My Second Chance in Life in Another World-Chapter 63: THE THIRD PUNISHMENT

"I’m impressed," Alad said, his tone laced with mock admiration as he coiled the whip in his hands. His smirk deepened, eyes gleaming with sadistic satisfaction. "You endured Werk’s ’snake bite’ and my lashes. But don’t relax yet, because there’s still the third punishment."

He paced in front of us like a predator savoring the fear of its prey, every step deliberate, every pause calculated to build tension. The whip dangled from his hand, its leather glinting under the dim, flickering light. Each movement felt like a threat, a promise of further suffering.

"Then, without further ado, so you two can finally get home, let’s proceed to the third punishment," Alad announced, his voice dripping with false generosity.

Crestia shifted beside me, her hands clenched tightly at her sides. Her breaths came quick and shallow, the fear practically radiating off her. I wanted to comfort her, to reassure her that we’d get through this somehow, but the weight of my own exhaustion and pain held me back.

"In the third punishment," Alad began, his smirk widening, "I will change the rules a bit. If you choose Will to get punished, then he would be punished according to what the punishment is. But if Crestia would take the punishment, then it would get tripled."

My fists tightened at his words, anger bubbling beneath the surface. He was toying with us, manipulating the rules to pit us against each other. And he was enjoying every second of it.

"That’s not what you said earlier! That’s unfair!" Crestia burst out, her voice trembling but defiant. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and her fear was evident, yet she found the courage to stand up to him, even if only for a moment.

Alad’s smirk vanished in an instant, replaced by a cold, menacing glare. The room seemed to grow colder as he stepped toward her, his presence suffocating.

"Huh? Who said you could object to my decisions?" His voice was low, dangerous, each word dripping with malice. He raised the whip slightly, letting its tip brush against the ground as a silent threat. "Do you want me to just kill both of you here?"

Crestia froze, her face paling. The defiance in her eyes flickered and died, replaced by pure terror. She lowered her head, her voice barely above a whisper as she stammered, "N-no... Sorry."

"That’s what I want to hear," Alad said, his tone smug once again. He leaned back, satisfied with her submission. "For now, I’ll let it slide. But do it again, and you know what will happen. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes..." Crestia replied, her voice shaking.

"Good," Alad said, his grin returning. "Then let’s proceed. For the third punishment, it would be as I said earlier." He turned his gaze to me, the weight of his sadistic amusement pressing down on me. "Will needs to fight fifty people in the arena consecutively without rest. If he wins, you can go home now."

The grin on his face widened into something almost feral. "But can Will still fight in that state he’s already in? HAHAHAHAHA."

I stood my ground, though every fiber of my body screamed in protest. My muscles ached from the lashes, my skin burning where the whip had torn through. Yet I refused to let him see the extent of my pain. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

"Does that mean if Crestia takes it, she needs to fight 150 students?" I asked, my voice calm despite the rage simmering beneath it.

Alad’s eyes gleamed with twisted delight at my question. "Oh, that’s right!" he said, as if he’d only just remembered. "I feel bad for letting her fight 150 people; she might die. So, I’ll change the punishment for her."

He paused, tapping a finger against his chin in mock thought. The room fell silent, the tension so thick it was suffocating.

"Let me think... ah! I’ve come up with a good idea," Alad said, his lips curling into a wicked grin. The malicious glee in his eyes sent a chill down my spine.

"If Will takes the punishment, then he would need to fight fifty students," he said, his tone almost conversational. "But if Crestia takes the punishment, how about letting you dance at the center of the arena for an hour, stark naked," he suggested, his grin growing impossibly wider.

Crestia gasped, her hands flying to her chest as she recoiled in horror. "W-what?" she stammered, her voice barely audible.

"Whatever you choose, it would satisfy the spectators, of course," Alad said, ignoring her reaction entirely. He spread his arms wide, as if presenting a grand prize. "Whether it’s Will taking a beating or Crestia taking humiliation. HAHAHAHA."

His laughter echoed through the room, a grating sound that made my stomach churn. My hands curled into fists, my nails digging into my palms as I fought to keep my anger in check.

Just how evil is this guy? Is he the incarnate of a demon?

I glanced at Crestia, her face pale and her body trembling. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she looked utterly defeated. My chest tightened at the sight. Alad wasn’t just tormenting us physically—he was breaking her spirit, stripping away her dignity piece by piece.

This wasn’t a punishment. This was a spectacle, a game for his twisted amusement.

Alad turned to me, his grin never wavering. "Well, Will? What will it be? Your body or her pride? Choose wisely."

His words hung in the air like a noose tightening around our necks.

