According to the terms of the negotiation, all soldiers of the First Army were granted the freedom to move as they pleased. They were allowed to visit their families and had the choice to stay or return, though for most, that decision held little meaning. With the exception of a few officers who were minor nobility, the majority of the soldiers had but one thought in mind—hurry back to bring their loved ones to New Kato, where they could enjoy unlimited fresh water.
In less than two days, nearly everyone had gathered their families at the entrance to the passage leading to the underhive, and one by one, they were transported to New Kato. Yet, some were not so fortunate in finding their kin.
Take Grot, for instance.
"What's wrong, brother?" Grey asked, noticing Grot sitting silently atop a bunker, staring into the distance. Grey leaped up beside him, sitting down with a concerned look.
"I couldn't find my family," Grot murmured in a low voice. "They lived in District Fourteen, but when I got there, the house was rusted and moldy. It's clear they've been gone for a long time."
Grey was well aware of Grot's family situation. He had an older brother and a younger sister. By all accounts, both were capable enough to survive in the hive. It made no sense for them to have disappeared.
Searching for words to console his friend, Grey finally spoke, "Maybe they ran into some trouble, maybe they're wandering the lower hive… I'm not great with words, but I just want to say—"
"Did you bring your family to New Kato?" Grot interrupted.
"Yes," Grey nodded.
"Congratulations, brother."
"I—"
Before Grey could continue, Grot gripped his hand, giving him a solemn nod before falling silent once more. Moments later, Klein approached, calling out, "Come on, let's head over to District One for some fun."
"Klein? I thought you'd never come back," Grey said, surprised. He had assumed that someone of Klein's noble status would have stayed in the upper hive. After all, while New Kato in the underhive was better than the lower hive, it still paled in comparison to the luxuries of the upper hive.
"My family's idiots think I've lost my mind. They refused to join me in the underhive," Klein said, clearly not wanting to dwell on the subject. "Let's head to District One and relax a bit. We've fought nearly a year's worth of battles, we deserve a break."
"District One? Isn't that gang territory?" Grey was familiar with the dangers that lurked in District One. For common folk, it was a perilous place. Even criminals didn't dare enter without being stripped of everything valuable.
"District One is dangerous, sure… for others. But for those with money, it's paradise. I guarantee we'll be treated like VIPs," Klein grinned.
Grey glanced at Grot, sensing that now wasn't the right time for merriment. His friend needed comfort more than revelry.
"Come with us," Klein suggested, turning to Grot with a teasing tone. "Maybe your family joined a gang. This could be your chance to find them."
What was meant as a joke struck a chord with Grot, who suddenly found the possibility plausible. His brother, after all, was strong and skilled in combat. Joining a gang wouldn't be out of character.
Without hesitation, Grot leapt down from the bunker, and after Grey followed, the two of them accompanied Klein to District One.
…
It seemed the gangs were eager to curry favor with the First Army, for even without Klein spending a single coin, the three of them were treated like honored guests. A woman, whose body had been cybernetically enhanced to a flawless figure, acted as their guide, leading them through the pleasures of District One.
The evening was perfect.
They drank to their hearts' content, feasted on ant-beef, and were introduced to several gang leaders. All of it was free of charge.
At last, the guide took them to the gladiatorial arena, escorting them to a VIP suite where they could watch the fights from above.
"Each of you has a betting limit of 10,000 throne coins," the guide announced, holding out two metal tokens toward Grey. "These are gifts. Even if you lose your bet, you can still take the 10,000 coins. If you win, you can take home even more."
Hearing the sum, even Klein was slightly taken aback. That kind of money could feed an entire regiment for a month, plus pay their wages.
"I'm betting on…" Grot examined the tokens briefly before choosing the name of a gladiator he liked the sound of. "I'll bet on Heavy Hammer."
"I'll go with Heavy Hammer too."
"Same here."
Neither Grey nor Klein knew any of the gladiators, so they simply followed Grot's lead.
The guide quickly logged their bets into the machine, and not long after, the fight began.
Amid the swirl of multicolored lights, the first gladiator made his entrance.
"Let's welcome the fighter most likely to win tonight's match… Ant, Ant, Ant… Antbull!"
Cheers and applause erupted through the arena as a hulking figure emerged from the cage. His body had been heavily augmented—standing over two meters tall, armor plating fused into his vital areas, and even his arms were modified into long blades.
"Kill!" Antbull roared, raising his fists to the crowd, whose excitement only intensified in response.
"And now, let's welcome the unfortunate soul about to be sliced to pieces by Antbull… Heavy Hammer!"
The second gladiator stepped out, though compared to Antbull, his appearance was far less imposing. His left half was all muscle, but his right was covered in crude metal—both arms replaced by industrial pincers, the workmanship shoddy at best.
"He's a deep-pit slave," Klein remarked.
"A deep-pit slave?" Grey asked, unfamiliar with the term.
"Ever heard of them? They're quite common…" Klein began to explain. Deep-pit slaves were individuals lured into massive debts by guilds. When they couldn't repay, they were forcibly augmented and sent to work as slaves in factories.
That was the fate of a deep-pit slave.
Most of their bodies were modified for industrial purposes, which explained why Heavy Hammer's arms were massive pincers.
"Some deep-pit slaves kill their overseers and escape, surviving as gladiators until their inevitable death in the arena," Klein added.
"I see…" Grey muttered, beginning to understand. "That's a tragic fate."
Grot, however, remained silent. Though he was seated far from the arena floor, he couldn't shake the feeling that Heavy Hammer's physique—especially that half-flesh, half-metal form—was eerily familiar.
Strangely, hauntingly familiar.