The arena gates slammed shut with a crash that echoed like thunder. Thousands of voices screamed at once, merging into a single deafening roar of bloodlust. For the spectators, what was about to happen was neither a tragedy nor an execution. It was an ordinary Tuesday.

  On the sun-scorched sands stood two figures: Kubo and Yaat. The announcer’s voice boomed across the arena like thunder:

  “BEGIN!”

  Kubo drew his black sword in one swift motion. The blade shimmered faintly. He took a deep breath. Mist gathered around him. Droplets began to spin, accelerating into a vortex of needle-sharp rain.

  “I can do this,” Kubo whispered, his voice trembling. “I have to survive… for my mother.”

  Across from him, Yaat stood completely motionless. His black robe fluttered lightly in the wind, his shadow stretching across the sand. His wounded mouth was twisted into a permanent grin. His eyes were like empty, sunken pits.

  Suddenly, Yaat stepped forward.

  And stumbled.

  His foot caught on the hem of his own robe. His arms flailed like a scarecrow as he tried to regain his balance. The crowd burst into laughter.

  “Look at him!”

  “He can’t even walk!”

  “Kill him, Orange Boy! End that pathetic thing!”

  Kubo released all the fear and rage he had swallowed in the cell with a scream.

  “I WILL NOT DIE HERE! TEARS OF THE DESERT!”

  Mana exploded from his slender body. The pale blue sky above the arena darkened instantly. Gray clouds spiraled into existence, converging directly above the pit. A single raindrop fell.

  Then another.

  And then a downpour began.

  Kubo did not wait. He attacked along with the rain.

  His sword swung in a wide arc, launching rain and wind forward like a slicing strike. Needle-sharp droplets surrounded Yaat, tearing through the air. Yet despite Kubo’s relentless assault, Yaat was not hit even once. His movements were impossibly smooth, as if he were dancing with the wind.

  As he avoided the attacks, the ground beneath Yaat began to tremble. The sand split where he stepped. A deep crater opened as though the earth itself were tearing apart. Yaat vanished behind a cloud of dust.

  “I SEE YOU, COWARD! EVERY RAINDROP THAT FALLS IS MY EYE!” Kubo shouted.

  Through the rain, he could sense every movement. Though the anxiety inside him slowly faded, he wanted to end the battle quickly. A prolonged fight against someone as unpredictable as Yaat could lead to disastrous results. He prepared his final attack. This was the strongest technique he had. He concentrated his mana into his sword. Every falling raindrop began to dance around the blade. Coated in rain and mana, the sword trembled with power.

  When the dust cleared, Yaat appeared.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Yaat said, his voice trembling.

  But Kubo did not listen. In his mind, victory was already certain. He pointed his sword straight at Yaat. The rain froze midair. Every dancing droplet converged onto Kubo’s blade. He was about to attempt a technique that was dangerously powerful yet equally risky. The clouds above shifted color, lightning striking around the arena.

  “I only have one chance!”

  He took a deep breath.

  And swung with all his strength.

  “FURY OF THE STORM!”

  All the gathered water surged forward like a colossal cleaving slash. The arena split as though cut by a blade, deep marks carving into the walls. Even the clouds themselves were torn in two. Nothing solid remained untouched.

  Having exhausted all his mana, Kubo nearly collapsed. He drove his sword into the ground to keep himself standing.

  “Yaat… is gone. Did I win?”

  His eyes scanned the arena. He could not see him. Even the clouds had been split apart. Yaat could not have survived.

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  “I won… I WON!”

  His chest burned. Even breathing hurt, yet he smiled. He steadied his trembling legs by leaning on his sword.

  “I did it. I did it! I DID IT, MOTHER!”

  For a moment, he thought he saw his mother. She was smiling at him through the rain. Look, he wanted to say. I did it. I’m alive.

  As tears streamed down his face, he looked toward the stands. He expected applause. A cheer. His name being shouted.

  But when he looked at the crowd, he realized they weren’t looking at him.

  They were staring at the sky.

  Yaat stood above him.

  There was no hatred in his eyes. Only tired boredom.

  “You’re standing in the wrong place. I think you should run,” Yaat murmured. His voice sounded wet, as if his lungs were filled with water.

  “What?” Kubo gasped, trying to rise.

  “RUN FOR YOUR LIFE.”

  The rain suddenly changed direction. The wind stopped. Thousands of people held their breath at the same time, without knowing why. It was as if the arena itself had sensed what was coming. The stone groaned.

  CREEEAK.

  The sound came from above. At the top of the arena, the massive decorative iron statue shaped like the kingdom’s sun symbol began to sway. The rain Kubo had summoned was heavy. Unnaturally heavy. It had pooled within the cracks of the ancient ceiling. Water seeped into the limestone holding the statue in place. Softened by centuries of neglect and now saturated with magical rain, the stone finally gave way.

  Kubo looked up.

  Rain filled his eyes.

  And through the rain, a massive shadow descended.