"I’ll give you three minutes to decide and talk about who will take it," Alad said with a smirk, his voice dripping with mock patience. He leaned casually against the wall, twirling the whip in his hand like it was a toy. His grin widened as he added, "But didn’t Crestia say she would take the third punishment?"

The provocation was deliberate, his words like daggers aimed at Crestia. She stiffened, her trembling hands clutched tightly to her sides as she avoided his piercing gaze.

"W-Will, y-you can decide..." Crestia stammered, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. Tears streamed down her face, her entire body trembling as she tried to speak. "I know I’m the one who’s supposed to get the third punishment, but, but... I can’t bring myself to do it. That’s why... Will, please decide. If it’s your decision, I would do it."

Her sobs echoed in the tense silence of the room, each one a painful reminder of how powerless we were in the face of Alad’s cruelty. Her words weren’t just a plea—they were a cry for help, a desperate attempt to shift the impossible burden off her shoulders.

Alad’s grin grew sharper, like a predator savoring its prey’s despair. "Eh? I thought you would take the third punishment because you don’t want Will to get hurt anymore?" he taunted, his voice filled with feigned concern. He raised an eyebrow mockingly as he continued, "Are you lying when you said that? Even I feel a little bad for Will, but it seems like it’s okay for you if Will takes a beating instead of you just showing everyone your body."

His words were poison, each one crafted to dig deeper into Crestia’s insecurities. She flinched as if struck, her sobs growing louder as shame and guilt consumed her.

I clenched my fists, the anger boiling inside me threatening to spill over. The sight of Crestia breaking down under Alad’s relentless cruelty was too much. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

"CAN YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY!" I shouted, the force of my voice reverberating through the room like a clap of thunder.

The sudden outburst silenced everyone, even Alad momentarily. Crestia froze, her tear-streaked face turning toward me in shock.

Alad recovered quickly, his smirk returning as he tilted his head in amusement. "Oh? Finally showing some spirit, are we?"

"I’ll take the third punishment," I said firmly, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging within me. "So shut up already and proceed with it."

Alad’s laughter rang out, loud and cruel, echoing through the room. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! If that’s what you decided, then let’s proceed," he said, clapping his hands together as if this was all a grand show.

He gestured toward Cirris, one of his lackeys, who stood silently at the edge of the room. "Cirris, take Crestia and lock her in the other room."

"What are you doing?" I demanded, my voice sharp and filled with suspicion. My eyes locked onto Alad’s, and for a brief moment, the playful malice in his gaze flickered under the weight of my anger.

"Huh? Of course, I need protection if you’ve gone berserk," Alad replied casually, his smirk never faltering. He gestured for Cirris to move faster, and the lackey grabbed Crestia by the arm, dragging her toward the door despite her protests.

"As long as you haven’t beaten the fifty students in the arena, Crestia will stay locked up in there," Alad continued, his tone light as if he were explaining the rules of a game.

Crestia struggled weakly against Cirris, her tear-filled eyes meeting mine. "Will, I’m sorry... I’m so sorry..." she whispered, her voice barely audible as the door closed behind her, cutting her off from view.

Alad turned back to me, his grin as wide as ever. "But don’t worry," he said, his voice dripping with insincerity. "I don’t break my promises. As soon as you beat those fifty students, I will release Crestia, and the two of you can go as you please."

His words were a mockery of hope, a cruel reminder of the impossible task ahead.

"That’s why do your best to beat those fifty students. Wait for me here," Alad added with a mocking bow before turning on his heel and striding toward the door. Werk and Cirris followed him, leaving me alone in the room.

The heavy sound of the door closing behind them left me in silence, save for the faint hum of my ragged breathing. My whole body ached, each movement sending fresh waves of pain radiating through me. I staggered slightly, my hand instinctively moving to my side where Werk’s ’snake bite’ had struck. The memory of that brutal attack was vivid, and I was certain he’d broken at least one of my ribs.

The lashes from Alad hadn’t just left bruises—they’d torn through my skin in places, the burning pain a constant reminder of his sadistic pleasure. Every breath was a struggle, my chest tight with a combination of physical pain and the weight of what lay ahead.

I glanced at the empty room, the oppressive silence pressing down on me. My mind raced as I tried to come to terms with the reality of the situation. Fifty opponents, back-to-back, with no rest. In my current state, it felt like a death sentence.

And yet, I couldn’t let myself give in to despair. Not while Crestia was counting on me.

My fists tightened, the pain from my bruised body barely registering anymore. Alad might think he’s broken me, but he hasn’t seen the limits of my resolve.

"Fifty opponents," I muttered under my breath, my voice low and filled with determination. "Fine. Let’s see how far I can go."

