A New Side of the World
Leon adjusted his cloak as he strode through the lower districts, where the streets turned narrow and the city's shine faded into grime. The polished roads and grand guild halls were long behind him. Here, in the underbelly of civilization, the real world lurked in the shadows.
He passed through alleyways filled with rotting wood and damp stone, his boots crunching over bits of broken tile. The air carried a mix of burnt incense, stale alcohol, and something metallic—blood, maybe.
No one spoke.
Strangers moved with their heads down, their hands near their belts where hidden daggers waited. A few glanced at him, sizing him up, but they didn't act. Not yet.
Leon kept walking.
He wasn't lost—he was following the rumors. Whispers of an underground market, a place where laws meant nothing, and power meant everything.
And then he saw it.
A red lantern swinging gently at the entrance of a darkened alley. It didn't flicker like normal fire—instead, its glow pulsed, like a heartbeat.
Beneath it, a man sat on a wooden crate, smoking from a curved pipe. His eyes were sharp, watching Leon approach with a mix of amusement and curiosity.
"You're a little too clean for this place," the man murmured.
Leon said nothing. Instead, he pulled something from his coat—a silver coin, engraved with a skull. He had taken it from a rogue mage he killed two days ago.
He flicked it toward the man.
The stranger caught it between two fingers, turned it over once, and then grinned.
"You're looking for the market," he said.
Leon nodded.
The man knocked twice against the crate.
The ground groaned.
A metal door slid open beneath him, revealing a spiral staircase plunging into darkness.
Leon stepped forward.
And the world shifted.
The Underground Black Market
The air changed the moment he stepped inside.
Gone was the cold, damp staleness of the alleyways. Instead, the underground tunnels hummed with magic, thick and oppressive, like a storm trapped beneath the earth.
Torches burned with blue fire, lining the cavernous space. The market stretched out before him like a labyrinth—a city beneath a city, filled with whispered deals, illicit trades, and power waiting to be stolen.
Leon took it all in.
A merchant was selling bottled souls, the faint outlines of screaming faces flickering inside their glass prisons.
A beast tamer auctioned off a two-headed hellhound, its red eyes glowing with hunger.
A blacksmith hammered away at a blade made of bone, runes carved along its edges, pulsing as if the weapon was alive.
No rules. No limits. Just power.
Leon moved carefully. He wasn't here for trinkets.
He needed knowledge.
The Forbidden Tome
Tucked between two massive vendor stalls, Leon found what he was looking for—a small wooden booth, old and worn, with a single man seated behind it.
He wasn't calling for customers.
He didn't need to.
The ancient tomes stacked on his desk spoke for him.
Leon's gaze locked onto one book in particular.
Its cover was jet black, bound in worn leather, its title etched in silver runes that pulsed faintly—like it was alive.
It didn't just sit there.
It watched.
Leon tapped the desk. "How much?"
The merchant finally looked up. His eyes were dimly glowing, his face hidden beneath his hood.
"The Path of the Deathborn," he murmured. "A guide to those who seek to surpass necromancy's limits."
Leon's fingers curled slightly.
This was exactly what he needed.
"How much?" he repeated.
The merchant chuckled. "More than you can afford."
A glowing number flickered in the air.
750,000 dollars.
Leon's expression didn't change, but inside, he was already calculating. Even after selling his dungeon loot, he had only 400,000.
Before he could speak, the merchant leaned forward.
"There is… another way," he said slowly. "If you're willing to fight for it."
Leon raised an eyebrow.
The merchant gestured toward a tunnel at the far end of the market. Torches burned red, and from within, Leon could hear the distant roar of a crowd.
"The Black Market Arena," the merchant said. "Win three fights, and the book is yours."
Leon looked toward the tunnel.
A chance to test his limits. To earn the tome without spending a fortune.
And to announce his presence in the underworld.
He smirked.
"Fine," Leon said. "Who do I fight?"
The Black Market Arena
The arena was carved from ancient stone, deep beneath the underground. A ring of glowing red glyphs surrounded the fighting pit, casting eerie shadows across the crowd.
Torches flickered with blood-red flames, illuminating the faces of mercenaries, rogue mages, and assassins.
Leon stood at the center of the ring, his mana gun loaded, his undead waiting in the shadows beyond the light.
Above him, an announcer's voice boomed.
"NEW BLOOD ENTERS THE ARENA!"
The crowd roared, some cheering, others already placing bets against him.
Leon ignored them. His focus was on the gate at the other end of the arena.
It rumbled open, and his first opponent stepped through.
A towering man clad in black armor, spectral chains wrapped around his arms, his eyes glowing with eerie light.
And behind him—five undead warriors, linked to him by the same chains.
The announcer's voice rang out.
"FIRST MATCH—LEON VS. THE DEATHBOUND GLADIATOR!"
The crowd erupted.
Leon studied his opponent.
The chains weren't just decoration. They connected him to his undead—meaning if Leon attacked them, the damage would be shared.
A life-link contract.
Smart.
But predictable.
Leon gripped his gun, his mind already calculating.
If his opponent took damage when his undead did, then the reverse must also be true.
If he wanted to win—
He had to kill the summoner first.
His smirk widened.
The arena bell rang.
The fight began.