My Second Chance in Life in Another World-Chapter 65: SUDDEN INTRUSION

THIRD PERSON POV

Let’s return to a previous point in time, right after Will had finished his tenth match.

Inside the administrator’s room of the underground fighting grounds, the dim glow of lanterns flickered against the cracked stone walls. The scent of sweat, blood, and damp wood lingered in the air—a constant reminder of the brutal battles taking place just beyond the thick wooden door. Papers, betting slips, and gold coins were scattered across a worn-out table, where two figures sat deep in conversation.

Ricky leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his sharp eyes narrowing in thought. His dark brown hair was slightly disheveled from stress, and his usually composed demeanor was now riddled with concern. Across from him, Julie sat with one leg crossed over the other, a smirk playing at her lips as she tapped a slender finger against the wooden surface. Her blonde hair, tied in a high ponytail, gleamed under the dim light, and her piercing blue eyes held a calculating glint.

The tension in the air was palpable.

"That Alad... is he truly a devil incarnate?" Ricky muttered, his voice laced with unease as he ran a hand through his hair. His gaze flickered toward the betting board on the wall, where the odds were written in bold strokes. The numbers confirmed what he already suspected—this match was a cruel setup.

Julie tilted her head slightly, contemplating his words. "He’s making that first-year fight fifty people without a break," Ricky continued, his tone growing heavier. "That guy was already weak when he entered the arena. Maybe Alad tortured him beforehand."

Julie exhaled sharply and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "We can’t interfere with the event, or we’ll get into trouble," she reminded him, though there was a slight hesitation in her voice.

Ricky clicked his tongue in frustration. He knew she was right, but the sight of that beaten-down fighter struggling through match after match had planted a seed of doubt in his mind. Was this really just a test of strength, or had Alad taken things too far this time?

"But that’s not all," Ricky said after a moment, his voice lowering as he tapped a stack of papers. "Alad managed to get nearly everyone in the arena to bet their money on this event—almost 200 gold coins in total."

Julie’s eyes sharpened at that, her posture shifting slightly. "What did you say?" she asked, her voice suddenly keen with interest.

"That he got almost everyone to bet their money?" Ricky repeated, confused by her sudden change in demeanor.

"No, after that," Julie pressed, leaning in closer.

Ricky blinked, then answered, "That the total amount of bets for this event is nearly 200 gold coins?"

Julie shot up from her seat, her chair scraping against the stone floor. "That’s it!" she exclaimed, her excitement barely contained.

Ricky frowned, caught off guard. "Why? What’s the problem?"

Julie placed her hands on the table, her mind racing as she pieced together an idea. "You know, we’ve already collected 750 gold coins. We’re short by just 250 gold coins to reach our goal of 1,000 gold coins. This plan could work."

Ricky’s eyebrows knitted together. "And? Are you planning on taking the 200 gold coins from Alad?"

Julie grinned, her expression full of mischief. "Yes! If that guy perseveres and lasts until the 40th match, that means Alad already won."

Ricky tilted his head, still not fully understanding. "Why is that?"

"Just think about it," Julie explained, her tone patient yet filled with amusement. "Is there a single sane person who would bet that guy would last until the 40th match? Everyone is betting on his defeat, round after round. If he actually makes it that far, Alad stands to win everything."

Ricky leaned back, rubbing his chin. "And you think he can last until then?"

Julie’s smirk widened. "Of course. He has beaten Alad before, after all."

The room fell silent for a moment as Ricky considered her words. His fingers drummed against the table, his gaze shifting toward the large hourglass in the corner of the room. The sand continued to slip through, marking the relentless passage of time—just like the fights outside.

"But you know," Ricky finally said, "taking 200 gold coins from Alad only brings us to 950. We’d still be 50 short of our goal. And if we do this, there’s no way Alad would let it slide. He might go straight to the principal and expose this place."

Julie’s eyes gleamed with something dangerous, something far beyond simple greed. "Oh, about that—last week, we, the top card and the top magicians, were called to a meeting," she revealed. "One of the topics was revealing the location of the fighting grounds. The principal offered 50 gold coins to whoever could disclose its whereabouts."

Ricky’s jaw clenched slightly. "Does that mean you’re going to sell the location of the fighting grounds?"

Julie folded her arms, a victorious smile curling her lips. "Of course. Once we’ve secured Alad’s 200 gold coins, before he can turn on us and reveal the location, we’ll be the first to report it. We’ll claim to be spies so we won’t get arrested, and we’ll get 50 gold coins as a reward. It’s a perfect plan."

