After a while, the carriage rolled to a halt before the grand entrance of the Iron Ring Arena.
The arena boasts a grand, circular design at its heart, encircled by elevated seating tiers that offer a commanding view of the action below. Its architecture is designed to accommodate large crowds. Majestic arches of riveted iron loomed overhead, their curved spines threaded with pulsating aether lamps and tubes that cast a sickly pale glow over the bloodstained sand, surrounding the warrior's ground, all hinting at a rich legacy of past battles and spectacles.
Levi's voice came from the carriage. "Veylan, hand us the potions."
Veylan produced three Skin of Another potions, each sealed in a sleek, glass bottle that gleamed with quality.
Levi passed one to Dorian. Then he didn't waste a second. He popped the wooden lid off his bottle and brought it to his lips, drinking the potion down in smooth, practiced swallows. As soon as the potion touched his lips, a fiery warmth surged down his throat, settling like molten lead in his gut. At first, it was just a tingling, an eerie, crawling sensation under his skin.
Then, the true agony began.
His jaw cracked violently, jerking forward with a sickening snap as bones reshaped itself.
The crack of them echoed in the carriage, a grotesque symphony of reshaping flesh. Cheekbones shifted beneath his skin, each movement tearing through sinew and muscles as blood pooled in his mouth. His flesh warped and bubbled, like molten metal coursing through veins, twisting in violent spasms until the transformation locked into place.
Where Levi once was now a boy, plain-faced, average in every sense. He turned to Dorian, voice hoarse and unrecognizable. "Your turn."
"Huh? Done already?" Dorian muttered, eyes still fixed on Levi's now-average face. "That alchemist said there'd be pain, but you didn't even flinch. Not even a huff. Crying in agony seems out of reach for you." It was the first time Dorian had witnessed such a transformation. Still, without wasting a moment, he raised his own bottle and drank the potion. The moment it slid down his throat, the fire came, searing and sudden. His first bone cracked with a jolt, and a strangled cry burst from his lips.
"Ahhh!"
"Hell!"
"Crap!"
Each word came out in a different voice, as if something inside him were splintering in more ways than one. His facial bones shifted brutally, snapping and re-forming with sickening precision. Levi glanced over as he staggered, barely able to keep his footing. "Pathetic," he muttered, almost as an afterthought.
Dorian, still gasping, shot him a glare, but the fire in his eyes was dimmed by the torment. It wasn't that the potion lacked numbing agents, it was Dorain who was the real issue. From infancy to this very day, he'd never known suffering. Not like this. By the time the transformation ended, so did his struggle to keep composure. He dropped to one knee, gagged, and vomited a mouthful of blood onto the wooden floor. Then he wiped his lips with the back of his hand, glaring up at Levi and said in agony, "Hey… why the hell didn't you vomit blood?"
Levi smiled, a hint of amusement in his eyes.
"I swallowed it."
Dorian glared at him, still catching his breath as the pain slowly faded from his face."That son of a bitch… Did he have to give us the lowest-grade potions?" he groaned, wiping the blood from his mouth. "If I ever see his face again, I'm pouring this crap down his throat."
Levi chuckled but didn't say a word. Instead, he gave him a knowing look. "Now… do you remember the script I gave you?". Dorian raised a hand, formed a confident thumbs-up, and smirked. "Please… Now you're just insulting me."
With a final glance at him, Levi turned toward the Warrior Registration arch, its iron filigree humming with dormant aether. Meanwhile, Dorian veered toward the token counter, where the clink of Solari echoed like a mechanical heartbeat.
The betting system followed a strict hierarchy, with different tiers catering to various types of gamblers.
First came the General Public, placing bets from 1 to 9 Solari, common folk looking for a thrill or a lucky win. Next were the Esteemed Guests, whose wagers ranged from 10 to 99 Solari. These were wealthier nobels, often regulars, who commanded a bit more attention. And finally, there were the Ultimate Guests, those placing 100 to 1000 Solari per bet. These high rollers were usually invited personally by the arena's management and rarely showed up without a reason. But whenever they did, the entire crowd paid attention to their bets.
Wherever these Ultimate Guests placed their money, the public followed. Sometimes out of hope for easy winnings. Other times because rumors said the arena owners tilted the odds in their favor or that these elite bettors had enough experience to read the blood before it spilled.
The counterwoman scrutinized Levi, her eyes sharp as rivet-guns and asked, "Your name?"
He answered coldly, "Shadow Slayer."
The woman's expression faltered at the name. She looked him up and down, then scoffed and shook her head. "Hmph… another wanderer who thinks the world is beneath his feet." She couldn't help but wonder what kind of man would choose such a grandiose name for himself.
She slid a token across the counter. "It'll cost you one Solari. Your battle starts in half an hour. But if you don't have anyone to place a bet on you, don't bother showing up. Newcomers aren't allowed to fight without a sponsor."
She leaned forward, her voice dripping with annoyance. "People only bet on fighters who look like they can win or famous fighters. And you? Let's just say we can't afford too many losses. If you keep losing, we end up paying out of our own pockets to the winners, you get me?"
He replied, "I have a sponsor. He'll be placing a bet on me."
The woman shrugged. "Whatever. But listen, if you lose five battles in a row and the crowd loses interest in betting on you, you're out. We don't keep dead weight in the ring."
