I was a knight in the Middle Ages

"Lord Hashim, that guy... Knight Ray, has been taken away by them. Should we start the rescue plan immediately?" In the dimly lit secret room of the ancient castle, the candlelight flickered, casting Aslan's shadow long and short.

He stood respectfully with his head bowed, but his gaze was fixed on the young man sitting in the shadows—Hashem.

Hussein ibn Hashim, the surname Hashim represents a hidden yet powerful force in the turbulent underworld of the empire.

Hashim slowly raised his eyes, revealing a deep look in them.

At this moment, it is sparking with anger, as if it contains a volcano about to erupt.

“No need.” Hashim’s voice was deep and magnetic, yet carried an undeniable decisiveness.

"This is also one of their tests. Those self-righteous nobles use the imperial law's strict prohibition on private armies to restrict the development of our Hashim family, attempting to strangle us in our infancy. So we will do the opposite, break into smaller groups, and actively infiltrate the depths of their carefully woven net."

Hashim stood up and walked to the huge map of the empire on the wall.

He tapped his fingers lightly on the area representing the capital, his tone revealing a long-suppressed ambition: "They think they've won by wiping out all the knights who have pledged allegiance to us? How laughable. How many of those they've captured were pawns I willingly 'sent' into their clutches? Aslan, just you wait and see. When these pawns suddenly erupt in what they consider their safest place, that will be the crucial moment for our Hashim family to tear through the darkness and see the light of day again."

Upon hearing this, Aslan's eyes flashed with understanding and admiration, and he quickly offered a perfectly timed compliment: "Lord Hashim, your strategic planning and foresight are truly awe-inspiring! If it weren't for your premeditated scheme, we would probably have already fallen into their trap."

Hashim didn't turn around, but a cold smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

He didn't fully trust anyone, including Aslan, who was standing right in front of him.

All of Hashim's preparations were for one goal—to control the army and seize power.

To achieve this, it is necessary to select elites from the Imperial Knights and transform them into loyal weapons.

Otherwise, relying solely on family-trained assassins would be utterly incapable of infiltrating the core of the empire's massive military machine.

However, this road is full of thorns.

The suppression of commoner knights by established aristocratic groups is ubiquitous.

Hashim's previous attempts to win over his people either ended in failure or resulted in his people being turned or assassinated.

Many more promising commoner knights like Alpha are either bribed by high-ranking officials and made to work for nobles in the gray area to amass wealth.

Or, like Alpha is now, it will be thrown into that terrifying "meat grinder".

That place was known as the "Colosseum of Death".

Legend has it that it was a forbidden place where even Death himself would pause and gaze upon it.

No one has ever come out of there safely; at least, there has never been a record of it before.

At this moment, Alpha is undergoing a dramatic transformation from darkness to light.

He was shoved and pushed his way through a long, damp underground passage.

They were eventually brutally pushed into a huge, empty, circular arena surrounded by high walls—the Colosseum of Death.

"Clang!" There was a loud noise.

The heavy iron fence, as thick as an adult's arm, crashed down, completely isolating him from the outside world.

The squad of men in black escorting him stood outside the fence, their faces bearing contemptuous and cruel smiles, as if they were looking at an ant about to be executed.

"Survive, and you'll have everything you want." After leaving behind this inexplicable taunt, the leader of the men in black turned and left with his men.

A moment later, a manager in a gray uniform with an expressionless face came out.

He didn't even glance at Alpha, as if the person standing in front of him wasn't a person, but a corpse.

"Do you believe me if I say I just took the wrong turn and wandered into this place by mistake?" Alpha dusted himself off, his tone as calm as if he were talking about the weather, without a trace of panic or fear on his face.

The manager finally reacted, and he scoffed.

His eyes were filled with disdain for everyone who entered this place: "This is an arena, not a place for you to tell jokes. Only if you survive do you have the right to speak; if you don't survive, you'll be the beasts' dinner."

After saying that, he took a tattered burlap sack from his waist and tossed it aside.

A rusty, chipped sword flew in an arc and landed in the dust at Alpha's feet.

"This is your weapon. Remember, only those who survive will have the right to leave this place." The administrator left without looking back, leaving Alpha alone to face this cage of death.

Immediately afterwards, the gates around the Colosseum opened one after another, as if the gates of hell had been opened.

Hundreds of ragged and wounded "warriors" were driven in.

Among them were withered old people, trembling women, and even children crying in fear.

They were clearly slaves who had been forcibly captured, their eyes filled with despair and numbness.

Alpha silently retreated into the shadows of a corner, coldly observing everything.

He knew this was far more than a simple gladiatorial contest.

Just then, the lights on the high platform in the center of the Colosseum suddenly came on.

A host dressed in a gorgeous tuxedo and holding a megaphone bounced onto the stage.

He wore an exaggerated smile, and his voice resounded through a huge loudspeaker to every corner.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Distinguished esteemed audience members! Welcome to the Battle of the Century!" The host, Tony, spoke with great enthusiasm.

