The Duel Pit smelled of sweat, rust, and old blood. The underground arena stretched wide, its floor uneven with dents and stains from past battles. Crude metal torches lined the walls, casting flickering shadows over the gathered fighters. Some were stretching, others wrapping their hands or sharpening weapons. A low murmur of voices filled the space, mixing with the occasional clash of metal against metal.
Varen's steps were steady as he moved deeper in. The man with the scar, the one who had greeted him at the entrance, leaned against a metal railing, watching. His expression was amused, like he had seen hundreds of newcomers before.
"Since you're new, you get one free match," he said, smirking. "No entry fee. Just a chance to show if you're worth anything."
Varen crossed his arms. "And if I win?"
"You get five shards. Lose, and you get nothing."
Varen glanced at the pit below. It wasn't just about money. This was a chance to test himself. He had felt it the moment they left the Abyss—the way his body still carried its instincts, the way his fingers twitched for a weapon even when he didn't need it. He wasn't just adjusting to this city. He was looking for something to fight.
"I'm in."
The scarred man chuckled and gestured to a narrow metal walkway leading down. "Good. Your fight starts now."
As Varen stepped onto the arena floor, a figure emerged from the opposite side. A wiry man with wrapped fists and a loose fighting stance. No weapons. Just bare hands and confidence. His eyes scanned Varen, gauging him.
"You talk big for a newcomer," the fighter said, rolling his shoulders. "It's only a matter of time before I beat you to a pulp."
Varen tilted his head slightly. "Then do it."
The fighter smirked and fell into a stance, bouncing lightly on his feet. "Fine. Let's see what you've got."
A loud clang echoed as a metal gate shut behind them. The fight had begun.
Bruno wasn't in the mood for fights.
He had wandered through most of the city's central district, taking in its strange balance between order and quiet desperation. People moved through the streets with a sense of routine, but there was always a layer of unease beneath the surface. Every glance, every conversation, felt controlled, like everyone was playing a role.
The market was especially tense.
Vendors called out, trying to sell whatever rations they had left. Abyssal Crystal shards exchanged hands constantly, glowing faintly in the dull light.
"Three shards for a water ration!" a merchant barked.
"That's robbery," a man growled, tightening his fists.
The merchant didn't flinch. "Then go thirsty."
Bruno walked past, feeling the weight of his empty pockets. No shards, no supplies. Whatever the city offered, it wasn't going to give anything for free.
He noticed Raine leaning against a stone pillar, watching the crowd the same way he was. She hadn't said much since they arrived.
"Figured anything out?" Bruno asked as he approached.
She exhaled, shaking her head. "Everything runs on Abyssal Crystals here. If you don't have any, you don't eat. You don't get shelter. You don't get anything."
Bruno frowned. "They treat it like money, but it's more than that, isn't it?"
Raine nodded. "I heard someone say the Watchers control most of the supply. That building you tried to enter earlier? That's where they keep the largest stockpile."
Bruno glanced toward the distant headquarters, where the black-cloaked guards still stood unmoving at the entrance. "Then it's not just currency. It's power."
Raine crossed her arms. "And we don't have any of it."
That was a problem.
Before Bruno could respond, a loud commotion erupted near one of the alleyways.
A man stumbled out, clutching his side, his face pale. Blood seeped between his fingers.
Bruno tensed. He wasn't sure what had happened, but the onlookers didn't react with shock or concern. They simply turned away, pretending not to see.
The wounded man's breath was ragged as he took a step forward—then collapsed.
Silence hung in the air.
Bruno and Raine exchanged a look.
No one was going to help him.
Bruno clenched his jaw and stepped forward.
Varen dodged a punch, shifting to the side just as his opponent's fist cut through the air beside him.
The fighter was fast. His footwork was sharp, his strikes precise. But Varen had fought worse.
He countered with a sharp elbow to the ribs, making the man grunt. Another punch came toward him, and Varen caught it, twisting the wrist before driving a knee into his opponent's stomach.
The fighter staggered, coughing.
Varen exhaled.
This wasn't a fight for survival. It wasn't like the Abyss, where every battle was against creatures that twisted reality itself. No, this was structured. It had rules. And that made it predictable.
His opponent rushed him again, throwing a flurry of blows. Varen dodged, weaving through the attacks before catching the man's wrist. In one swift motion, he twisted it behind the fighter's back and swept his legs.
The man hit the ground hard.
Varen stepped back, waiting.
The fighter groaned, trying to push himself up—but after a few seconds, he stopped. He let out a frustrated breath and tapped the ground twice.
The match was over.
The scarred man above gave a slow nod. "Not bad. Guess you're not just another stray."
A small pouch was tossed down. Varen caught it, feeling the weight of the shards inside.
"Welcome to the Pit," the man said with a grin. "Come back when you want to make real money."
Varen tightened his grip around the pouch.
He had his first shards.
It was a start.
---
Bruno knelt beside the wounded man. His breathing was shallow, his fingers trembling as he gripped at his wound.
"What happened?" Bruno asked.
The man coughed, a weak laugh slipping through. "Tried… to take a shortcut. Bad idea."
Bruno glanced at the alleyway. Shadows loomed further in, figures barely visible against the dim city lights.
"They jumped you?"
The man gave a slow nod.
Raine stood nearby, watching cautiously. "We should leave him. If we get involved—"
Bruno shook his head. "If we don't, he dies."
Raine hesitated. Then, after a moment, she sighed and crouched down. "Fine. But we're not carrying him. He has to move."
Bruno grabbed the man's arm, pulling him up. "Can you walk?"
"Not far," the man admitted. "But if you get me to the lower district… someone owes me a favor."
Bruno nodded. "Then let's go."
As they moved, the figures in the alley didn't follow, but he could feel their eyes watching.
This city was a battlefield.
And they were already caught in it.