A low whistle escaped Ricky’s lips. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he gave her an impressed look. "Yeah, it’s a brilliant plan," he admitted, his voice carrying a note of admiration. "But it only works if that guy makes it to the 40th match."

Julie’s fingers traced the edge of a gold coin on the table, her confidence unwavering. "That’s right," she agreed. "We have to believe in him. We’re going to use everyone for the sake of our plan."

As she spoke, the distant roar of the crowd echoed through the stone walls, growing louder as another match concluded. The betting board flickered under the dim lantern light, marking the brutal, calculated game they were playing—where lives were gambled like mere pawns on a board.

And Julie? She was ready to make her move.

***

RICKY’S POV

The matches continued, and the 39th bout had just begun. I leaned against one of the wooden pillars near the betting box, arms crossed, watching the blood-stained arena where that first-year student—Will—continued to fight. Despite his injuries, despite his exhaustion, he still stood, sword in hand, pushing forward like a man with nothing to lose.

A strange feeling twisted in my gut. Guilt.

I never wanted things to play out like this. Using him like this—it didn’t sit right with me. But we had no other choice. Julie and I had planned everything meticulously, and he was simply an unfortunate pawn in our scheme.

Our plan was straightforward: let Will keep fighting, let the crowd stay distracted, and when the 39th match ended, Julie would slip into the administrator’s room and take the 200 gold coins from the betting box.

I glanced around. As expected, the spectators were completely absorbed in the match. The usual roars of excitement and shouts of wagers had long since faded. Most of these gamblers had already lost their bets, and now, they were just watching for the spectacle—for the story of the first-year boy who refused to go down.

By now, it was no longer about money for them. It was about seeing how long he could last.

I clenched my fist.

"The winner of the 39th match is none other than the tenacious Will!" Alad’s voice boomed across the arena, and the crowd erupted into cheers.

Will, panting heavily, remained standing, sword trembling in his grip. Even from this distance, I could see the blood dripping from his left leg, the bruises on his arms, and the way his chest heaved with every breath.

He was barely holding on.

Alad barely let the applause die down before announcing the next fight. This was my cue.

I unsheathed my sword in one smooth motion, feeling the weight of the steel in my grip. Then, with calculated ease, I tossed it into the arena.

The sound of metal clanging against the ground drew every eye in the room toward me. This was the signal. Julie knew what to do.

"Alad!" I called out, making sure my voice carried over the noise of the crowd. "That guy’s sword is almost broken. Let him use mine!"

A murmur rippled through the audience as heads turned, whispers spreading like wildfire. I could feel the eyes of the gamblers and fighters boring into me, confusion and curiosity etched onto their faces.

On the raised platform, Alad narrowed his eyes, his previously amused expression twisting into one of irritation.

"Ricky, what are you doing?" he snapped. "You know it’s against the rules to interfere in the game, especially during an event!"

I met his glare with forced defiance, though my real focus was on the administrator’s room in the corner of my vision. Come on, Julie. Move quickly.

"But look at the guy’s sword," I pressed, pointing toward Will’s battered weapon lying limply in his grip. "It could break any minute!"

Alad’s eyes flicked toward Will’s sword, then back to me. His patience was wearing thin, and I knew I was walking a dangerous line.

"So what?" he shot back, his voice sharp.

Damn. He wasn’t taking the bait easily.

The moment stretched, tension crackling in the air. My heart pounded in my chest—not from fear of Alad, but because I knew I was running out of time.

And then—movement.

In my peripheral vision, I saw it. A quick flash of dark fabric slipping into the administrator’s room. Julie had made it inside.

I exhaled silently. Now, I just had to make sure I didn’t ruin everything.

"N-no, don’t mind me," I muttered hastily, lowering my hands in surrender. "Sorry for interrupting."

Alad shot me a suspicious glare, but with the crowd already growing impatient for the next match, he scoffed and turned his attention back to the fight.

I made my way into the arena, pretending to retrieve my sword.

Will was watching me. His gaze wasn’t sharp or suspicious—it was tired, yet full of something I didn’t deserve.

Gratitude.

He gave me a small, almost imperceptible nod, as if to say, thanks.

I stiffened.

I didn’t deserve that.

He had no idea what I had just done. No idea that I had used him. No idea that while he bled and fought for his survival, I had been plotting something entirely different behind his back.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and bent down, gripping my sword’s hilt tightly. The guilt sat heavy in my chest, but there was no turning back now.

I gave him a small nod in return, then turned and walked off the arena floor.

With every step, my mind churned. Was this really the right thing to do?

