Henry thought his life had changed.
But something felt... off.
His Aspect was still loading, yet an uneasy sensation crawled through his body.
It felt wrong.
Too light. Too exposed.
Egon slowly lowered his gaze toward himself.
And froze.
He was nearly naked.
A thin strip of cloth barely covered his groin, offering almost no protection or dignity.
"What the actual...?"
Before he could even process the situation, a deafening roar erupted around him.
Cheers.
Wild. Frenzied. Hungry.
The sound crashed into him like a tidal wave.
Egon’s head snapped up.
He stood at the center of a colossal arena. Towering pillars of dark stone surrounded him, etched with ancient markings.
Massive banners swayed above, bearing unfamiliar emblems stained with time and blood.
And beyond that...
Thousands.
No, tens of thousands of spectators filled the stands, their eyes locked onto him.
The cheers were not for him.
They were for what he represented.
A spectacle. A slaughter.
Then it hit him.
A translucent window flickered into existence before his eyes.
Aspect: [ Sword Slave ]
Status:
[ Name: Egon Novos ]
[ Species: Human ]
[ True Name: — ]
[ Rank: Journeyman ]
[ Soul Cores: None ]
[ Traits: Envy | Omniscient Viewpoint ]
[ Aspect: Sword Slave ]
– Sword Slave: Among slaves, Sword Slaves are the most wretched. Tools of war, bound to obey, destined to bleed.
Cold sweat trickled down Egon’s spine.
Sword Slave?
That sounded utterly ridiculous.
No Soul Cores. No abilities. No preparation.
Nothing.
He slowly lifted his gaze.
At the other end of the arena stood his opponent.
He was a massive man, body covered in scars that told stories of countless battles.
His chest was bare, muscles bulging like coiled steel. In his hand rested a heavy, battle-worn axe.
He looked less like a man and more like a predator.
A hunter who had long since grown accustomed to killing.
And Henry?
He stood there like prey.
Half-naked. Unarmed in skill. Completely out of place.
"This isn’t fair..." Henry muttered under his breath, bitterness creeping into his voice.
The crowd only grew louder, their excitement reaching a fever pitch.
They wanted blood.
His blood.
His fingers tightened around the sword in his hand.
Plain steel.
Unremarkable.
Slightly heavier than he expected.
But it was all he had.
Back when he used to read novels, he imagined moments like this.
Standing in an arena.
Holding a weapon. Fighting for survival.
It had always seemed thrilling. Exciting. Heroic.
But now?
Now it was suffocating.
The hard reality crushed those fantasies instantly.
Fear coiled tightly around his chest, making it hard to breathe.
Still...
If he wanted to live, he had to fight.
He had to survive.
Only then could he hope for something better.
His thoughts raced.
If he remembered correctly, the protagonist of Combat Slave Harem had started like this.
A Sword Slave.
Thrown into the arena. Forced to fight. But that man had advantages.
Striking Fave. Noble bloodline. Hidden potential.
Egon had none of those.
Still...
Maybe this was his chance.
Maybe he was close to the protagonist.
Maybe he could take it.
His luck. His fate. And make it his own.
His grip on the sword tightened.
Today, he could not die.
No matter what.
"Begin!"
The command echoed across the arena like a death sentence.
The crowd roared. "KILLL!"
But to Egon, everything sounded distant, muffled, like he was submerged underwater.
His opponent cracked his neck slowly.
A cruel grin spread across his face.
He wasn’t rushing. He was savoring this.
Savoring Egon’s fear.
Egon raised his sword, though the tip trembled slightly. His knees threatened to give out, but he forced them steady.
Then—
The man moved.
Like a charging beast.
The one they called Hercules surged forward, each step pounding against the ground like thunder.
Egon didn’t hesitate.
He turned and ran.
Immediately, the crowd erupted in boos.
"Coward!"
"Pathetic!"
"Run faster, rat!"
Their voices blended into a storm of ridicule.
But Egon didn’t care.
Survival came first.
Clutching the sword tightly, his eyes darted around the arena, searching desperately for an escape.
There was none.
The arena was sealed.
A cage designed for death.
His heart pounded violently in his chest.
"Haha... how long are you going to run?" Hercules called out, his voice filled with amusement.
"Those legs won’t save you."
Egon pushed harder, ignoring the burning in his muscles.
But it wasn’t enough.
"Too slow."
The axe swung.
A deadly arc cutting through the air behind him.
Egon felt it.
The presence of death.
Closer than ever.
Then—
Something changed.
A sharp notification appeared before his eyes.
[ Trait: The Omniscient Viewpoint – Activated ]
His vision flickered.
And in the next instant...
His perspective shifted.
Egon was no longer inside his own body.
He was above it.
Watching.
Like a detached observer.
He could see everything.
His own figure.
The charging Hercules.
The axe.
Its exact trajectory.
The precise point where it would strike his back.
Time slowed.
No—
It nearly stopped.
The world crawled forward in fragments.
Every movement became clear. Every detail revealed.
For the first time since arriving in this world, Egon saw death coming.
But he had the time to react.
So he did.
He braced his destiny.