"Today, we will witness history! This is the first time in the hundred-year history of the Death Arena! We will see if our survivor of the nine miracles—the valiant Zahir—can break the record, become a true war god, and walk out of this arena on a glorious, blood-soaked path!"

As Tony introduced the area, the spotlight shone on the center of the arena.

There stood a burly man covered in hideous scars—Zahir.

He clenched his fists, his eyes burning with a desire to live.

For the aristocratic spectators in the stands, it was a lavish feast.

They didn't care whether Zahir lived or died; they just wanted to see what terrifying "toys" the arena had prepared to amuse them this time.

I'd rather see how those so-called "heroes" are torn to pieces in despair.

The blood spraying into the air was the most beautiful scenery in their eyes.

For the slaves inside, this was a matter of their slim hope of survival.

If Zahir can win, perhaps they will see a glimmer of hope for survival.

"Alright, everyone! Now that we've admired our hero, let's give a grand welcome to today's—enemy!" Tony's voice suddenly rose, filled with dramatic tension.

Under his direction, the lights shifted again, illuminating the ten huge iron cages at the edge of the arena one after another.

"Number One! A five-meter-tall armored rhinoceros from the jungles of the Far East! Look at its thick armor, enough to withstand the fire of a musket!"

"Number Two! The King of the Swamp, a ten-meter-long giant-mouthed crocodile! Its gaping maw can easily crush steel!"

"Number Three! A 30-meter-long giant python! Its coiling signifies the end of life!"

……

As Tony introduced the creatures, one after another, ferocious and terrifying beasts roared in the cage, displaying their terrifying power.

The audience erupted in waves of excited screams and cheers.

However, when the light moved to the tenth iron cage, everyone fell silent.

It was a colossal object several times larger than the other iron cages, completely wrapped in thick black cloth, obscuring any outline of its interior.

"As for number ten..." Tony deliberately kept everyone in suspense, smiling mysteriously, "This will be today's grand finale surprise! An ultimate being capable of turning all challengers to dust!"

Although the true identity of the tenth enemy has not yet been revealed, the mere presence of these nine colossal beasts has already brought the atmosphere of the entire arena to a fever pitch.

The nobles screamed and placed bets wildly;

The slaves inside the arena were ashen-faced, their eyes filled with endless fear.

Alpha leaned against the cold wall and looked down at the rusty broken sword at his feet.

He looked up again at the roaring beasts and the mysterious tenth iron cage.

Alpha's lips curled up slightly, revealing a cold, unnoticed smirk brimming with fighting spirit.

"This is a complete hoax! The Colosseum never intended for us to leave alive!" From the crowd of gladiators, a burly warrior with a face full of scars slammed his broken shield to the ground. His angry roar echoed throughout the massive Colosseum, filled with despair and resentment.

He pointed at the elderly, women, and children who had been driven in, his voice trembling with excitement: "Look! They sent half of their soldiers—the elderly, the weak, and the disabled! The number of people who can actually fight is no more than thirty! And what about the other side? They have real, well-equipped enemy squads of a hundred men! This isn't a competition; this is clearly trying to force us to our deaths!"

His accusations were like a bucket of cold water poured on the hearts of every gladiator who still retained his senses.

The previous rule was to fight monsters in groups of ten, with at least eight elite warriors among them, who had a chance of survival against beasts like tigers and black bears.

The Colosseum's promise of "freedom upon ten consecutive victories" is nothing but an inescapable trap.

Every time you win by luck, the enemy in the next battle will be even stronger.

But these "warriors" grew weaker and weaker with each battle.

Like livestock being bled repeatedly until the last drop of blood is drained.

"This so-called 'Battle of the Century' is nothing but a smokescreen!" another gladiator gritted his teeth and echoed. "They used this name to forcibly mix our ten squads together, just to cover up the fact that they're stuffing in even more cannon fodder!"

However, the noble spectators in the stands were too busy drinking and reveling to care about the angry declarations of a group of slaves.

In their eyes, these gladiators were no different from wild beasts; they were merely playthings for their amusement.

"Roar--!"

As the first heavy iron cage gate opened, the long-suppressed roar of the beasts resounded through the sky.

Nine monstrous beasts, each with a unique and terrifying appearance, surged into the crowd like a flood bursting its banks.

The bloody feast has begun.

Amid the chaos, Alpha remained standing in the corner, watching everything with an indifferent expression.

He suddenly spoke calmly, his voice not loud, but clearly reaching the ears of the people around him: "In that case, why not let them kill each other?"

As soon as he said this, he was met with a dozen disdainful glances and glares from those around him.

"New here, huh? You don't even know this?" said a veteran with a scar on his face, who seemed to have faced death several times.

Looking at the relatively intact broken sword in Alpha's hand, he felt a pang of regret for his talent and kindly lowered his voice to explain, "Don't dream, kid. Those beasts have been tamed by drugs and whips in the arena, losing their minds. Their only goal is to tear all humans apart! Unless we are all dead and devoured by them, they will never turn their attention to each other."