The plan had been executed perfectly. Julie would have the money by now. We could finally be free of this place.

But as I passed through the crowd, heading toward the administrator’s room, I couldn’t shake the feeling that somewhere along the way, I had crossed a line I couldn’t undo.

And worse—someone had gotten hurt for it.

***

WILL’S POV

After the unexpected intrusion by an unknown individual, Alad’s temper flared. His expression darkened, but he quickly brushed it off, unwilling to let a minor interruption ruin his precious event. The matches continued, and no one dared to challenge him further.

I had just completed the 49th match.

Only one more to go.

One last fight, and I would finally be free of this nightmare.

But I wasn’t sure if I could even move my body anymore. Every muscle screamed in agony, my limbs felt like lead, and the world around me swayed with each unsteady breath.

My body was in ruins.

I had five deep wounds: two on my left leg, one on my right leg, one on my left arm, and one on my side. Blood trickled from each injury, soaking into my already-torn clothes. My vision blurred for a moment, and I had to steady myself just to remain standing. Every breath I took sent sharp, searing pain through my ribs. I was trembling, barely holding on.

But I needed to endure. Just one more match.

Alad, now back to his usual smug self, raised his arms dramatically, commanding the attention of the entire audience.

"Now, we’ve reached the final and most thrilling round of the event – the ultimate match!" His voice boomed across the fighting grounds, reigniting the crowd’s excitement.

I kept my breathing steady, despite the dizziness creeping in. Who was my final opponent? Another skilled fighter? Some brutal executioner meant to finish me off?

"Without further ado," Alad continued, his lips curling into a sadistic grin, "Will’s fiftieth and final opponent is none other than... me, the great Alad!"

For a moment, my brain failed to process what he had just said.

Alad?

My head snapped up despite my exhaustion, my body going stiff as I watched him confidently step into the arena. The gasps and murmurs from the crowd confirmed that no one had expected this turn of events.

Was he serious?

Alad was my last opponent?

My heart sank.

I could hear the shift in the crowd’s excitement. The gamblers who had lost their money on me were now cheering, their anger turning into bloodthirsty anticipation. They wanted Alad to punish me, to break me as retribution for their losses.

They wanted him to make me suffer.

I gritted my teeth, trying to suppress the hopelessness creeping into my mind. Alad wasn’t just some regular fighter. He was in control of this entire event. He didn’t need to follow any rules.

He could do whatever he wanted.

"Now, let the last match commence!" Alad shouted, unsheathing his sword with a flourish.

I forced myself to move, my shaking hands gripping the hilt of my battered weapon. But as I pulled it free from its sheath, my weakened grip betrayed me.

The sword slipped from my fingers and clattered against the ground.

A deafening silence followed.

Alad let out a loud, mocking laugh. "Hey, what’s happening? Pick it up! I haven’t even made a move, and you’ve already lost?"

The crowd roared with laughter, jeering at my pathetic state. I clenched my teeth, fighting back the shame burning in my chest.

Slowly, I bent down to retrieve my weapon—

And then, pain.

A sudden force slammed into my face, snapping my head backward. I barely had time to register what had happened before my body was thrown off balance.

Alad had kicked me.

The impact nearly knocked me unconscious. My vision swam, black spots dancing at the edges, and I barely managed to keep myself from collapsing completely.

"Hey, stand up!" Alad demanded, his voice dripping with mockery. "I haven’t even used my sword yet!"

Before I could react, another kick came. And then another.

Each blow sent a fresh wave of pain rippling through my already broken body. My ribs felt like they were going to snap, and my wounds throbbed as the relentless assault continued.

I couldn’t even defend myself. I was too weak to raise my arms, too drained to counter.

The crowd cheered for more, their voices blending into a cruel, deafening roar. They weren’t here to see a fight—they were here to watch me get destroyed.

Is this how it ends?

I coughed violently, a sharp pain tearing through my chest. Something warm dripped down my chin, and when I looked down, I saw the dark crimson stain spreading across the ground.

Blood.

Alad took a step back, looking down at his now bloodstained boot with disgust. "Hey! What the heck? Did you do that on purpose?"

Did he seriously think I had a choice?

I barely had time to process his words before something cold pressed against my leg.

A second later, pain.

Unbearable, excruciating pain.

"AAAAAAARRRRGGGGGHHHH!"

A scream tore from my throat, raw and unfiltered. It was a sound I didn’t even recognize as my own, a primal cry of agony that echoed through the entire fighting ground.

Alad had stabbed his sword into my left leg.

