Outside, the smell of sweat and blood and cheap booze came from the cellar room. Flickering, dim lights barely lit the makeshift arena — a rusty metal cage at the center of a basement crowded with desperate men and women.
Among them was Asher, thin and ragged, buried in a hoodie he'd scavenged from the streets. The silver of his eyes, once shining with magic, now looked over the scene delicately, each decision made, and accounted for.
This was it.
The Slum Tournaments.
A savage underground fighting ring in which the powerless risked their lives for a chance to live.
And it was just where Asher was supposed to be.
A World Where Might Makes Right
For the last two days, he had absorbed about how this world operated.
This would be the Awakening Test: in order to become a Hunter. But it didn't come free—they were only available to those with coin or guild support.
Dungeons were the center of the economy. From resources to power struggles, everything centered around them.
The strong were elevated, and the weak were cast aside.
And in the slums, there were only two roads:
Rot in the streets.
Fight your way out.
Asher had already made his decision.
He had lost his mana, his title, and the strength from his previous life, all of those things had been taken from him. But he still had his mind. His instincts. His will to win.
That was more than enough.
The First Fight
"NEXT FIGHT!"
The announcer's voice resonated in the chamber. A big man climbed into the cage, clad only in scars. A battle-hardened veteran of the underground fights.
"Versus… the new blood!"
Asher stepped forward, and the crowd jeered. He looked smaller, thinner, weaker.
A boy who appeared to have already failed.
Perfect.
He stepped into the cage. The door had slammed shut behind him.
"You sure about this, kid?" the announcer smirked. "Newbies don't last long."
Asher rolled his shoulders. His body was feeble, but his mind was vigorous. He had battled monsters, warlords, and abyssal horrors. This was nothing.
The announcer put his hand up.
"FIGHT!"
The brute lumbered forward, fists swinging like wrecking balls.
But Asher was already moving.
Dodge. Sidestep. Weave.
He stepped a little out of range, forcing his opponent to expend energy. The man growled, haymakers thrown wide—but Asher had studied fighters far worse than he.
He wasn't just dodging.
He was reading.
Pattern detected. Movement sluggish. Right-side defense weak.
Asher's eyes zeroed in on the gap.
The brute swung again — Asher ducked under it, twisting his torso —
CRACK!
His elbow crashed into the man's ribcage.
The brute lurched and gagged blood.
There was a moment of hush in the crowd.
Then, laughter.
"That little rat really did him some injury!"
Asher didn't wait. He pressed the attack.
A swift kick to the knee. A jab to the throat. A final strike to the temple.
The brute collapsed.
The announcer blinked. The crowd roared.
"THE KID WINS!"
A pouch of coins to be scrapped was thrown into the ring. Asher caught it.
It wasn't much. But it was a first step forward for him.
Climbing the Ladder
Asher struggled again and again in the days that followed.
He never triumphed through brute force." He won by adapting. Studying. Exploiting weaknesses.
Against speed fighters? He allowed them to tire themselves out.
Against brawlers? He disabled them with precise strikes.
Against aggressive opponents? He lured them into errors."
And he learned with each victory.
Not just about fighting.
About how the fundamental combat system of this world operated.
Because some fighters had abilities.)
Not full Hunter powers — but heightened reflexes, unnatural strength, preternatural endurance.
The Awakening System wasn't exclusive to official Hunters. Surviving long enough could force a less powerful Awakening.
And Asher had a theory.
If this body possessed no power… then he would cause it to Awaken.
The Final Test
"You have gotten yourself a reputation, kid."
The voice belonged to an old man the back of the underground ring. He had on a dark coat; his left arm ended below the elbow.
He was called Grimm.
And he was the true master of the tournament.
"One final battle, and you'll have what you want," Grimm said.
Asher stared at him. "And what is it I want?"
Grimm smirked. "A shot at the Awakening Test."
Not a word was spoken in the room, the air grew thick with tension.
All the slums wanted was an opportunity to be a Hunter. However, few ever received sponsorship from underground factions.
"Defeat my champion," Grimm said, "and I'll let you in."
Asher nodded.
"Fine."
Grimm chuckled. "You should have asked who it is you are fighting first.
The doors opened.
A great figure advanced. Muscles like steel cables. A brutal grin.
And a luminous sigil on his neck.
Asher's eyes narrowed.
This one was more than a fighter.
He was already Awakening.
The final test had begun.