Alen's body lay on the floor of the ring. Blood dripped from his mouth onto the sandy ground, staining it red.
His last words had been a whisper—a whisper everyone heard.
"Haa..." Pesculo's breath was sharp and uneven. He stared at the motionless bodies of the two fighters—Alen and Explosive Strike.
Pesculo stood, but barely. His legs trembled as Alen's words echoed in his mind.
A kid had triumphed against impossible odds.
A kid had earned the right to be a lord.
No.
Pesculo couldn't accept that. He wouldn't simply hand over his title to a child.
The old man reached inside his coat, searching for a hidden knife.
"I can't believe we have another savage as a new lord," Lord East muttered, shaking his head as he made his way into the ring. "Your reign as Lord of the West is over."
The crowd hadn't fully processed what had just happened. A new lord wasn't named every day—especially not without ceremony or warning to the usual attendees of the underground fighting arena. Yet it had happened, right before their eyes.
Only the three lords seemed to understand that Alen had won. The rest were still in shock over the boy's impossible victory.
"Shut up, East! That kid cheated! I won't accept this as his victory!" Pesculo roared, his voice laced with venom.
"And when exactly did he cheat, West?" East asked calmly. "From what I saw, he fought within the estimated twenty minutes and knocked out his opponent while under the effects of two spells." Each fact East listed was another nail in West's coffin.
"He... he cheated! There's no way that pest could have won without—"
"Your 'champion' was knocked out, and the kid stood up when the fight ended." East shrugged and leaned casually against the edge of the ring.
"Besides..." Lady South's powerful voice cut through everything. "Threatening spectators and fighters with edged weapons? Using spells when both are forbidden in our arena? If the kid cheated—which we have no proof of—you broke the rules first."
"Sh-shut up, bitch! I'm the Lord of the Western Area, and you're all on my territory! You all do what I say!" Pesculo flailed his arms, losing all composure.
"I hope the kid's less of a savage than you as the new lord..." East shook his head slowly, clearly disgusted. "Wrap it up, West. It's time to step down." He smiled slyly. "Oops, sorry. You're not 'West' anymore. I'll just call you 'old man.' Suits you better."
"Hnghh..." Pesculo looked ready to pop a vein. His face was red with rage, his hand clenched so tightly on his knife that it seemed about to snap.
"I wi—"
"Lords have fallen before."
All eyes turned to the woman who had just entered the ring. She was tall and muscular. Atop her head stood two animal ears, and a long tail, white and orange with black rings, swayed behind her.
"Who... who are y-you..." Pesculo's breath hitched as the intense pressure she radiated settled over him.
His knees buckled. He collapsed, clutching his chest. "Th-this... this pressure..."
"You don't even recognize me?" she asked, striding past him toward the unconscious boy. "Do the current lords not care about their superiors?"
"G-Grandmaster Beritan!" Lord East gasped, dropping to one knee before the tiger demi-human.
Lady South rushed forward to kneel as well. "Grandmaster Beritan, I apologize for the West's actions."
"We'll make sure that senile old man is disciplined. He won't disrespect you again," East added, his tone uncharacteristically submissive.
"Did that old man actually defeat the previous Lord of the West? Or how did trash like him earn the title?" Zagressa asked, barely glancing at Pesculo.
"He used the fighter this kid just beat to take the title from the previous lord, Grandmaster," East replied, a nervous sweat forming on his brow.
"The previous Lord of the West... she was wro—"
"Don't care about the details. If she lost her title to that guy, she didn't deserve it," Zagressa said dismissively, her tone one of annoyance—as if their very existence was wasting her time.
And to Zagressa, they were.
Her comment about the previous lord made South flinch slightly, though she remained kneeling.
"G-Grandmaster!? Who's that bitch!?" Pesculo finally mustered the courage to speak, defying the crushing pressure.
"Shut up, West!" East snapped—for the first time in weeks, his voice full of anger.
"West? He's no longer a lord." Zagressa kicked Alen's unconscious body lightly into the air, caught him effortlessly, and pointed at him. "This kid is the new Lord of the West."
"You have no right to decide that! I'm still the lord!"
