The Unnamed God. I'm really Not a God You Guys!

****(POV)

That is how I met the man I would come to call my brother.

He was never the smartest one.

He was never the bravest one either.

His only redeeming qualities were his cheerful personality and his ability to read people.

Getting captured and sold as a slave did dampen his spirit a lot.

When we first met he seemed more dead than alive.

Just a shadow of his former self that would mechanically accomplish things.

He would fight.

He would eat.

He would sleep.

Rinse and repeat.

That was all that his existence amounted to.

He had no dreams or hopes for the future.

He had given up a while ago already.

But then he saw me.

He would describe the moment in great detail afterward.

He used to have that old habit to try and gauge people.

To try and figure out their thoughts.

To try and figure out their personality.

All from seeing the way they talked and moved.

He would get their current mental state easily from experience.

He told me that back then he wasn't even thinking.

Ever.

But somehow that old habit of his would still activate.

He would pass every face and see despair, agony, and melancholy.

Not when he saw me.

He saw hope.

He saw a living being in a pack of dead men.

The shock was so big that it drove him off of his constant stupor.

It brought back life to an otherwise dying man.

He would often say that I was the brightest flame that he'd ever seen.

For no matter the situation my drive wouldn't ever be extinguished.

He told me many times how much he admired me for it.

He then decided he would help me in my endeavors.

Of course, at first, I didn't tell him anything.

He just figured it out by himself.

Figured out the whole plan that I had.

Figured out that I was still clinging to the hopes of vengeance.

Decided that he would show me the example. That he would man up and show some courage. Knowing that I was younger than him at the time must have been bad on the ego.

Well in fact he was really smart, in his own way.

He just wouldn't accept it.

He always felt like it would segregate him from the others.

In any case, we started interacting more and more.

At some point, I shared my theory on how to survive this place.

The goal was to win, but never by much.

That's when we started seriously training.

Thinking back on it we were truly lucky.

As young contestants, we would be given weaker opponents.

Some we actually stood a chance against.

Something I learned was that in such an environment it was kill or be killed.

Ironically, I think I was pretty popular in the ring.

Anyone going against me would die.

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't strong.

It was just that I was the only one with a will to live.

Out of all my fights most would end up with my opponent kicking the bucket.

I always made sure to try to do the deed in the goriest and least painful way.

One clean slash that would end it all.

Both for the public and the opponent's sake.

When I would stare into the eyes of my victims, I would often see relief.

Finally being free of the suffering.

Finally freed of this shithole.

This brother of mine was the other spark in the entire arena.

Well besides the slaughterers that would laugh as they ripped people in half.

He would always manage to live, but always with some injuries.

It wasn't by choice either.

He would go against stronger opponents than me.

The problem is he was actually less skilled than me.

As someone from a well-off family, I did have a bit of swordsmanship training.

This was giving me an edge in a place like this.

I would cut opponents until night came. I would then sleep a bit and train.

I would also solidify my convictions daily.

Work toward my goal.

I would imagine every executive's face bashed in and covered in blood.

Then fantasize about killing them in the ring.

How awesome it would be!

Thus the days turned into weeks and months.

At some point, I lost track of time.

All I knew was that my body was growing and that I was still waiting for an opportunity.

One that perhaps would never come.

At some point, I reached the level where I could kill some rank 2 warriors.

Only the weakest of them.

If anything they were so demoralized that it made it way easier.

I became used to harvesting lives as easily as farmers harvest grain.

I would still be bidding my time.

Killing and slaying and causing bloodshed.

Waiting patiently.

There would never be a shortage of lives to reap.

Either from bandits looking to make an extra penny, or sects selling their defeated foes, or poor villagers selling their children.

All were accepted in this meat grinder.

Temporary visitors that most often than not would disappear quickly.

Most of them anyway.

I could have kept living such a life for a while.

Same for the man I called my brother.

We had a system that worked.

Lie low.

Get loved enough by the spectators to be valuable merchandise, but not too much to attract greed.

Just a constant balancing act.

One at the precipice of death.

We could have kept enduring.

For a while longer.

Sadly came something unexpected.

Humans killing other humans became boring to most.

The spectators began asking for more.

A bunch of bloodthirsty bastards.

In normal circumstances, it wouldn't have mattered much.

There are always people asking for the impossible.

Except that in this specific case it wasn't actually impossible.

Simply troublesome.

The beast tide that caused me to get caught in the first place would screw me over again.

They found some captured savage beasts.

Of course, they decided it would be fun to add these to the deathmatches.

Ones that would be more original and entertaining.

It was the very moment that would turn my life upside down once again.