A few days had finally passed, and Steven was now fully healed from his injuries, and as he did, his plan immediately set into motion.

The noise of thundering boots echoed through the entire corridor, heavy and oppressive, and the usual two guards that came to select people to battle in the Colosseum arrived at Steven’s cell.

Not particularly for Steven, but for Scribe, since he was scheduled to fight today. But as they stepped in to drag the cowering old man to his feet and out of the cage, Steven stood in the way of the two guards, startling them.

The first guard furrowed his eyes, his hand instinctively falling to the hilt of his blade, his lips twisting into a frown.

"And what might you want... Rat?" The man made sure to stress the last part.

But Steven did not budge. He let his expression remain unreadable, blank and withdrawn, "Can I take today’s battle?"

The guards’ eyeballs nearly grew in their sockets at what Steven had said, the first one letting go of his hilt and holding his gut as he began to laugh.

"Hahahaha! What the hell is this joke?" the man boomed, his laughter echoing against the cold stone walls.

The other simply let his lips curl as he stepped forward, his right hand resting on Steven’s shoulder. Then he winked at him, a twisted expression carved into his countenance.

"You humor me, Rat." His eyes trailed from Steven’s face down to his frail body for a moment, and the guard’s grin widened even further.

"Putting on some weight, are we? This is the first time in, I think... a hundred years."

The guard commented swiftly, striking at Steven’s gut with a clenched fist.

The blow caused the young man to stagger and fall to his knees, kowtowing as his insides throbbed violently from the impact. He could have blocked the attack, could have reacted faster, but he knew for his plan to work, he had to take such beatings.

The guard who had hit him wore a twisted grin.

"Did I hit you too hard, scum?!"

Steven did not answer as he struggled to catch his breath, air burning through his lungs. And when he finally managed to steady himself, he straightened and stared at the two torturous guards already making their way toward Scribe after having their fun with him.

Then he spoke, his voice calm despite the pain.

"What if I make it worth your while?"

Hearing him, the two guards turned around to see Steven holding something in his hand, the chunk of Ark’shaRin he had gotten from Scribe.

At the sight of the flesh, a strange atmosphere descended upon the two men. They found it difficult to look away, their eyes transfixed on the chunk in Steven’s grasp, their throats visibly tightening.

’I figured these fools are no different from us slaves,’ Steven thought coldly. ’Made to live in this foul stench, and despite not having to fight, they have a low supply of the Deity’s body. That’s why they are not as fat as the high-class pigs.’

Steven grinned deep within himself. ’I’ve got these bastards in my hands now.’

The two guards, without hesitation, obediently walked up to Steven, their faces tense with worry. Still, they did not resist as they took the chunk from him and guided him out of the cell—not Scribe.

And as they did this, a new notification popped up before Steven’s eyes.

{First Title Gained}

{Title: Puppeteer}

{This is a borrowed title. No reward will be given for acquiring the title}

{Description: At first, you commanded the lowly. Now, you manipulate your masters. Just like the Sea Deity Ark’shaRin has puppeted the Fated Colosseum, you have stolen two of his puppets as your own}

{Note: Since these are borrowed puppets, they can still be seized by the true owner}

Steven read the notification slowly, his face growing bright with enlightenment. But for now, he could not dwell on it, because at this moment, he was headed to the Colosseum for another life-threatening battle.

Reaching the rack of weapons, Steven selected his usual equipment: a light chest plate, a pair of gauntlets, and a set of dual daggers, which he strapped securely around his waist.

And when he was ready, the metal door reeled upward, welcoming him into the blinding lights of the Colosseum. The mighty, reverent cheers from the crowd crashed into Steven’s ears with deafening force.

He had grown accustomed to the sound and basically ignored it, his gaze instead landing on the people already present in the arena.

Because of the time he had taken, creating trouble with the guards, he appeared to be the last one there. At his entrance, all the people in the arena turned to look at him.

’Yes, watch, you bunch of gallant fools,’ Steven mocked inwardly as he scanned the faces of his supposed team up until his eyes settled on an expected figure.

It was the dashing blond man, Drake, dressed in his usual armor, carrying his mighty sword, a smug look etched onto his face as though he were better than everyone else.

The glorified fatso.

Steven approached Drake and smiled.

"We finally meet."

Drake furrowed his brows, confused by Steven’s excitement, and replied awkwardly,

"Yes, I guess."

Steven nodded, walking forward a little until he stood a few feet past Drake. Then he spoke again, his voice low.

"Do you trust me?"

Drake grunted at the question, craning his neck to look at Steven properly. His eyes narrowed. At first, he seemed ready to oppose whatever Steven was about to say, but the longer he stayed silent, the more his expression dissolved, his resistance fading.

Then, blindly, he replied, "Yes."

With that reply, Steven nodded, his smile dying almost immediately. His throat went dry as he exhaled deeply. Then he raised both his hands high into the air, clearly visible to all, as though it were some kind of signal to the entire audience of the Colosseum.

At his action, the entire Colosseum fell silent, the violent roars of the crowd dying into deliberate, utter shock at what they were witnessing.

It was a rare occurrence, something not seen in decades and yet it was being displayed today.

The other slaves in the arena were also frozen in shock, fully understanding the bold no, daring move being pulled before their eyes.

Steven frowned at the overwhelming attention as he opened his mouth and wrenched out the words that sealed his fate.

"I challenge the Champion!"