After dealing with Kharon, I made my way toward an unimpressive alleyway, one of those narrow, shadowy paths that most people would avoid. At the end of the alley stood an equally unimpressive door, its wooden surface worn and weathered. I knocked six times in a specific pattern, a rhythm I had memorized precisely for this purpose.
The door creaked open, revealing two muscular men who filled the narrow space with their imposing presence. Both were in the 6th stage of mana cultivation, their expressions as hard as stone. They eyed me with suspicion, but I remained calm, reaching into my pocket to retrieve the card I had obtained through Kharon's connections. It was a small, unassuming piece of paper, but here, it held significant weight.
The men took the card from me, examining it closely. After what felt like an eternity, they handed it back and stepped aside, allowing me to pass. Without a word, I slipped inside and began my descent down a set of dimly lit stairs. The air grew thicker with each step, the sounds of distant roars and cheers growing louder as I ventured deeper.
At the bottom of the stairs, I found myself in an underground arena, a place that could only be described as a fight club. The space was packed with people, the dim lighting casting a gritty, almost primal atmosphere over the scene. Fighters of various sizes and skill levels were battling it out in the different fighting rings, their faces twisted in determination and fury.
This was a world where strength was the only currency that mattered, a place where the weak had no choice but to submit or be crushed. I moved through the crowd, my eyes scanning a specific room.
After arriving before a room, I knocked on the door.
"Come in," a male voice responded. I opened the door and stepped inside. The room was modestly furnished, with a few worn chairs and a desk cluttered with papers. Behind the desk sat a middle-aged man, his expression businesslike but curious.
"Please, have a seat," he gestured toward the chair opposite him.
I walked over and took the offered seat. "You're the manager here?"
"Yes," he confirmed, leaning back slightly in his chair. "Kharon told me that you're interested in fighting."
I nodded, and he continued, "I'll arrange your first fight today. Depending on how well you perform, your future matches will be decided, and so will the amount of money we can offer you."
He explained that there were multiple arenas, each designated for fighters of different stages. Since the matches were arranged based on strength levels, I would be paired against someone at the same stage as me. It was clear that this place valued fairness in competition—at least, as much as an underground fight club could.
After our brief discussion, I left the room. My fight was scheduled to take place in an hour, giving me some time to familiarize myself with the atmosphere of the place. I wandered through the different arenas, observing the ongoing matches. The fights were brutal, blood and sweat mingling on the floor as the crowd roared with excitement. The audience was hungry for violence, their cheers growing louder with each strike that landed.
As I continued to explore, I noticed a section of the arena that stood out—the VIP Room. It was secluded, with tinted windows preventing anyone from seeing inside. The people within were undoubtedly of importance, likely nobility or ministers, seeking the thrill of the fights without risking their reputations. While they could indulge in this hidden underworld, they had to maintain a facade of respectability in public. The entertainment district offered more overt pleasures, but being seen there could tarnish their carefully curated images. To me, it was all a pretense. They were just humans, despite the airs they put on.
As the announcer's voice echoed through the underground arena, the crowd's anticipation reached a fever pitch.
"Ladies and gentlemen, it's finally time for your favorite fighter, 'The Mad Berserker'!"
The cheers were deafening as the crowd welcomed the blonde-haired fighter into the arena. His physique was impressive, every muscle rippling as he basked in the adulation of the audience. With a confident grin, he waved to the crowd, his demeanor almost too composed for someone with such a fearsome moniker.
I, on the other hand, received a more subdued reception as the announcer introduced me, "And challenging him is a newbie... 'The Slayer!'"
I removed my shirt, feeling the cool air of the underground arena against my skin, and stepped into the ring. The cheers might have been for my opponent, but I had no intention of giving these people what they expected. As I locked eyes with 'The Mad Berserker,' I could see the arrogance radiating from him.
"Try not to die, kid," he sneered, his smirk dripping with overconfidence.
The referee quickly went over the rules—no magic, only hand-to-hand combat, but innate abilities were allowed. The fight would only end when one of us tapped out or was knocked unconscious. We both nodded, and the referee signaled the start of the match.
The Mad Berserker wasted no time, launching a powerful right hook aimed directly at my face. But I was quicker, bobbing to the left, causing his punch to whiff past me. Before he could recover, I countered with a swift jab to his ribs, followed by a sharp uppercut that snapped his head back.
The crowd's cheers turned into gasps of surprise as The Mad Berserker stumbled back, momentarily stunned by the speed and precision of my strikes. But his surprise quickly turned into anger as he charged at me with a flurry of wild punches. He was fast and strong, but his technique was sloppy, his attacks driven more by rage than skill. I dodged and weaved through his blows with ease, landing precise counters that only seemed to fuel his frustration.
"Is this all you've got?" I taunted, ducking under another wild swing and landing a solid punch to his gut, doubling him over.
But as I moved in to finish him off, something changed. His eyes turned bloodshot, and his breathing became ragged. The veins in his neck and arms bulged as a red aura began to emanate from his body. I could feel his power surging, his muscles swelling with newfound strength.
"You're dead!" he roared, his voice guttural as he activated his innate ability, 'Berserker.'
He came at me with a renewed ferocity, his speed and power now far beyond what they were before. Each punch he threw felt like a sledgehammer, and even though I managed to dodge most of them, the ones that grazed me sent shocks of pain through my body. I could no longer afford to toy with him.
The crowd was on the edge of their seats, watching as The Mad Berserker pressed his relentless assault. But while his strength had increased, his control had diminished. His attacks were wild and unfocused, leaving him open to counters.
I waited for my moment, biding my time as he continued to lash out. When he overextended on a right cross, I slipped to the side and delivered a powerful blow to his jaw, staggering him. Before he could recover, I unleashed a rapid combination of punches to his torso, targeting vital points with surgical precision.
He grunted in pain, but his berserker rage kept him standing. His bloodshot eyes locked onto me as he swung wildly again. I ducked under his arm and delivered a devastating uppercut that sent him reeling.
With his defenses crumbling, I decided it was time to end this. I feinted to the left, drawing him off balance, and then struck with a powerful roundhouse kick to the side of his head. The impact was brutal, and The Mad Berserker's eyes rolled back as he crumpled to the ground, unconscious before he even hit the floor.
The arena fell silent for a moment before erupting into cheers and shouts of disbelief. I stood over my fallen opponent, breathing heavily but unscathed. The manager had been right—this place was brutal, and they loved nothing more than a good fight. But today, they had seen something they didn't expect.
The referee moved in to check on The Mad Berserker, confirming he was out cold, and then raised my hand in victory.