She tapped her pen against the counter, then added,"But here's the silver lining, losing gives your sponsor more leverage. If you lose one battle and still step back in, your sponsor gets triple the payout if you win the next. Lose two in a row and still have the guts to fight again? The payout jumps to four times. High risk, high reward."
Levi nodded, he already knew all this.The woman waved him off. "Good. Then wait over there until your name's called."
As he turned to find a spot, his mind briefly flickered to the realities of the Iron Ring. Here, fighters were ranked by tiers, victories determining their rise. But for him and Dorian, things were different. Coming from prestigious noble families, they couldn't afford to use their real faces. Without their families presence, revealing their identities would carry consequences far worse than defeat in the ring.
Instead, they rely on the Face of Another potion, which alters their appearance by tapping into their subconscious. While the potion primarily focuses on changing their faces, it subtly reshapes their bodies as well, crafting a new, unrecognizable form.
Half an hour later, a voice rang out, "Shadow Slayer vs. Storm Fang."
The crowd erupted as the seats filled, some spectators roared Storm Fang's name, chanting it like a battle hymn, while others watched in silence, sipping their drinks from private booths. Up in the higher tiers, behind layers of silk curtains, noble families and esteemed guests leaned forward, intrigued. Bets were being placed rapidly.
Nearly 80 percent of the wagers went to Storm Fang, an established name in the Iron Ring, known for his brutal style. The remaining 20 percent went to Shadow Slayer. A few gamblers were swayed by the mysterious name, believing no one would dare use such a title unless they could back it up. Some were simply curious. And a few, as always, placed bets on a whim, chasing luck, chaos, or the thrill of the underdog.
The air buzzed with anticipation. The fight was about to begin.
Without a warning, a voice pierced through the murmur of the crowd. "Hey! Someone from the Ultimate Guests tier just placed a 10 percent bet on Shadow Slayer!"
The arena's aether-lamps flickered as the announcement crackled through the speakers, silencing the crowd for one stunned breath before chaos erupted. All eyes immediately snapped to the leaderboard, where the name of the Ultimate Guest was buzzing with ather runes appeared next to a sizable wager on Levi.
It was Dorian. He had the remaining 500 Solari that Levi had given him, securing a spot in one of the luxurious upper-tier rooms, the ones reserved only for the most esteemed of guests, with only ten in existence. These rooms were meant for those who appeared only once in months, sometimes years.
The crowd's excitement surged. The significance wasn't lost on them. Someone from the Ultimate Guests, a group known for their wealth and power, had placed a bet on a newcomer like shadow slayer.
It wasn't just curiosity. The crowd knew what that meant: shadow slayer might be a newbie, but he was no ordinary fighter. No one would wager fifty to hundred Solari on someone who didn't have the skill to back it up.
The air grew thick with curiosity, the gamble now crackling with danger and excitement. As the crowd absorbed the news, a shift began to take place. The leaderboard flickered with aether runes, and people quickly started changing their bets. Now, a surge of wagers flooded in, all pointing toward Levi. The odds were no longer in Storm Fang's favor. In mere moments, 85 percent of the bets were on Shadow Slayer, and the number kept climbing.
The leaderboard finally stopped updating, signaling the end of the betting phase. A hush fell over the arena, thick with anticipation.
Then, a voice boomed across the space:
"Participants, take the ground."
As Levi stepped onto the dark stained platform surround with sand, his eyes immediately landed on his opponent. Standing across from him was a muscler figure, his body a patchwork of old scars and fresh cuts. His eyes, burning with anger, locked onto Levi. There was a venom in his stare, a fury not born from the fight itself, but from something deeper. The crowd's sudden shift in bets had shattered months of hard work and trust he had built, all undone in the blink of an eye. The realization gnawed at him, and his frustration spilled out in a sharp, mocking tone. "Hey, boy... did you lose your mother's finger, or is that why you're here, begging for a taste of real pain?"
His words dripped with mockery, a deliberate provocation to wrench a reaction from Levi. The crowd waited in tense silence, unsure if the fight would begin with words or fists.
Levi didn't offer a response. Instead, his eyes shifted over his opponent's body, taking in the numerous scars. "Hmm... an experienced fighter with an Echo Memory. What a misfortune, my first match, and I'm up against someone who knows how to torment his opponents."
In a flash, he pieced things together. The scars weren't just from past battles, they were the marks of someone who enjoyed the suffering of others, someone who savored the cruelty of the fight. This fighter wasn't simply here to win; he was here to drag out the fight, to torment his opponent in front of the crowd. The longer the battle lasted, the more ruthless he would appear, the more eyecatching he'd become. And with that, the bets would roll in, fueling his rise to fame.
"This match won't end quickly", Levi thought. Not by a long shot.
The opponent's anger grew with his silence. His eyes burned with fury as he spat out, "Boy, I'll show you what true pain is today." He took a step forward, his voice laced with venom. "You still have a chance to surrender before it's too late. Who knows, by the end, you may not even have a tongue left to declare defeat."
He was trying to play the psychological game, the oldest trick in the book. Fear was his weapon, if it took root in his opponent's heart, the battle was already his. Sometime painc done your work sharper than any blade, capable of breaking an opponent before the first strike was even thrown. By the time they realized it was all a mental game, they'd be too weak to fight back.