"You... what did this brat call you... something-culo?" Zagressa turned toward him, slowly walking forward.
"Grandmasters are the founders of the very place that makes you money. All eleven of us built this underground arena with our sweat and blood—especially blood." Zagressa loomed over him, her presence suffocating.
With one hand, she grabbed Pesculo by the neck and lifted him effortlessly. Her grip tightened.
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't end you right now, Culo," she growled, her voice deadly.
Pesculo couldn't respond. He couldn't breathe. The grip on his throat silenced any attempt at words.
Seconds passed. His face turned blue from lack of oxygen. He thrashed, kicked, scratched—but nothing worked.
Because Zagressa was a Grandmaster. And her reputation was absolute.
No one dared intervene. Pesculo's allies turned a blind eye, treating him like a stranger.
The grip tightened. His strength faded. His life flashed before his eyes.
Then—
Crack.
Zagressa snapped his neck.
Pesculo died that night, his title stripped, his body discarded in the very ring he once ruled—abandoned by all.
Zagressa let the corpse drop. It hit the sand with a heavy, lifeless thud.
"Clean this place. Now," she ordered the two lords still bowing their heads.
They stood and quickly gave instructions to their men to take control of the western arena.
"And you... current South." Zagressa's words froze the woman in place. "Don't think I didn't notice how you reacted when I called the previous West Lord useless."
South clenched her fists, but quickly relaxed, fearful of ending up like Pesculo. "I-I'm sorry, Grandmaster. I apologize."
"Where's the last lord?"
"Lord North is in the southern area. There's another kid like this one, and he went to visit him," South said, noting the blood still dripping from Alen's mouth.
She wanted to mention he needed urgent care. But she stayed silent.
"These two brats... I'm leaving now."
"Yes, Grandmaster Beritan!"
"Oh—South, is the fighter Snap from your area?"
"H-he is, Grandmaster. Is there a problem with him?"
"No. Just tell him this kid doesn't need to challenge him anymore," Zagressa said as she turned to leave, Alen slung over her shoulder.
Zagressa walked away, paying attention to no one—not that anyone would dare stop her after what she had just done.
. . .
The tiger demi-human climbed the stairs to exit the underground arena.
"Old witch, take care of him for a moment!" Zagressa called out, casually tossing Alen onto a table crowded with people.
The group caught Alen, but their drinks spilled across the table.
"Don't just throw him like that, you meathead!" one of the bar patrons snapped, helping to seat the boy in a nearby chair.
"My, my. That kid looks awful. What did you make him do, Beritan?" asked the elderly bar owner, concern flickering in her eyes as she examined Alen's limp, bloodied form.
"That kid is a lord now, old witch," Zagressa replied, arms crossed.
The group that had caught Alen froze, their eyes widening as they slowly turned to look at the boy.
"H-he... a lord!?"
The old woman clicked her tongue in disapproval. "You told me not to bet on him. I thought the other kid was the promising one. This one doesn't look like someone who just became a lord."
"I didn't expect him to pull off what he did," Zagressa admitted, her tone irritated. "My plan was to have both of them develop a true warrior's spirit by making them face a fighter of my choosing."
"This one ended up becoming a lord. What about the other kid?" one of the patrons asked as he fetched a first aid kit and began tending to Alen's injuries.
"Don't know. I was planning to check on him every couple of hours," Zagressa replied, glancing off to the side.
"You got distracted...?" the man bandaging Alen asked, sweat forming at his brow.
"You never stopped being an easily distracted idiot," the old bar owner muttered with a sigh.
"Shut up, old witch! You can't blame me for not trusting these two brats," Zagressa huffed, cheeks flushing slightly.
"Has there ever been a fight between two Grandmasters?" one of the bar patrons whispered curiously.
"I don't think Grandmaster Gloria can even fight at her age... hurgk!" The man was abruptly cut off as a mug slammed into his face.
"Even at my age, I could still beat both of you with less than a quarter of my strength!" the elderly bar owner barked, crossing her arms and turning away in a huff.
"What a youthful reaction coming from an old woman!" the man grumbled, dabbing at the blood forming on his forehead from the mug strike.