The blood arena stank of iron.

  Roric Varn waited in the center, massive, scarred, his armor etched with crimson runes.

  “What is blood?” Roric asked.

  Kaelen wiped blood from his lip. “Life. Power.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Roric’s fist slammed into his ribs.

  Kaelen flew backward, coughing red.

  “No.”

  Roric advanced.

  “Blood is cost.”

  Every exercise demanded Kaelen fuel techniques with his own vitality. Every failure drained him further. Roric never stopped.

  “You want blood because it hurts,” Roric growled.

  “You think pain makes you righteous.”

  Kaelen collapsed again and again.

  “You don’t control blood,” Roric said, dragging him upright.

  “You owe it.”

  By the end, Kaelen couldn’t stand.

  Roric released him.

  “You survived,” he said. “That’s all you did.”