Victory and the Aftermath
Leon stood over the fallen Deathbound Gladiator, the man's breath shallow, chains flickering with dying light. Around them, the Black Market Arena boiled with noise—cheers, jeers, and shouted wagers burning away into frustration or greed.
Some called his name.
Others cursed it.
"VICTORY—LEON!"The announcer's voice thundered from above.
Leon rolled his shoulders, holstering his mana gun. The fight had ended clean, but the arena left no time for celebration.
His summons reformed behind him.The Sorcerer hovered, robes swaying in residual energy.The Warrior Zombie walked forward, blade resting over its shoulder like the fight wasn't over yet.
But it was.
For now.
Leon turned toward the exit, already feeling it—eyes on him.
A man in black robes whispered to a hooded figure in a private viewing booth. A woman in a skeletal mask drummed her fingers against her armrest, gaze fixed.
He didn't look back.
He walked into the tunnels.
One match down.
Two left.
The Forbidden Craft – Truth in the Market's Shadows
The underground market had changed since he first stepped inside.
Or maybe he had.
He moved through its halls with weight now.Vendors quieted slightly when he passed.A few nodded.A few watched like they were seeing him for the first time.
Then a voice called out—low, crackling with age.
"You fight like someone with unfinished business."
Leon paused.
A hunched figure sat beneath a crooked tarp, bones and scrolls stacked around him like offerings. His left arm was bone from shoulder to fingertip—yet the fingers twitched, alive with necrotic mana.
"You know what I am?" Leon asked.
The old necromancer laughed once, bitter and dry. "No. I know what you're becoming."
Leon said nothing.
The man's gaze moved to his summons. "They don't just obey. They anticipate. They reposition. They aren't bound by leash and collar."
"They learn," Leon said.
The man nodded. "Then you're closer than most ever get."
Leon stepped closer. "Closer to what?"
The old one leaned forward. "The Path of the Deathborn."
Deathborn Doctrine – The Real Undead
The words lingered in the air like smoke.
Leon's eyes narrowed.
"I've heard the name."
"Then you've only scratched the surface."
The old man tapped a scroll with one skeletal finger. "Necromancers raise the dead. They issue commands. But the Deathborn…"He looked up, eyes faintly glowing.
"They don't raise.They build.Undead who think. Who evolve. Who disobey—because they're meant to."
Leon's jaw tightened.
His summons weren't perfect, not yet. But they weren't tools. They were pieces on a board—and some of them were starting to make their own moves.
"Is the system part of it?" Leon asked.
The necromancer blinked slowly. "The system gives power. The Path teaches how to rewrite the code."
Leon stood in silence.
He didn't thank the man.He didn't ask more.
He turned, and headed back toward the bookstall.
Negotiation – Knowledge Isn't Cheap
The merchant didn't look up.
He was still reading when Leon stepped forward, eyes locked on the black tome sitting center-stage.
The silver runes along its spine pulsed softly—calm, but aware.
"You won your first fight," the merchant said without looking.
"I want the book," Leon replied.
The merchant flipped a page. "And I want 750,000 credits."
Leon leaned in slightly. "I have four hundred."
"Then you're missing three-fifty."
Leon reached toward his holster, tapping the metal. "Custom relic-grade mana gun. Piercing rounds. Undead-attuned chamber."
The merchant chuckled. "You'd sell your weapon for knowledge?"
"No," Leon said flatly. "I'm offering a trade."
The merchant finally looked up. "Still not enough."
Leon's fingers curled slightly.
"What else—"
"Knowledge," the man said, "isn't bargained for."
He pointed toward the arena gates in the distance.
"It's earned. Or taken."
Interlude – Beneath the Crowd's Voice
Leon walked.
Not fast.
He let the pressure settle behind his shoulders, letting the tension bleed off with each slow step. He didn't need to ask for a direction. He already knew it.
The arena gates would open again.
He'd be waiting.
But for now, he found a food stall wedged between a tattoo shop and a rune-engraving smith. The scent of sizzling meat and sulfur broth hit him first.
He sat near the edge. Not hidden. But not surrounded.
He listened.
"You see the necromancer in match one?" someone muttered behind him.
"Beginner's luck," another scoffed. "The Deathbound was already falling apart."
"He's not making it past match two," a deeper voice added. "That one's fixed. They always throw a monster at the second round."
Leon didn't move.
Then someone leaned in close enough to matter.
"Fused summon user. His undead's not separate. It's merged. One beast. One mind. Hits like a truck and doesn't stagger."
Leon turned his head slightly.
"Which gate?"
The man blinked. "You serious?"
Leon stared.
The man shrugged. "North end. That's where they hold him."
Leon stood and left without a word.
Preparation – Before the Second Gate Opens
Back in the tunnels, Leon sat on a stone bench near the gate, cleaning his gun.
Not because it needed it.
Because he did.
Each click of the chamber. Each reload. Each check on the mana circuit—it wasn't repetition. It was tuning focus.
His summons stood nearby.
The Warrior Zombie was still scratched, its greatsword resting in the dirt.
The Elite Sorcerer had begun floating higher than usual—its cloak fluttered even in the still air.
They were watching him.
He didn't need to speak.
They'd fought with him enough to feel what was coming.
Leon glanced back toward the bookstall in the distance.
The tome was still there.
Waiting.
So were his questions.
And the next fight?
It wasn't just another step toward survival.
It was a test.
Not of strength.
Of design.