***

After about five minutes, Alad strode back into the room with a twisted grin plastered across his face. In his hand, he held a sword—a dull, battered weapon with a rusted blade that looked like it hadn’t been cared for in years. Without a word, he tossed it at me.

The sword clattered loudly against the stone floor, its metallic ring echoing in the cold silence.

"Take that," Alad said with a mocking tone, his eyes glinting with amusement. "That will be your weapon. It’s a bit rusty, so be careful using it, because I won’t give you another sword if you break it."

I crouched down to pick up the weapon, my body protesting with every movement. My arms felt like lead, and my fingers trembled as they closed around the hilt of the sword. The rough texture of the handle scratched against my palm, and the weight of it felt heavier than it should have.

"Now, let’s go," Alad said briskly, opening the door with a flourish as though he were leading me to some grand event.

I forced myself to stand, the ache in my muscles almost unbearable. Each step felt like I was walking through quicksand, my legs trembling under my weight. My ribs screamed in protest, the sharp pain from Werk’s earlier attack making it hard to breathe. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from groaning aloud, my pride refusing to let Alad see how much I was struggling.

"Hurry up!" Alad snapped, his voice slicing through the air like a whip.

Swallowing down the pain, I shuffled after him, my grip tightening on the sword. My vision blurred momentarily as I focused on putting one foot in front of the other. If I let myself relax even for a second, I was certain I’d collapse.

The walk to the arena felt like an eternity, each step echoing ominously in the empty corridors. My mind raced with doubts and questions, but I shoved them aside. I couldn’t afford to think about anything other than surviving what was to come.

When we arrived at the arena, the sound hit me first—a cacophony of voices cheering, laughing, and talking all at once. The space was massive, with rows upon rows of spectators filling the seats. The air was thick with anticipation and the faint metallic tang of blood, a reminder of the violence this place had seen.

Alad led me to the center of the arena, his movements theatrical as though he were the star of some twisted performance. The crowd’s attention turned to us, their eyes locking onto me like vultures circling a dying animal. I could feel their stares piercing through me, their judgments already made.

"Now, it is the most awaited part of today’s session!" Alad announced, his voice booming across the arena. He raised his arms as if inviting the crowd’s adoration, and the noise grew louder. "An event held by none other than me, where you can triple your money in only one bet!"

The crowd erupted in cheers and whistles, their excitement palpable. My jaw tightened as I took in the scene. Was Alad really that important here? The way these people looked at him, the respect—or perhaps fear—in their eyes, was sickening. How could anyone revere a man so twisted and cruel?

"For today’s event," Alad continued, his voice dripping with glee, "I will have this person here fight fifty people consecutively without taking a rest." He gestured toward me with an exaggerated flourish, and the crowd’s attention snapped back to me.

"The challenge for all of you," Alad said, his grin widening, "is to bet how long he would last. Isn’t that exciting?"

Murmurs spread through the crowd, and I could feel their scrutiny intensify. My grip tightened on the sword, the rusted blade feeling heavier with every passing second.

"Now cast your bets," Alad declared, pacing around the arena like a ringleader at a circus. "And the one who guesses correctly—how many opponents it will take until he falls—will win their bet tenfold!"

The arena exploded with excitement, the spectators shouting and jostling as they rushed to place their bets. The energy in the air was almost suffocating, a mixture of greed, bloodlust, and anticipation.

As the betting began, I caught snippets of conversations from the crowd.

"Hey, isn’t that guy weak? Maybe he won’t even beat one person. Should I bet for zero?" said a green-haired student, his voice loud and mocking. He leaned casually against the railing, a smug grin on his face.

"No, Alad wouldn’t let that guy participate if he’s that weak," replied the dark-haired student beside him, his tone more cautious. He frowned as he studied me, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Maybe he’s just hiding his strength, pretending to be weak so he can fool us."

"Well, it doesn’t matter," the green-haired student said dismissively, waving a hand. "I’ll trust my gut feeling that he’s weak. Just look at him; it’s clear he can’t even fight."

I clenched my teeth, their words stinging more than I wanted to admit. My battered body probably did make me look like easy prey, but that didn’t mean I’d roll over and die for their entertainment.

As the betting frenzy continued, I forced myself to block out the noise and focus. The sword in my hand was far from ideal, but it was better than nothing. I studied its blade, noting the cracks and dull edges. It wasn’t going to cut through much, but with enough force, it could still be used to strike.

I took a deep breath, wincing as the pain in my ribs flared up again.

"Alright, the betting is closed!" Alad’s voice rang out, silencing the crowd. He turned to me, his grin as wide as ever. "Let’s see how long you’ll last, shall we?"

After listening to the crowd’s opinions and murmurs, the betting period came to an end. The atmosphere shifted as the anticipation in the arena grew heavier. The energy of the spectators was palpable—they were eager to see blood, to witness the spectacle Alad had promised them.

