The brilliant white light, reminiscent of a white dwarf, bathed the underground town in its radiant glow.
Structures of varied types, ranging from humble huts to apartments that, while not reaching the zenith, still commanded attention, illustrated the harmonious coexistence of this locale.
Buildings, accompanied by people of every race, soared through the air and roamed freely, displaying their prowess to onlookers. Their cohabitation mirrored that of ordinary cities above, where diverse races mingled seamlessly.
Artificially placed greenery, meticulously curated to evoke a refreshing ambiance, coexisted with freely wandering animals accompanied by their owners.
People paused by the shops, either browsing or glancing at them fleetingly. Others lingered with friends or lovers, engaging in a spectrum of emotions—laughter, shouts, tears, or even whimsically tossing a bouquet of roses into a nearby trash bin.
"Everything seems…"
"Ordinary," Leon finished her sentence.
"I was expecting something more, you know? Like, maybe a Black Building or something!"
"Mike, it feels like you're shouting for the first time. I'm just saying it since everything seems so ordinary, and I lost interest pretty quickly."
"Man, that was a long a*s sentence. But yeah, I feel the same way."
"And I got so hyped about this..."
"Don't worry, Triss. That's just how life is."
"Yeah, you might get disappointed sometimes."
"Aren't you guys just spouting whatever you've heard before?"
"And? What's the problem with that?"
"Yeah, everyone does that."
"Sigh…"
Just one look at their faces and a sigh escaped her lips, becoming the last utterance until they reached their destination. The journey proceeded at a leisurely pace, akin to an elevator designed to showcase the city from above.
Triss, huffing furiously, stormed out with a face ablaze with the redness of anger. Her frustration boiled over, ignited by the town's failure to meet her expectations.
She harbored the hope that there would be something distinct about this place, and that hope was the driving force behind her decision to come here.
"Why are you rushing, though?"
Leon's face, too, bore the stain of crimson, tainted not by anger but by shame. His friend briskly moved through the crowd, drawing all eyes with her conspicuous behavior, and the embarrassment clung to Leon's features.
"I'm about to figure out the difference between here and above."
"Are you an idiot?"
"What?"
"The difference is the f*cking shops. Did you forget why we came here? I mean, I don't even know why we're here in the first place since you dragged us here."
"I thought, at least the buildings or scenery or something would be different!"
"Stop yelling in front of everyone..."
At the very moment she grasped her error, Mike quietly whispered, "Let's get out of here, guys."
Faces tinged with shame, they hastily departed to the left of the road.
This area, concealed in the shadow of the black market, unveiled its true nature—a realm of shops where no one bothered to inquire about your identity or the purpose behind your purchases. This very anonymity was the precise reason they had selected this location to glean those elusive passwords from others back in the base.
Hordes of swords, shields, spears, gloves, bows, and arrows were sprawled across the space. From katanas to scimitars, scimitars to rapiers; from one-tipped spears to those meeting two tips on each side—the variety was endless.
Every conceivable weapon lay before them, capturing the wide-eyed attention of the children.
Yet, amid the array of weaponry, one type was notably absent: guns. The firearms of old had nearly vanished from people's lives, replaced by the medieval-aged weapons that now dominated the scene.
Laser guns stood as exceptions, reserved solely for guards during challenging moments or missions requiring the utmost care.
Denied access to laser guns, people relegated them to the realm of dreams. Yet, the need for self-protection persisted. Guns emerged as the primary choice, not only for their ease of purchase but also due to the absence of any rules restricting their acquisition.
The warnings from their instructors, voiced by people from various clans, held no significance until the majority confronted the harsh reality of a lethal tool known as a gun.
In a swift revelation, people learned a crucial fact: a bullet couldn't pierce through the skin of an energy user. However, it was also a fact casually cast aside by many.
'It's okay. I can simply envelop the bullet with my aura, just like those individuals, and wield it as my weapon.' This prevailing line of thinking echoed throughout those times.
Two absolute reasons severed the future path for both guns and bullets alike. The first reason was the difficulty in usage. Enveloping the entire gun with aura held no purpose unless it was intended for an offensive action.
Hence, the need to cover the bullet first arose. Yet, attempting to do so while it resided in the magazine would impede its firing capability, effectively nullifying the very purpose of crafting a gun.
