In the basement, amidst the boisterous cheers of the crowd, a southern continental-style band played passionately with massive wind instruments. This was Night Hawk's preference, and the music exuded a fiery, exuberant energy. At the center of the arena, surrounded by onlookers, the giant Austin held Arthur by the neck, lifting him off the ground in time with the rhythm.
Arthur's face was flushed crimson as he clawed at Austin's fleshy right hand and kicked his legs desperately. Just moments earlier, he'd already exhausted every insult in his vocabulary cursing George. With his feet smeared with sand, Arthur managed to scrape the sand into Austin's eyes and mouth during his struggle.
Austin let out a howl and released Arthur, rubbing his eyes furiously while spitting out sand. When he could finally open his eyes, he saw Arthur sitting on the ground, gasping for air and clutching his throat as he crawled backward.
Roaring in anger at Arthur's underhanded tactics, Austin's heavy steps shook the arena floor, scattering debris toward the audience. As he approached, Arthur scooped up another handful of sand and flung it into his eyes. Could the same trick work twice? Normally no, but Austin proved to be an exception. Another cry rang out as the giant rubbed at his face in frustration, stumbling clumsily to the ground like a child throwing a tantrum.
As the spirited music reached its climax, Arthur launched a decisive punch that toppled Austin. The crowd erupted into cheers, rooting for Arthur as though they'd been loyal fans all along. "Tear that big fool apart!" they shouted. Arthur raised his arms in triumph, savoring the moment of glory.
But his celebration was short-lived. Austin struck back with a sweeping arm that sent Arthur hurtling into the ropes. Using the rebound, Austin delivered a devastating blow, flooring Arthur mid-air. Before Arthur could even register the impact, Austin stomped on his abdomen with bone-crushing force, knocking him unconscious.
When Arthur came to, he was in the lounge of the underground arena. A dark-skinned elf was tending to his injuries with a healing spell. The warm light stung his nerves back to life, startling him into shoving the elf away. She tumbled backward, giving him a helpless look before glancing toward the door.
Sitting on a bench near the exit, sipping malt beer, was none other than Night Hawk.
"Not bad, kid," Night Hawk said with a smirk. "Took a beating from that pile of meat and woke up this fast? You've got some grit."
"Mr. Night Hawk," Arthur rasped, still holding his aching ribs, "you planned this, didn't you? Setting me up with an opponent like him... for fun?"
Night Hawk chuckled, downing the last of his beer. Tossing the empty bottle to the elf, he leaned in closer to Arthur. "George really didn't tell you anything, huh?"
"Not a word. He just told me to find you."
"So, you don't know Austin either? Four years ago, he was George's first opponent too. Difference is, George knocked him out cold."
Arthur's disbelief was palpable. He remembered George as the goofy older boy who used to lose every prank war against him and Katerina. Could George really be that strong?
"Believe it, kid," Night Hawk said, reading his expression. "Same guy. Only George would have the guts to name-drop me outside this street."
Arthur's suspicions grew. Night Hawk had mentioned before that only a few big shots on this street knew his name, and he'd never introduced himself in the ring. Why would George know it?
"Relax," Night Hawk said casually. "I'm just 'unregistered.' Not joining the human race anytime soon."
Arthur froze. Unregistered beastfolk had been prime targets for law enforcement and the arbitration corps four years ago. Had Night Hawk really been hiding here all this time?
"Don't overthink it. Your face gives away everything you're wondering. Besides, no enforcer dares to barge into Etzikri Street. You've got plenty of time to get stronger. Rest up, kid. Your next fight's in two days."
With that, Night Hawk stood and left, leaving Arthur to nurse his wounds and his pride.
By the time Arthur stumbled out of the underground arena, the night sky was painted with the violet hues of a thunder moon. Etzikri Street, however, was ablaze with life. Drunken men and scantily clad women crowded the street, their raucous laughter and lewd whispers filling the air.
Though many eyed Arthur with curiosity, no one dared approach. A small blue fist-shaped badge pinned to his collar was enough to make them turn away. Night Hawk had given it to him three days earlier, marking him as a friend or guest of the underground arena. On this street, that symbol was sacred. Anyone who crossed Arthur would have to answer to Kuqi, the towering guard at the arena's gate.
As the street's chaos faded behind him, Arthur sighed, rubbing the scratch on his left cheek. He still had no idea how to explain his injuries to Mrs. Lily, Katerina, and the others. The image of Austin's towering frame and his devastating clothesline replayed vividly in his mind.
"I've still got a long way to go before I'm strong," he muttered to himself, clenching his fists as he disappeared into the night.
...
In the darkened central hall of the Wolls Estate, Edward sat twirling a small handgun between his fingers. The room was silent save for the faint metallic hum of the weapon.
Rastel, the iron-masked deputy captain of the Arbiter Corps' Bear Squad, knelt reverently at his side.
"So, you've located that water mage again?" Edward asked, resting his chin on his hand.
"Yes, Lord Edward," Rastel replied, his voice trembling slightly. "But he's grown much stronger than he was four years ago. He can even create environments to his advantage now."
Edward didn't acknowledge the fear in Rastel's voice. The failure from four years ago was still fresh in both their minds. Back then, Rastel's burned face had been the cost of defeat—punished with a blank shot that left scars beneath his iron mask.
This time, Edward didn't care about Rastel's regrets. The water mage was the real concern.
As Edward's lips curled into a sinister smile, he tapped Rastel's mask with the gun handle. "Now, you're going to the beastfolk territories."
Rastel's body tensed. The two races were at war; entering their lands was a death sentence. Was this a command or a death wish?
"Relax," Edward said with a sly grin. "It's not suicide. You're going to meet another god's emissary."
"Another emissary?" Rastel's voice was uncertain. "A beastfolk?"
"Exactly," Edward said, his grin widening. "Because the gods love all their creations."