Night had already fallen.
It had been three years since Elias had been branded and sold as a slave.
The bandit hideout was quiet—everyone had retreated to their rooms, except for a few guards patrolling the area for security.
In the stable near the edge of the farm, a young boy, shackles on his ankles, swung a wooden stick through the air like a sword.
It was Elias.
Now eight years old, he had grown taller. His hair had grown long, covering the nape of his neck, and his bangs now nearly touched his eyes. His jet-black eyes were still the same—but now they carried a sharper determination, a fiercer ambition, and a strength born of pain.
His body had developed strong muscles, a testament to the years of relentless labor.
Breathing heavily, Elias finally dropped the stick and collapsed onto a pile of hay, sweat dripping from his brow.
He took off his shirt to cool down and stared at the ceiling, hands behind his head.
He had grown immensely over the past three years, both physically and magically.
Once, he had only been able to wield wind and earth elements, with limited healing and transformation techniques.
But that had never been enough.
So whenever he had the chance, he meditated—desperately trying to attune himself to more elements.
In time, he discovered he also had affinity for lightning, water, and ice.
Not only that, but his regenerative abilities were beyond extraordinary.
Despite being whipped, beaten, and forced to labor in chains, there wasn't a single scar or mark on his body.
Even though he was only fed every other day and allowed to sleep four hours a night, his body never weakened. His eyes never dulled. He never even fell ill.
Elias had learned to survive without relying on sleep, food, or water.
There weren't even calluses on his hands. His skin, though covered in dirt and torn clothes from working in forests and mines, remained as pure as the day he was born.
At first, this frightened him.
But with time, he accepted it.
So he began training harder during the nights.
One day, he realized that the stones mined from the caves were actually elemental crystals—used by nobles to expand their sangra pools and improve their abilities.
So, whenever he could steal a few without being noticed, he used them to strengthen his lightning and ice sangra.
When caught, he was beaten, whipped, or had his nails pulled—but nothing more.
They didn't fear killing him.
They knew he wouldn't die.
And Elias relied on that.
Beyond elemental growth, he had also trained in swordsmanship and martial arts.
He was now stronger—far stronger—than ever before.
He had begun mastering sangra and developed at least one or two techniques for each element he could wield.
And yet, none of the guards or wardens suspected a thing.
"Still..." Elias thought,
"I can't let these powers control me."
He had noticed something strange.
The more he trained, the more it felt like he was forming... a contract with each element.
"No. That's ridiculous. None of my techniques have gone beyond level three," he reassured himself, brushing his hair back.
"I'm still not sure I'm ready… These bandits keep recruiting stronger men."
"If they all come at me… could I really defeat them?
And that bastard—he left three years ago and hasn't returned.
If I want to kill him, I have to wait for him to come back. I need to wait for the right moment.
Until then, maybe I can test my strength in Ludus Cruoris.
I hope… everything goes according to plan."
"Damn it…"
Letting his hands fall beside him, Elias closed his eyes and drifted into memories of Edward and Clara—faces he was beginning to forget—and slowly fell asleep.
---
When he opened his eyes, he saw a man walking through a void.
His long, snow-white hair reached past his shoulders.
His back was turned, and he wore a flowing white robe.
Surrounding him were countless portals. The rest was… just endless emptiness.
Elias jolted awake, sweat clinging to his skin.
He wiped his face and looked out through the iron-barred window.
"These dreams… they've been happening more and more lately."
He took a deep breath.
"Sleep just doesn't feel restful anymore."
He recalled the past three years.
He had formed bonds with the other slaves—helped them when he could.
He knew many had suffered like he had—perhaps even worse.
While Elias endured chains and beatings, the others suffered from illness, hunger, and thirst—while also enduring the cruelty of the guards.
None of the slavers wanted to pay for them, so they were kept here, working for nothing.
"I used to think I was the one suffering most in this world," he thought.
"But now I see... some people carry pain far deeper than mine."
---
As the sun rose, the world stirred back to life.
In the forest, slaves were already chopping wood, swinging axes in sweat-soaked silence.
Unlike the night before, Elias had tied his hair into a ponytail.
He brought down trees with a single strike.
With a special ability he'd developed—an instinctive sense—he observed every movement in his surroundings.
Five guards kept watch, cruel and merciless.
They kicked down those who collapsed and shouted at anyone who moved too slow.
"Just another day," Elias thought, felling another tree with one blow.
Under the scorching sun, the guards granted only a one-hour break.
In the shadows, the exhausted slaves were given a single cup of water.
Elias gave his share to an old man.
He had also used his healing technique to treat the sick and injured—but it couldn't fix fatigue or hunger.
He knew that.
But when the time came—when he escaped—he would help all of them escape.
---
Meanwhile, the man who had left three years ago—Hedric—had finally returned from the capital.
He now wore a pale blue armor, bearing the crest of a noble house.
His hair, longer now, fell freely over his shoulders—unlike Elias, who tied his back.
His eyes remained a piercing ice-blue.
At his side hung an ornate, expensive sword.
As he removed his gloves, he headed toward the bandit leader's cabin.
Inside, Victor was flirting with a slave woman.
The half-naked woman hurried to fix her clothes and slipped out the back door.
Victor, seated in his bear-fur-covered throne, grinned as he stroked his beard.
"Hey, kid. Didn't they teach you to knock before barging in?" he said smugly.
"Disgusting as always, Victor." Hedric covered his mouth with a handkerchief, sneering.
Then he asked,
"What about the boy? Ludus Cruoris is in a week."
"Don't worry. I saw him three days ago.
Mining and logging have toughened him up nicely.
He's got one hell of a body. I'm sure he'll make it to the finals," Victor replied, a smug confidence in his voice.
He chewed on a piece of hay, eyes gleaming with a "You owe me" expression.
Hedric smirked faintly and rested his chin on his hand.
"Good. Then let's show those arrogant fools what a real monster looks like."
---
Evening came.
Exhausted slaves shuffled toward their quarters.
Elias walked beside a man in his thirties, supporting him with an arm over his shoulder.
When they reached the farm, the guards separated Elias and dragged him back to the stable—a place barely bigger than a shed.
They shackled his feet and locked the door behind him, sealing it with two, no—three—heavy locks.
Sitting on the floor, Elias sighed.
"Another day over…"
He crossed his legs and began to meditate.
But suddenly—his senses, sharpened beyond human limits—picked up a powerful ice sangra nearby.
He gritted his teeth. His brows furrowed.
He looked toward the door, like a beast staring out from its cage, eager to pounce.
"So… you've finally returned, Hedric."