I have not been a stranger to facing death, but I have never confronted it the way I am now. My opponent is a terrifying half-orc, a homicidal maniac, while I, though modified by Evan Grant, have no combat experience whatsoever. We are simply not on the same level.

Suddenly, the crowd began to stir. The imposing, muscular figure of Tyson Ford appeared before my eyes. He was bare-chested, his bulging muscles intimidating to behold. To call him broad-shouldered and barrel-chested would be an understatement—his physique, combined with his face and long hair, made him look every bit the wild beast ready to pounce.

“L-L-Lion, Lion, good morning, big brother Lion!” My tongue started to twist, and I stammered as I spoke.

Tyson Ford glanced at me, and that icy, mountain-like face suddenly broke into a smile. “Gavin Ford, good morning. I heard you’ve been training under Carter these days. How’s your preparation going?”

He actually called Carter by name!

I turned to look at Carter, only to see his expression was perfectly calm. He nodded slightly at Tyson Ford. In that instant, a sense of having been duped surged through me. I stared blankly at Carter, unable to speak for a long moment.

Carter paid me no further attention, instead turning to walk toward the large chair, his guards following closely behind and sitting neatly on a row of benches.

“Gavin Ford, don’t be surprised. I’ve known Carter for over twenty years. I met him when he was still a child.” Tyson Ford’s voice reached my ears, calm and even, but it stirred up a storm in my heart.

From the very beginning, this was all a game!

Carter gave me hope, only to cruelly snatch it away. In his eyes, I was nothing but a doomed prisoner, an insignificant pawn. I glared fiercely at Carter, ignored Tyson Ford, and leapt onto the rock, steadying myself on the slippery surface.

“Tyson Ford, let’s begin!” I said coldly.

I hate being deceived more than anything. Even though I’m a prisoner, I still have my dignity. I won’t let them look down on me—even if I die, I’ll die with pride.

“Wind, I really admire you!” Evan Grant’s voice suddenly echoed in my mind.

Only then did I remember I still had Evan Grant. She would never deceive me! In that moment, a warm current surged through my heart. I whispered, “Evan Grant, for you, I will not lose. This battle, I fight for you!”

“Wind, I love you!”

Evan Grant was silent for a long time, then suddenly spoke.

Hearing those words, my body trembled involuntarily. I had long forgotten those words—even at the height of passion with Evan Grant, she had never said them to me. But now, it was precisely these words from Evan Grant that filled me with confidence.

“Wind, for me, you must win. Don’t forget, we are one!”

That’s right, Evan Grant and I are one. I will never lose my life! Suddenly, I smiled, and the charging Tyson Ford froze in his tracks.

“Tyson Ford, I’m going to defeat you in three rounds!” I said coldly.

Tyson Ford stared at me in surprise, then after a moment, he too began to smile.

“Alright, Gavin Ford, let me see how you’ll beat me in three rounds!”

I said nothing more, taking a light step back, clenching my fists tightly. I had to land a decisive blow. Even though Carter was toying with me, I believed he wouldn’t lie to me.

Just as I was ready to strike, a figure suddenly rushed into the arena, standing between me and Tyson Ford, shouting, “Pause!”

What the heck? I stared blankly at the guy in front of me, dressed in a white shirt and wearing white gloves, unable to figure out who he was for a long moment.

“I-I-I am the referee for this m-m-match. You—you must—must obey my orders. This m-match will be—will be divided into three rounds, each—each round is three minutes. When I—I say s-stop, you must immediately—immediately—immediately separate…”

He’s a stutterer!

A referee for a prisoner duel? This was the first time I’d ever heard of such a thing. Clearly, both Tyson Ford and I were growing impatient listening to his halting ramble. I could clearly see the twitching muscles on his face.

“…Begin!” the referee suddenly declared.

Before he’d even finished speaking, I saw a huge fist appear before my eyes, followed by the sound of my cheekbone shattering and a wave of excruciating pain.

Tyson Ford had made his move!

No wonder he’s known as the Lion King—not only is he incredibly strong, but his punches are lightning-fast and his movements swift. I couldn’t see his actions at all, let alone block them. In the blink of an eye, I’d lost count of how many blows I’d taken, but the searing pain all over my body told me that this Tyson Ford was truly, damn it, no ordinary opponent.

The corner of my eye split open, blood streaming down my cheek. I lay on the rock, silently assessing my injuries: my cheekbone was shattered, two ribs broken, and a piece of rib had pierced my windpipe, making every breath agonizing.

“One, two, three…” the referee began to count.