Hours passed. Scarlett never gave up. She fought and fought. She won. She gained levels. Dasha could not see but he estimated her level was in the late 30s.
Scarlett limped away from the arena after the night. A broken elbow and a sprained ankle pained her from two separate battles. Her red hair turned in a shriek-ish mess as she sought a quiet space to catch her breath. Nowhere in the Dark Tower could she find that. Many stayed even when it closed to keep the heart-thumping adrenaline going. Scarlett was not a netizen of the Underground. She was a modern woman. She wanted peace. She walked, she walked, and she exited.
Far away from the Dark Tower, Scarlett leaned against a cold stone wall. A small figure approached her. It was a young boy, no more than eight years old, with jet-black hair and almond-shaped eyes.
"Excuse me, miss," the boy said. "I am Mùchén of Realize. I saw your fight, Lady Scarlett. You were amazing!"
