older man whose body was covered in scars.
"Zet. Former soldier. Now I break rocks for a living."
"Can you carry a shield?"
"Two, if you like."
"Approved. You'll fight tomorrow."
On the sidelines, Lord Nicolo's view began to shift. He watched the arena fill. People came not just to gamble, but to witness hope. They watched ordinary folk climb into the ring and fight—not because they were ordered to, but because they chose to.
One day, Nicolo approached Damerius at the edge of the arena. "I never thought... this place would come alive. It's more vibrant than Lord Toish's fancy Ebeagha Arena."
Damerius answered simply, "Because this one belongs to us—and to them, the common folk."
Back in Blacksand, Kohali seemed pleased. He read Damerius's reports, saw the growing number of fighters and the steady profits.
"He knows what he's doing," Kohali muttered, smiling. "Even better than I expected."
But for Damerius, this wasn't about profit. He was building a system from the ground up, piece by piece. He began forming small training units, organizing guards, and preparing strategies for defending towns. In his mind, this arena wasn't just a battlefield—it was the seed of a people's militia.
Then came the day Lord Toish responded.
"That arena... it's a nuisance," he told his advisors. "If we let it grow, the people will think they can rise. We must crush it before it spreads."
Toish began sending spies, planting fake fighters, and spreading rumors that Damerius's arena was unsafe. But Damerius was prepared. He had not only fighters, but the people's trust.
The arena that had once been ridiculed had now become a new center of power. For Nicolo, it became a symbol of his territory's rise. For Kohali, it was a power machine. But for Damerius, it was the beginning of resistance—not through swords alone, but through trust, courage, and hard work.
Damerius's success in managing Ebeagha Arena began to spread. Patisia, once a poor region that still relied on barter, slowly transformed. With the introduction of entry tickets costing just one en, people began to accept money as a legitimate means of exchange. Many among the lower class were willing to set aside part of their daily earnings just to watch the battles in the arena.
"We used to trade fish for bread," said a drink vendor in front of the arena. "Now? Everything is paid with money. It's more certain."
From the window of his small office, Damerius observed the change. He recorded all income and scheduled the fights meticulously. Ebeagha Arena had become more than entertainment—it had turned into a new engine of economic movement.
One night, while tallying ticket sales, Lord Nicolo approached.
"Attendance rose again today," he said, glancing out over the now-empty arena. "You know, I never imagined Kohali's slave would change the face of Patisia."
Damerius didn't respond right away. He gave a faint smile and replied,
"Because it's not status that changes the world... it's action."
Nicolo patted his shoulder. "You're no longer just the arena manager. You've become a part of this region's politics now." Bottom of FormTop of FormBottom of Form
Indeed, for several months now, every winner in the second tier of the arena was required to sign a work contract. They were appointed as guards or specialists to strengthen Lord Nicolo's political position. The top champions, meanwhile, earned the chance to become elite guards under Lord Kohali himself. This scheme gave many commoners the opportunity to climb the social ladder. For some, it was the path to a better life.
At the same time, Damerius was receiving substantial support from Lord Kohali. A reward of 1,000 en for each fighter sent every month was enough to cover his mother's medical expenses and expand his fighter training program. Kohali had also arranged for the best recruits trained by Damerius to be transferred into Lord Meruz's imperial forces—a political strategy that benefited all parties involved.
However, Damerius realized one critical flaw: the arena's selection system still wasn't fair. Many fighters from wealthy families hired private trainers, purchased their own weapons, and ultimately won due to their superior resources. This led Damerius to design a free basic training program for underprivileged fighters with potential—while at the same time imposing higher registration fees on wealthy families who wished to participate.
One evening, he discussed the plan with Nicolo in the meeting room.
"We need balanced training," Damerius said firmly. "If we want real strength, our fighters need to be built from the ground up—not bought with gold."
Nicolo looked hesitant. "But that would cost a lot, Damerius."
"This arena is already profitable. We'll cover the cost by charging higher entry fees to wealthy families. It's time their money went back to the people."
On the other side, Lord Meruz, watching from afar, appeared satisfied. He didn't care who was selected as fighters. For him, quantity was all that mattered. The more soldiers available, the more power he could control.
But for Damerius, it was never just about numbers. He had his own goal—to earn his freedom and return his mother to safety. Every battle in the arena, every economic decision, was a piece of a larger plan he was quietly building.
The popularity of Ebeagha Arena continued to grow. People didn't just come to gamble—they came to hope. They watched because they wanted to be part of a change. This inspired Damerius to expand the arena into something more than a battleground.
He established small economic training booths, opened shops that sold basic goods at fixed prices, and created a barter system based on value. Every form of labor was rewarded with currency—not promises. It taught people the value of effort. Everything fell under Damerius's growing business model—he funded, launched, and sustained the cycle of successful enterprises.
But this success did not go unnoticed by Lord Toish, the most powerful ruler in Patisia. He scoffed at Ebeagha Arena, calling it a "night market," and declared before his merchants:
"That place is too cheap. It's swarming with commoners. That's not an arena… it's a horse bazaar."
Yet Damerius remained unfazed. Instead, he used the insult as fuel to push further. During an internal meeting with his team, he said clearly:
"If they say our arena is beneath them… let them. Because true strength is built from the bottom."
His fighters stood up at his words. One of them, a former stonemason named Jalif, spoke up, "You didn't just open a door for us, Damerius. You taught us how to stand tall."
Nicolo, witnessing the transformation firsthand, began to see Damerius in a different light. He no longer called him "Kohali's slave," but instead referred to him as "the leader of Ebeagha." On several occasions, he even proposed a long-term partnership—offering Damerius a share in the arena's ownership.
But for Damerius, it still wasn't enough. He was still a slave. His mother was still under surveillance. And the world beyond Patisia remained in the hands of people like Empress Xienna—and in Patisia itself, Lord Toish remained the most dominant force.
Yet Damerius knew one thing: if this arena could change the lives of hundreds, then one day, it could change his too. He just needed to keep moving forward—keep using the system—until the time came to reclaim what was rightfully his.