People swiftly grasped the necessity of covering the bullet right after it shot out from the barrel. Yet, those who had attained Level 2 in universal energy arts were faster than a speeding bullet.
Nevertheless, there existed a distinct disparity between being faster than a bullet and possessing the agility to cover the projectile with aura while it traversed through the air toward its target. This proved to be the challenging aspect, more formidable than one could fathom.
Talented people always constitute exceptions, and such outliers indeed existed. Some hailed as geniuses managed to cover the bullet in midair, elevating their attacks to surpass those of their peers. However, a second reason came into play: cost-effectiveness.
Enveloping something with aura exacts a toll on the mind, inducing energy loss until replenished through meditation or over time. To achieve the swiftness required to cover a bullet in midair with minimal interference in its trajectory, one must invest every ounce of effort, making it costly in every conceivable manner.
By day's end, a few people opted to learn it as a trump card, but the majority dismissed the idea entirely.
Investing time and energy into their own studies of weaponry arts promised greater benefits, as the likelihood of positive outcomes from their diligent efforts outweighed the risks and challenges posed by mastering the elusive skill of covering bullets with aura.
"Hey, if you are not buying anything, please go away."
Even though they recognized that the statement was directed at them, their attention remained captivated by the gleaming array of weapons.
Mike, "We've got money, man. Do we look like beggars to you?"
"I don't know about that."
Yet, an unforeseen and intriguing response proved sufficient to prompt them to raise their heads.
"Ah, sorry about that."
The kid with closed eyes possessed snowy white skin that mirrored the shade of his short hair.
"It's okay. Now, go away."
"Hey, are you ordering us now?"
"Triss," in a whisper, "Look at the guy behind," Mike warned her.
Behind the kid stood a 2-meter-tall man with a human appearance. His hair, also white in color, might have rendered him handsome if not for a horizontal cut on his forehead and a vertical one on his left cheek.
The eyes of a seasoned fighter, having witnessed everything the world had to offer, were fixed on the kids, constantly scanning their surroundings with vigilant caution.
"Doesn't matter," declared, taking a few steps toward the kid. "Do you think we're afraid of you?"
"You should," replied with a smirk.
His smirk and the unwavering stillness of his bodyguard, who clearly had no intention of interfering in a child's matters, fueled both anger and courage within Mike, "We may not beat you, but Leon can.""
"Leon?"
"The guy on my left. He even went toe to toe with a Sand Tier guard."
Two eyebrows simultaneously arched upward into the air. Subsequently, the people behind this shared gesture released a chuckle.
""Hahaha.""
"And that guard either knocked on the doors of the other side or was one of his parents, right?"
"Hmph, if you don't believe me, test it. He wouldn't be afraid of you just because you're blind."
In a deliberate and subdued manner, "Is that so?"
Advancing menacingly, he took deliberate steps one by one toward Leon, as if he already knew precisely where he stood, despite being blind.
"Let's do it then."
Leon responded calmly, "Alright."
'It's an excellent opportunity.'
"Hold on," Mike interjected, gazing with disbelieving eyes, "Isn't it forbidden to fight here?"
"There's always a way," he remarked, turning to his back, "Albert, please show the way."
"Understood, young master."
Albert led them to the outskirts of the underground town, a journey that took a good fifteen minutes. And they weren't alone; those who had overheard the exchange chose to tag along.
Herd mentality blended with curiosity, prompting even more people to join them. Now, they had a substantial audience, both on the ground and in the air.
They arrived at an empty space, significantly closer to the colossal metallic wall that encircled and upheld the underground town.
The crowd, accustomed to such situations, stood at a distance, ensuring they didn't interfere with the impending clash between the fighters.
"Axel, fourteen years old."
"Leon, fourteen years old."
"Heh, good."
Leon assumed his fighting stance: right foot in the front, left in the back, both parallel; right fist positioned slightly ahead, while the left rested a bit lower, parallel to his waist.
Axel mirrored Leon's stance but in a reverse fashion. However, there was one key difference—something that caught Leon's attention and was the very reason he had opted to engage in this fight.
Axel's right palm was open.
"Let it come," Leon stated quietly.
"Sure."
Shadows coalesced around his palm, gradually amassing into a pitch-black sphere. It seemed to materialize from the deepest recesses of the cosmos, crawling forth from the abyss and taking form on his outstretched hand.
'Shadow magic.'