Finally, Alad stepped forward, his grin as sharp as a blade. "Well, now that the bets are in, let’s get this show started, shall we?" he declared, his voice booming across the arena.

He motioned for me to come closer, and though every step sent waves of pain through my body, I obeyed. Alad leaned in, his expression filled with malice, and whispered just loud enough for the nearby crowd to overhear.

"By the way," he began, his tone dripping with mockery, "those fifty students you’ll be fighting? They owe me money. And their condition for participating in this little game is simple: if they beat you, I’ll forgive their debts."

He paused, his grin widening as he took in my reaction. "So, you see, they’re going to be desperate. They’re going to fight like their lives depend on it. Do try not to die too quickly, though—I want this to be entertaining."

I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, I tightened my grip on the rusted sword in my hand. My knuckles turned white, and the rough texture of the hilt dug into my palm.

Alad stepped back with theatrical flair, turning to face the crowd. "Without any further ado, let’s start the match!" he shouted, his voice filled with exaggerated enthusiasm.

The crowd roared in approval, their cheers echoing off the arena’s stone walls. Alad raised his hands to silence them before continuing.

"First, let me introduce the star of today’s show—the one who will attempt to take on fifty opponents in a row—Will!"

The silence that followed was deafening. Not a single cheer, not even a murmur of encouragement. The crowd’s disdain was as loud as any roar, and Alad ate it up, laughing mockingly.

"It seems like you don’t have any fans here, Will!" he taunted, his laughter echoing through the arena. "HAHAHAHAHA!"

I stood there, unmoving, the weight of their stares pressing down on me. Their disdain didn’t bother me. It wasn’t the first time I’d been underestimated, and it wouldn’t be the last.

"Now, let’s introduce our first challenger!" Alad continued, his voice brimming with excitement. "A third-year student, Railan!"

The crowd erupted into cheers as Railan stepped into the arena. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his stance exuding confidence. His dark hair was slicked back, and he carried his sword with practiced ease.

"You better win! I voted for zero!" shouted the green-haired man from earlier, his voice carrying over the crowd.

Railan grinned, seemingly fueled by the support. He raised his sword, pointing it at me in a silent challenge.

"Now that everything is set," Alad announced, his arm raised theatrically, "let the first match begin!"

As soon as Alad’s hand dropped, Railan sprang into action.

He charged at me, his movements aggressive and direct. His eyes burned with desperation, and his grip on his sword was tight, his knuckles pale. He was fighting for more than just pride—he was fighting for freedom from his debt.

"Vertical Arc!" he shouted, his sword gleaming as he swung it down in a powerful arc.

His attack was fast, but his movements were sloppy—driven by emotion rather than precision. It was clear he underestimated me, thinking I was too weak to pose a real threat. He left his defenses wide open in his rush to end the fight quickly.

I gritted my teeth, knowing I couldn’t afford to take that hit head-on. My ribs screamed in protest as I shifted my stance, raising my sword to intercept his attack.

I focused on the angle of his blade, predicting its trajectory. Just before his strike connected, I twisted my wrist and parried the attack, deflecting his sword with a sharp clang.

The force of the impact rattled my arm, but I held firm. Railan stumbled, his balance thrown off by the unexpected counter.

The crowd gasped in surprise, their cheers turning into murmurs of disbelief.

Taking advantage of Railan’s vulnerability, I shifted my stance and activated my skill.

"Single Shot!" I shouted, feeling a surge of energy as the damage of my attack doubled.

With a deliberate motion, I spun my sword around, gripping it by the hilt with both hands. I used the back of the blade to strike Railan with all the force I could muster. The impact landed squarely on his side, the dull edge of the sword slamming into him with a resounding thud.

Railan’s eyes widened in shock as he staggered backward, his grip on his sword faltering. His legs gave out beneath him, and he collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath.

I didn’t hesitate. I stepped forward and kicked his sword out of his reach, sending it skidding across the arena floor.

The crowd fell silent, their disbelief palpable.

"W-what just happened?" the green-haired student stammered, his earlier confidence replaced by confusion.

Alad’s laughter cut through the tension, breaking the silence. "The winner of the first match is Will!" he declared, his voice dripping with amusement.

The crowd erupted into a mixture of cheers and boos, their reactions as chaotic as the fight itself. Some were angry that their bets were already lost, while others were thrilled by the unexpected turn of events.

I stood there, breathing heavily, the rusted sword still clutched tightly in my hand. My body was screaming in pain, but I refused to show any weakness.

As I glanced down at Railan, who was still lying on the ground, I felt no satisfaction—only a grim determination to survive the next fight. This was only the beginning.