The underground arena was far more than a mere fighting pit. It was a meeting ground for those living in the shadows, where alliances were forged, debts were settled, and power was the ultimate currency.
As Martin made his way through the chaotic energy of the place, the Mystery Agent appeared from the crowd, her face a mask of calm amid the noise.
Without wasting time, she motioned for him to follow her, leading him away from the fighting pit and into a quieter, dimly lit backroom.
Inside, three distinct groups were already waiting, each exuding a very different energy. The Mystery Agent introduced them in quick succession, though her words were measured, as if carefully selecting what to reveal.
Martin's eyes swept over the individuals before him, each one representative of a larger syndicate, all of them underdogs in their own right.
"The first group," she said, gesturing to a ragtag collection of fighters and sharp-eyed men, "smuggled their way here from overseas. They were once part of a powerful syndicate in Eastern Europe, running lucrative operations—smuggling weapons, laundering money, you name it. But they got caught in the crossfire of a power struggle back home. Their leadership was taken out, and they were left to fend for themselves in a foreign land. They're trying to rebuild, but without local support, they're struggling to stay afloat. They call themselves The Drifters."
Martin looked at them closely. They were hardened men, their faces etched with the kind of experience that only came from surviving in the darkest corners of the world.
But beneath that toughness, Martin could sense a desperation—a need to regain what they'd lost.
"The second group," the Agent continued, "used to control a significant portion of this city's underground gambling rings. They operated with ruthless efficiency, but internal conflict weakened them. A family dispute turned bloody, and their syndicate fractured. What remains of them now is a shadow of their former power. They've tried to consolidate their forces, but they lack the strength and numbers they once had. They're known as The Black Circles."
The Black Circles seemed more organized than The Drifters, but there was a wariness in their eyes, like soldiers who had fought too many battles and now feared the next one might be their last.
They still held onto some influence, but it was clear that they had few allies left. Their leader, a stern-faced woman with cropped hair and sharp features, watched Martin closely as if assessing his worth in the same way he was judging them.
"The last group," the Agent said, pausing for emphasis, "is the most recent addition to the arena. They were once backed by a wealthy businessman who funded their operations from the shadows. They dealt in high-end smuggling—drugs, rare art, anything that could turn a profit. But when their patron was arrested for unrelated crimes, they lost everything. Now they're scraping by, barely holding onto their turf. They call themselves The Night Owls."
The Night Owls were younger than the other two groups, but no less dangerous. Their leader, a man with cold eyes and a predatory grin, leaned against the wall, watching Martin with interest. He looked like someone who thrived on chaos, someone who had no intention of bowing to anyone, even in defeat.
The Mystery Agent folded her arms, leaning back as she studied Martin's reaction to the three groups. "These are the ones who've fallen from grace, each for their own reasons. But that doesn't mean they're useless. Far from it. Sometimes, the most desperate are the most dangerous. Keep them in mind if you ever want to carve out a force in the underground. They might not look like much now, but with the right backing, they could be turned into something far more formidable."
Martin nodded thoughtfully, though his mind raced with the possibilities. These groups had the experience and knowledge of the underworld that he lacked. But there was a risk.
Taking them in would mean inheriting their enemies, their past mistakes, and their grudges. It was a gamble, and Martin didn't like making moves without calculating the odds.
As if on cue, the door to the backroom creaked open, and the atmosphere immediately shifted. A tall, imposing figure stepped inside, flanked by two hulking bodyguards.
His expression was calm, but his presence carried an undercurrent of menace. The room fell silent as he approached, his eyes locking onto Martin with the intensity of a predator sizing up its prey.
"You must be the one they're talking about," the man said, his voice low and dangerous. "Thinking about taking these losers under your wing, huh?"
Martin didn't flinch. He simply stared back, his gaze unwavering.
The man sneered, taking a step closer. "Let me give you a piece of advice. These guys? They're finished. They've been picked apart and left to rot for a reason. If you take them in, you'll end up just like them—crushed and forgotten. So, I'd think twice before you make any stupid decisions. Because if you choose wrong, I'll make sure you go down with them."
The room grew tense, the air thick with the unspoken threat. Martin remained calm, his mind processing the warning. He wasn't one to be intimidated easily, but he also knew better than to ignore a threat.
The enemy of one of these groups had just made his presence known, and it was clear that whatever decision Martin made would have consequences.
The man gave Martin one last look before turning on his heel and leaving the room, his bodyguards trailing behind him. The door slammed shut, and the tension slowly began to dissipate.
The Mystery Agent raised an eyebrow, her tone amused. "Well, that's something to think about, isn't it?"
Martin nodded slowly. There was much to consider, but one thing was certain—he had just stepped into a world where every decision was a dangerous gamble. And in this world, the stakes were always high.
It's not that Martin would deliberately pick a bone with someone to prove his bravery or whatever, but he would judge a situation based on gains and losses…
Martin made his way to the VIP viewing area alongside the Mystery Agent.
The atmosphere in this section of the underground arena was different.
While the pit below was filled with the sounds of clashing bodies, grunts of pain, and the roar of the crowd, up here, the air was thick with quiet calculation.
The attendees of this exclusive area were not like the common audience—here sat the power players, the sponsors, and the individuals who saw the brutality below not as entertainment, but as a business opportunity.
As they settled into their seats, the Mystery Agent gestured toward the fighters below.
"Tonight's matches should give you a clearer picture of what you're dealing with. Watch closely. Each of these groups will be sending their fighters into the pit. You'll see who has the potential to be molded, and who's a lost cause."
Martin nodded, leaning back as the first fight began. His eyes locked onto the fighters as they circled one another, a wild mix of desperation and skill on display.
It was chaotic, yet something about the primal nature of it all fascinated him. But this wasn't just about violence—it was about potential.
The first fighter to step into the cage was one of The Drifters, a man with a lean, wiry build who moved with the precision of a predator.
His opponent, a brute from one of the other syndicates, towered over him, but Martin quickly noted that size didn't matter here.
The Drifter moved swiftly, dodging blows and launching precise strikes to his opponent's weaker points. Within minutes, the brute lay on the ground, defeated.
"Impressive," Martin muttered, though his tone lacked excitement. He wasn't here for entertainment. He needed to assess what use these men would be to him.
Speed and skill were essential, but so was loyalty. If he couldn't trust them, then none of this mattered.
The next fight featured a fighter from The Black Circles. She was quick, aggressive, and brutal—attacking with ferocity, clearly a seasoned fighter.
She dispatched her opponent with cold efficiency, but Martin noted the weariness in her movements.
The Black Circles were capable, but there was a fragility about them, an exhaustion that came from too many battles lost. Could they recover from that?
His mind wandered as he watched fight after fight. As capable as these people were, they were still human—limited by their physical capabilities. And this was where Martin's thoughts turned dangerous.
Could the system help him build a stronger force? Could it optimize their bodies, turning them into something more formidable than what they were now?
He considered the risks. It wasn't just about strengthening his men—it was about control.
If he gave them power, would they remain loyal, or would they turn on him? He needed to experiment first, to understand the limits of the system's enhancements.
There was no rush to make a decision, but the idea of optimizing his subordinates with bronze tokens intrigued him.
He could create an underground force unlike anything this world had seen. But first, he needed to be sure. Testing the effects on animals seemed like a safe step.