Forged Destiny [Book 7: Ch. 12]

I was led to the ring's edge and the cage door was pulled open. With a tip, they toppled me out, leaving me to crash down into the bloody sand.

"Give him something to work with," Raven called.

A thump echoed a second later, a solid iron ingot landing close to my face. Not even a bar this time.

Again. They wanted me to do it again. Forge a sword, fight someone, kill them. Why? My fevered mind tried to find a reason but all I could think was how my wound had split open once more in the fall, and that I could feel the blood wetting my side.

Raven was speaking. I didn't hear the words. Something about Garret, the foolish man I'd slain. I clenched my eyes shut and tried to stand, making it only to one knee. Weakened and sick, I wasn't going to pose a threat for my next opponent.

[...]

With Raven still talking, I reached out and took the ingot in hand, drawing it under my body.

Stoke the Forge

Another Greycloak was chosen. I didn't care how. The man, a Ranger, hopped over the side with a grin, landing in the sand. He wore a bow on his back but drew a curved sword instead. Presumably, there'd be no glory in shooting a man laid flat on his stomach already bleeding out. I wasn't sure what glory could be found in stabbing one either, but that didn't seem to matter.

"Stand or die," Raven called out. "If you do, she dies also."

Slowly, painfully, I stood.

—Forged Destiny [Book 7: Ch. 12]