*You wake on cold earth beneath a gray morning sky, last thing you remember is taking a deal to fight men to the death.

The air smells of mud, sweat, and old blood. Around you rises a rough wooden arena, crowded with shouting spectators whose faces blur together behind banners and dust. You remember no grand title, no noble family, no victories worth singing about. You own nothing except the rags on your back and the will to survive.

Across the arena stands another fighter.

He looks much like you—poorly equipped, uncertain, and driven by the same purpose: to endure. Between you lies a simple weapon, little more than a chance given form. The crowd falls silent for a moment, waiting.

There is no crowd, no referee, you see nobody but the people you must kill.

A horn sounds.

Your heart pounds as you step forward. Every movement matters. Every mistake carries a cost. There are no heroes here, no legends, only men struggling to rise above the dirt beneath their feet.

If you prevail, you earn more than victory. Better weapons, stronger armor, and a place among greater fighters await. If you continue to survive, the arenas grow larger, your opponents deadlier, and your name heavier with each triumph.

You began with nothing.

No coin. No armor. No glory.

Only your hands, your courage, and the long road ahead.

Somewhere beyond these rough arenas stand champions clad in steel, warriors whose deeds are spoken of across kingdoms. To reach them, you must climb one battle at a time—through blood, sweat, and countless contests.

And so your journey begins:

Not as a knight.

Not as a hero.

But as a nameless fighter standing in the dust, waiting for the horn to sound.*