  He didn’t even have time to scream.

  Not even time to think of his mother.

  BOOM.

  The impact shook the entire stadium. Sand, water, and iron exploded outward. The crowd fell silent, unable to comprehend what had just happened. For the first few seconds, no one screamed. There were no cries. Only the sound of cooling metal and falling rain.

  Then someone made the first move.

  “YOU FREAK! LONG LIVE THE HARBINGER OF CALAMITY, YAAT!”

  And the arena erupted into a delayed scream.

  When the dust settled, the giant iron sun was embedded in the center of the arena. Beneath it remained only a tuft of orange hair dissolving into rain and red liquid. Yaat stood two fingers away from the fallen statue’s iron ring. He sighed, pulled a handkerchief from his robe, and wiped the mud from his cheek. The rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

  “The winner…” the announcer’s voice trembled, then returned to excitement. “THE WINNER IS YAAT! ONCE AGAIN, HE BRINGS CALAMITY!”

  Yaat did not look back. He did not even glance at the corpse. For him, the match was over. Once again, he had brought calamity and taken a life. He was simply waiting for the next moment. Because that was the only thing he could do.

  The crowd roared. They cheered for blood. They cheered for that grotesque accident.

  In the waiting area, Hope stood motionless, his hands resting on cold iron bars. His expression had not changed.

  “He overdid it,” he muttered.

  “The rain weakened the arena’s structural integrity. He didn’t consider the consequences of his actions. Also, pouring all your power into a single attack and being unable to move afterward is stupid. But that man… Yaat… he knew everything. He avoided every attack and even told Kubo to run, as if he knew the final accident would happen. He’s truly very interesting.”

  “Is that all you have to say?”

  A voice rose from the shadows behind him.

  Hope turned.

  Leaning against the stone wall stood a muscular, bearded man with sandy-colored hair. His upper body was bare, torn pants hanging loosely below. His posture was strange. Too confident.

  “He was your cellmate, wasn’t he?” the man asked. “You spent the night together. He probably told you his tragic story. And now he’s nothing more than red paint staining the sand.”

  He stared into Hope’s eyes, searching for a crack. A tear. A hint of sorrow.

  “Doesn’t it bother you?”

  Hope looked toward the arena. Goblins were scraping Kubo’s remains from the sand for the next match.

  “Why would it?” Hope asked sincerely. “He died.”

  “Yes,” the man said slowly.

  “Everyone will die eventually. Someone or something is always dying,” Hope continued. “I raised dungeon bosses for months. Fed them. Gave them names. Then adventurers came and killed them. Or my bosses killed the adventurers.”

  He shrugged.

  “Death is normal. Kubo’s technique was flawed. He let his emotions take control and ignored environmental hazards. It was his mistake, and it led to his death. Nothing surprising.”

  The muscular man froze. He had expected fear. Anger. Grief. He had not expected post-match analysis.

  “You’re a monster,” he said quietly.

  It was not an insult. He truly seemed like one. As if Hope had no emotions.

  Hope smiled. A bright, innocent smile. But it did not reach his analytical eyes.

  “Thank you! My monsters were very strong. That’s a compliment, right? I read in a book that friends compliment each other.”

  The man blinked, then exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

  “Deniz,” he said, setting rivalry aside. He extended his hand. “I guess we’re friends now.”

  Hope didn’t understand, but he shook his hand anyway.

  “I’m Hope!”

  “Yes, yes, I know. Your name spreads faster than you do.”

  Hope didn’t understand that either.

  “Why is my name spreading?”

  Deniz replied with a crooked smile.

  “You really have no idea, do you? You’re an Architect. You have a special class… one no one else has. If you want to live long enough to analyze another death, listen to me. The barons are watching you. That rain boy was just an appetizer. You’re today’s main course.”

  “I love main courses,” Hope said. “I’m as hungry as a Flame Tyrant right now.”

  Hope paused for a moment, then remembered a question he needed to ask.

  “Why am I special? Why is being an Architect so special?”

  Before Deniz could answer, the magical speakers roared again, shaking even the stones of the waiting chamber.

  “AND NOW! ONE OF TODAY’S MOST ANTICIPATED MATCHES!”

  The heavy doors in front of Hope groaned open. Blinding sunlight flooded in, casting his silhouette into sharp relief.

  “HE DEFIED THE RULES! BROKE THE SYSTEM! CALLS HIMSELF A HERO, BUT WE CALL HIM A CRIMINAL!”

  The crowd erupted. Boos and applause blended together.

  “Hope! Hope! Hope! GIVE IT UP FOR THE ARCHITECT… THE ROMANTIC REBEL… HOPE!”

  Hope stepped into the light. He did not look at Deniz. He did not look at where Kubo had died. He looked at the sun.

  Then at the arena floor.

  For everyone else, it was a battlefield.

  For Hope, it was merely a small obstacle standing between him and Lypin.

  “Wait for me, Lypin. I’m coming,” he whispered.