Nathan slowly walk to cold stone bed, he took his seat, his hands trembling, his face pale. The fear in his eyes was impossible to hide. The Elf watched him for a while, then slowly stood and walked over to the bars.
"You asked me what I meant earlier," the Elf said in a low voice. "About the Game of Death."
Nathan swallowed hard. "Yeah… What is it exactly?"
The Elf turned to look him squarely in the eye. "It's not just a game. It's a blood sport. Something the Goblins love to watch. The King created it as entertainment, a way to make gold while the rest of us fight for our lives."
Nathan blinked, confused. "People fight in it?"
The Elf nodded. "Yes. You fight until someone dies. Only one of you comes out alive. The other… doesn't walk out at all."
Nathan's jaw dropped slightly. "So People actually die in this so-called game?"
"Yes," the Elf said simply. "That's why it's called the Game of Death. No rules. No mercy. Just survival."
Nathan stood up shakily, his breathing shallow. "But… how can I possibly survive that? I've lost every fight I've ever been in. Twenty-one matches. Twenty-one losses. I've never won. Not once."
The Elf raised an eyebrow. "Twenty-one?" he repeated, surprised.
Nathan nodded slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah. Twenty-one. My wife, Sara, thinks I'm useless. Her mother calls me Mr. Loser. My whole life's been one big failure. Now I'm supposed to fight to the death? I don't stand a chance."
He walked over to the other side of the cell and slumped onto the spare bed, burying his face in his hands.
The Elf stared at him for a moment, then asked, "Are you afraid?"
Nathan didn't answer. His throat was tight with emotion.
"Have you ever trained properly?" the Elf continued. "Not just punching bags and sparring in gyms, but real training?"
Nathan looked up slowly, his eyes red and wet. "I trained hard," he said. "But nothing ever worked. No matter how much I tried, I always lost. People laughed. They called me names. Even my own wife couldn't stand beside me in public."
The Elf folded his arms across his chest and spoke with calm confidence. "Then maybe you didn't have the right teacher."
Nathan gave a faint, bitter laugh. "And who would that be? You?"
"Yes," the Elf said without hesitation. "I've fought in this arena fifteen times. I've never lost."
Nathan's eyes widened. "You mean… you've killed fifteen people?"
The Elf didn't flinch. "I did what I had to do. It was either them or me."
Nathan stood up again, pacing nervously. "This is insane. You're telling me I'll have to fight people to the death? What kind of people?"
The Elf walked closer and lowered his voice. "Not just people like me, Nathan. Giants. Some with two bodies. Others with two heads. Creatures you've never even imagined."
Nathan froze mid-step, staring at him. "Two-headed people? Giants?"
The Elf gave a grim nod. "And some of them are much stronger than they look. The Goblin King loves surprises. The more twisted the opponent, the more money he makes from the crowd."
Nathan ran a hand through his messy hair, panic rising in his chest. "I can't do this," he muttered. "How can I possibly face something like that? I could barely handle getting punched by Richard in front of my wife."
The Elf stepped forward and placed a firm hand on Nathan's shoulder.
"Listen to me," he said calmly but firmly. "You're not that same man anymore. You were thrown into this world for a reason. Maybe it's time you stop being the guy who gives up."
Nathan looked at him, uncertainty swirling in his eyes.
"I can train you," the Elf continued. "I'll teach you how to fight—not just box, but really fight. You'll learn to read your opponent, use your surroundings, and strike with precision. You'll learn survival."
Nathan hesitated. "You really think I can win?"
The Elf's gaze was steady. "Only if you stop believing you're a loser."
Nathan curled up on the edge of the stone bed, knees pulled close to his chest, his fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. His mind was a storm of fear, doubt, and confusion. The strange world he had stumbled into was nothing like the life he knew—no taxis, no streets, no wife calling him a loser under her breath. Just goblins, prison bars, and something called the Game of Death.
"My life's over now," Nathan whispered to himself, voice trembling. "There's no way I can fight giants, two-headed monsters… and survive."
Just then, the Elf, who had been silently watching him from across the cell, stepped forward. His presence was calm but firm, like someone who'd seen too much to ever be afraid again.
"Don't lose hope just yet," the Elf said, his voice low and steady. "I can teach you. Every trick, every strike. You can win every battle, Nathan… and maybe, just maybe, survive until the time for freedom comes."
Nathan slowly looked up. "Freedom?" he echoed, blinking like he hadn't heard the word in years. "There's a chance to… escape?"
The Elf nodded, though his expression remained serious. "It's been on my mind for a long time. But it won't be easy. And it definitely won't happen soon."
"Is it even possible?" Nathan asked, sitting upright now, his voice lined with fragile hope.
"I believe so," the Elf said. "But there's a catch. The Goblin King—he's the key. If he dies, the kingdom might crumble… and that's our chance."
Nathan's eyes widened. "Then… when does he die?"
The Elf let out a dry laugh, more bitter than amused. "No one knows for sure. Could be fifty years. Could be five hundred."
"What?!" Nathan nearly jumped off the bed. "That's… that's insane! I won't survive that long!"
"I know," the Elf said quietly. "That's why we don't wait for death to come to him. We plan. We act."
Nathan stared, confused. "You have a plan?"
"I've been working on one," the Elf replied. "But I couldn't do it alone. Until now, no one's ever been brought to my cell. Now that you're here, we have a chance. But understand this—I won't leave without my people."
"Your people?" Nathan asked, brows furrowing.
The Elf stepped toward the barred window of the cell, his voice distant. "This palace, this kingdom, it was once mine. I am the rightful heir. Prince Logan of Eldoria. I was too caught up in my boxing career… too blind to see my father's end approaching. A Goblin disguised as a healer poisoned him. Took everything from us. My people were captured, turned into slaves. The Goblin King rules now, feeding off our pain."
Nathan sat still, taking in the weight of those words.Prince Logan—turned back to face him.
"When do we start the escape plan?" Nathan asked, a flicker of courage lighting in his chest.
Prince Logan gave a faint smile. "Not yet. First, you need to become a champion in their eyes. We must earn their trust… and you must earn your name in the arena."
Nathan gave a hesitant nod. "So… I start training tomorrow?"
"No," Logan said. "Tonight, you rest. You'll need strength for what's coming."
Nathan sighed and leaned back against the cold stone wall. His legs still trembled, but the weight on his chest had lessened, even if just a little. He looked across the dimly lit cell.
"I'm Nathan," he said quietly.
Prince Logan walked over and extended a hand. "Welcome, Nathan. It's good to finally have someone by my side."
Nathan shook his hand. "It's… good to meet you. Even if it's in the worst place imaginable."
Logan chuckled softly. "You'd be surprised how many great things begin in terrible places."
The dim torchlight flickered against the cold stone walls as Prince Logan led Nathan to a quiet corner of the cell after their exhausting push-up session.
"Sit down," Logan said, motioning to a flat slab of stone that served as a bench.
Nathan sank onto it, his muscles still sore from the day's work. Logan knelt across from him, eyes sharp with focus.
"Boxing will help you survive, yes," Logan began, "but only if you understand that it isn't enough on its own. Not here."
Nathan looked up, confused. "What do you mean? That's all I know."
"That's why I'm teaching you more," Logan said. "Here, the fights aren't just about punches. They're about strategy, footwork, precision—and a willingness to do whatever it takes to stay alive."