The pain was unlike anything I had ever felt. It shot through my entire body, as if my nerves were set ablaze. My vision blurred, my hands clawing at the dirt as I tried to fight the overwhelming urge to pass out.

The crowd erupted in cheers, their hunger for violence finally satisfied.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.

I just wanted it to stop.

I’m going to give up.

I can’t take it anymore.

The pain, the exhaustion, the hopelessness—I was drowning in it all.

Sorry, Crestia...

A bitter thought crept into my mind as my consciousness wavered.

But I can’t take it anymore.

I was about to give up.

I wanted to surrender, to let it all end. But when I tried to speak, no words came out.

My throat tightened, my chest heaved, but all that escaped was a wet, gurgling noise.

I can’t speak...

Something thick blocked my mouth—blood.

It dripped from my lips, warm and metallic, seeping into my already torn clothes. I struggled to breathe, each attempt sending searing pain through my ribs. My body felt like it was shutting down, the world around me fading into a haze of agony and despair.

Alad towered over me, his sadistic grin never wavering. His eyes gleamed with amusement, as if he was thoroughly enjoying my suffering.

"That was a loud one," he chuckled, tilting his head as if contemplating his next move. Then, with a casual tone, he added, "How about I do the other leg next?"

My heart pounded. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Alad raised his sword again, the tip gleaming under the arena’s torches. The blood-soaked blade hovered over my right leg, and I knew what was coming.

Another stab.

Another wave of unbearable, mind-numbing pain.

Please don’t!

I don’t want to experience it again!

Please!

I screamed in my head, begging, pleading—but my lips remained frozen. No sound escaped.

I wanted to move, to crawl away, to do anything—but my body refused to obey. All I could do was watch in silent terror as Alad prepared to drive his sword into me once more.

I braced myself.

Every nerve in my body tensed in anticipation of the pain to come.

But just before Alad could strike, a powerful voice shattered through the air.

"Fireball!"

A female voice.

One I recognized.

A sudden burst of flames shot across the arena, its heat washing over my battered skin.

Alad’s eyes widened as he caught sight of the incoming attack. With a sharp curse, he leaped backward, barely dodging the fireball before it slammed into the ground where he had just been standing.

A loud explosion erupted, sending dust and embers flying.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd, confusion and excitement mixing as they tried to process what had just happened.

Footsteps.

Fast, deliberate.

Three figures emerged from the shadows, stepping onto the battlefield.

I blinked through the haze of pain, my vision blurry and unfocused. At first, I thought I was hallucinating.

But no—

The two figures at the front stood protectively in front of me, their swords drawn and pointed directly at Alad’s throat. Their stance was firm, unwavering. The third figure remained by my side, hands glowing with residual magic, ready to unleash another spell if needed.

My head spun with questions.

What are they doing here?

Where did they get the information that I was here?

Did they... come to save me?

Even though it was dangerous?

Even though they could die?

My breath hitched as the realization sank in.

The ones who had saved me—these three individuals—

Were none other than my best friends.

Raiden.

Tyiyn.

Tork.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING TO MY FRIEND?"

Raiden’s voice was like a thunderclap, cutting through the stunned silence. His face was unreadable, but his eyes burned with unrestrained fury. This was a side of him I had rarely seen—a side I didn’t think existed. He wasn’t just angry.

He was livid.

Alad, despite being caught off guard, let out a scoff. He raised an eyebrow, glancing at the swords pressed dangerously close to his throat. "Oh? And who might you be, barging into my fighting grounds?"

Tyiyn’s grip on his weapon tightened. His normally composed expression was hardened with an edge of steel.

"Make one move, and you’re done," he warned.

His voice was steady, void of hesitation.

Alad chuckled, clearly unfazed. "Brave words. But do you really think you can—"

He barely finished his sentence before Tork stepped forward, his stance firm. His eyes briefly flickered toward me, concern flashing across his face.

"Will, are you okay?" Tork asked, though his voice carried no softness. It was controlled, serious—almost demanding an answer.

I tried to respond.

Tried to say no, that I was far from okay. That I was barely holding on. That I was on the verge of slipping away entirely.

But my body betrayed me.

I could only manage a weak, shuddering breath.

Tork turned back to Alad, his jaw tightening.

"Leave this to us."

His words weren’t a suggestion.

They were a promise.

For the first time since this nightmare began, I felt something other than pain.

Hope.

I wasn’t alone.

They had come for me.

They weren’t going to let Alad do whatever he wanted.

I wanted to cry, to let the weight of everything finally crash down on me. But I couldn’t afford to break down—not yet.

Because the fight wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.