MTLNOVEL Chapter 19: The Crimson Crucible
The tavern Oliver entered was one of the liveliest places he'd seen since arriving in Darwin.
The large wooden building was dimly lit with hanging lanterns, their soft glow barely cutting through the haze of smoke and sweat that clung to the air.
The scent of roasted meat, stale ale, and unwashed bodies mixed together into a heavy aroma—unpleasant to some, but a sign of a well-patronized establishment.
Long wooden tables were packed with people of all kinds—adventurers in battered armor, merchants counting their profits, and the occasional cloaked figure lurking in a corner.
Serving girls weaved through the crowd, balancing trays of drinks and food, expertly dodging wandering hands.
As Oliver made his way toward the counter, his ears caught a conversation at a nearby table.
"The Crucible's gonna be packed this weekend. I couldn't even get a ticket before they sold out."
"That's no surprise. Ever since the Vultures started dominating, every fight's been insane. I got my ticket two weeks ago."
"Lucky bastard. How many you got?"
"Just the one."
"I'll buy it off you—double the price."
"Not a chance. Do you know what I had to go through to get this one?"
Oliver raised an eyebrow, curious about this "Crucible" and the "Vultures," but before he could think too much about it, he reached the counter.
The bartender, a burly man with a graying beard and a shirt stained with more drinks than Oliver could count, gave him a tired look. "What'll it be?"
Oliver ordered a simple drink—something light to keep his senses sharp.
When the bartender returned with the drink, Oliver casually handed over a gold coin.
The man's bushy eyebrows shot up, and he stared at Oliver like he was a lunatic.
"Bring me my change," Oliver said with a calm smile.
The bartender grumbled under his breath, cursing Oliver's stinginess, but shuffled off to fetch the coins.
With a drink in hand and change safely pocketed, Oliver leaned back slightly, letting his ears do the work.
Around him, conversations flowed easily.
With enough alcohol in their systems, the patrons spoke louder, dropped their guards, and forgot all about manners.
This was the perfect place to gather information.
****
As Oliver sat nursing his drink, his ears remained alert, picking up bits and pieces of conversations floating through the tavern air.
It was impressive how much information could be gathered when alcohol loosened tongues and caution was thrown to the wind.
In just a few hours, Oliver had learned several critical things.
The city of Darwin, where he now found himself, was part of the Eldoria Empire, one of twelve human territories in this world. The others were:
Zephyrion Dominion
Vermilion Sovereignty
Oblivion Shroud
Aetherborn Dynasty
Drakthar Covenant
Nyxian Concord
Celestara Ascendancy
Grimholt Imperium
Tideveil Confederacy
Runeborne Hierarchy
Hollowfang Enclave
These territories were constantly at war with one another, and the way bad news traveled faster than anything else made it easy for travelers, merchants, and drunkards alike to spill the latest updates, whether it was troop movements, new alliances, or cities that had been reduced to rubble.
Oliver also discovered that Darwin itself was not just some backwater settlement.
It was one of the major cities of the Eldoria Empire, a hub of commerce, military presence, and entertainment—especially thanks to a particular attraction.
The Crimson Crucible.
This wasn't just any coliseum.
This place didn't feature animal fights or monster battles.
The Crimson Crucible was a blood-soaked stage where gladiators—most of them death row criminals—fought for their lives in front of cheering crowds.
The wealthy sponsored the matches, their money fueling the endless carnage as a form of grotesque entertainment.
What truly made Oliver pause was the fact that regular warriors could also sign up.
But since every match was a death match, only the desperate, insane, or dangerously confident would even consider entering.
As that thought crossed Oliver's mind, his vision suddenly dimmed for a moment, and a System Notification flashed before him:
[Trial Notification]
New Trial Detected
Trial Name: The Crimson Crucible
Trial Location: Darwin - Crimson Crucible Coliseum
Trial Description:
The Crimson Crucible is Darwin's premier coliseum, known for its brutal death matches featuring condemned criminals and ambitious challengers alike. The arena is a playground for the rich and powerful, where lives are gambled and legends are forged in blood.
Gladiators must fight through a series of battles to climb the ranks. Only by standing atop the corpses of every opponent can you claim victory.
Trial Rank: 2
Monsters: None
Trial Parameters:
Duration: 2 weeks
Objective: Achieve 1st Place in the Crimson Crucible Rankings
Failure Conditions:
Death
Inability to achieve 1st Place within 2 weeks
Penalty for Failure:
Release of Trial Beasts into the Main World
Rewards:
Meta Essence is awarded based on performance.
Exceptional Completion Bonus: In rare cases, an Artifact may be granted to those who exceed expectations
Oliver slowly exhaled. A Trial, right here in the middle of the city—one that required him to fight to the top in a coliseum full of killers and psychopaths.
"Of course," Oliver muttered under his breath. "It couldn't just be simple."
He finished the rest of his drink in a single gulp, feeling the burn of alcohol chase away his brief moment of hesitation. This was his path now—fight, survive, and somehow, win.
****
The Crimson Crucible stood as a monolithic arena carved from dark stone, its towering walls weathered from years of bloodshed and thunderous applause.
Crimson banners hung from its outer walls, their tattered edges swaying in the breeze, each one bearing the sigil of the coliseum—a broken sword encircled by chains, a symbol of both entertainment and imprisonment.
At night, magical lanterns bathed the entire structure in a sinister red glow, making the whole coliseum seem like a bleeding wound at the heart of Darwin.
Its massive entrance gates were reinforced with black iron, etched with the names of past champions—a graveyard in its own right, for most of them were long dead.
The roar of the crowd, even when matches weren't happening, seemed to linger in the air like a permanent echo.
Beneath the arena, a sprawling network of cells and holding areas stretched like veins, where prisoners awaited their turn on the sands.
The smell of sweat, blood, and hopelessness filled the dimly lit halls, and the flickering torches barely pushed back the darkness.
Inside one of these cramped cells, a man sat on the edge of a narrow cot, his muscular frame taking up most of the space.
His skin was dark, his body scarred from countless battles, each mark telling a story no one cared to hear.
His hands were calloused, fingers thick and worn, though they were surprisingly gentle as they held a small, weathered picture.