Lucien woke before dawn.
The city was still half-asleep, the streets muffled and grey under the first thin light. He slipped from the room quietly, leaving his brothers asleep. The innkeeper's boy was sweeping the front hall, and the smell of bread baking somewhere nearby drifted faintly through the air.
Lucien moved through the lower districts with his hood up. He asked questions the way a man does when he already knows the answers — patient, subtle, unthreatening. By midmorning, he had what he needed.
The Pit existed. And it wasn't just rumor.
It was run by a group that called themselves the Iron Hands, an underground circle of gamblers, mercenaries, and bruisers who ruled the south quarter by coin and fist. The fights were held under the ruins of an old foundry — hidden, but not impossible to reach if you knew the right faces.
By the time Lucien returned to the inn, the sun was high.
Adrian and Kael were seated by the window, sharing bread and weak ale. The table between them held their small pile of coins — everything they had left.
Lucien dropped a few more onto the stack. "That's all from the merchant this morning. Two silvers and fourteen bronze."
Kael began counting. "From yesterday's labor and today's pay, that makes… about three silvers and fifty bronze total."
"Not much," Lucien said, taking a seat. "Half a week's food if we stretch it. A day and a half if we eat properly."
Adrian tore a piece of bread, thoughtful. "We'll need more for weapons later. And clothes that don't tear if someone looks at them wrong."
Kael nodded. "I bought what we could — thread, oil, and two loaves for tomorrow. That cost twenty bronze."
Lucien pulled a folded slip of parchment from his pocket — a note of credit from the innkeeper. "And the inn wants payment tomorrow night. Thirty bronze for two nights."
That left them with just over three silvers.
Lucien looked at the small heap of metal with quiet disgust. "We worked two days and barely earned enough to stay alive. At this rate, we'll still be here when the year ends."
Adrian met his gaze. "Then we find another way."
Lucien's lips curved. "We fight tonight."
They spent the afternoon preparing. Not for glory — for survival.
Lucien exchanged bronze for silver at a money changer's stall. Kael bought strips of cloth for bandaging, a small flask of cheap liquor to clean wounds, and a loaf of bread for later. Adrian kept quiet through it all, conserving energy and focus.
They ate lightly and rested through the afternoon.
By the time the sun bled orange over the rooftops, Ardent Gate had changed again. The markets closed. The noise softened into a low hum. Lamps flickered on, their glow reflecting off damp cobblestones.
Lucien led them through narrow streets until they reached the south quarter — a district of cracked brick walls, tanneries, and forges that had long gone cold.
The smell of iron and smoke lingered in the air.
Ahead, under a broken archway, stood two guards. Both had the hard, unblinking stare of men who'd seen too many fights. One held a ledger. The other held a club.
Lucien approached first. "Three of us. One fighter."
The guard looked them over. "Name?"
"Adrian."
"New blood," the guard muttered, writing something down. "Two silvers to enter. No refunds if he dies."
Lucien handed over the coins without flinching.
The guard jerked his head toward a stairwell that descended beneath the archway. "Down there. He fights when called."
The sound hit them first — a deep, pounding roar that grew louder with every step.
Torches lined the stone passage, and the walls trembled faintly with the energy of the crowd. The brothers emerged into a wide underground chamber — the Pit.
The arena was crude, carved directly into the rock. The floor was packed dirt, stained dark from years of blood. Around it rose a ring of wooden platforms crowded with men shouting, drinking, and waving coins. Smoke curled upward from oil lamps, hazing the air.
A fight was already underway. Two men circled each other — one huge and bare-chested, the other lean and desperate. When the larger man landed a blow, the crowd erupted. When the smaller man spat blood and kept standing, they cheered louder.
Lucien's grin was sharp. "Now this," he murmured, "is the sound of opportunity."
Kael said nothing. His eyes swept the crowd — counting exits, gauging threats.
Adrian watched the fight end with a single punch that dropped the smaller man flat. The victor lifted his arms while attendants dragged the loser away.
A stocky man in a dark coat approached them. His face was rough, his beard black with grey at the edges. "You the one fighting?" he asked, jerking a thumb at Adrian.
Adrian nodded.
The man smirked. "Name's Rogan. I run the ring. Rules are simple — don't kill unless you mean to, and don't cry when you lose. You win three times in a row, you get invited back. You lose once, you crawl out on your own."
Lucien stepped closer. "How much for a win?"
Rogan's eyes flicked toward him. "Depends who bets on you. First-timers? The crowd loves a mystery. Maybe you'll make them richer. Maybe you'll die fast and make them laugh. Either way, I get paid."
He turned back to Adrian. "You're up next."
They led Adrian through a short corridor to the fighters' side of the pit. The noise of the crowd vibrated through the walls.
Lucien leaned in. "Remember — don't show too much. Win, but make it look close. We need the odds to stay high."
Adrian's gaze was steady. "Understood."
Kael handed him the flask. "In case you bleed."
Adrian took a small sip, the sharp taste of cheap liquor cutting through the dry air, and handed it back. "Keep it. I won't need it."
Lucien grinned. "Confidence looks good on you. Just don't get killed."
Rogan's voice echoed down the corridor. "Next! New blood! Adrian — the traveler!"
The crowd cheered. Adrian stepped into the ring.
His opponent was already there — a tall, broad man with scarred knuckles and a half-shaved head. The announcer shouted his name as "Boros the Hammer." The man raised his fists, grinning, teeth yellow in the torchlight.
Adrian rolled his shoulders, loosening his stance. The dirt beneath his bare feet was cool and uneven.
The bell rang — a sharp clang of metal.
Boros charged.
The man's fists were heavy, but his movements were sluggish, telegraphed. Adrian ducked under the first swing, sidestepped the second, and countered with a short punch to the ribs. The impact made a dull, wet sound.
Boros snarled and swung again, a wild hook. Adrian blocked with his forearm, absorbing the shock, then pivoted and drove his elbow into Boros's jaw. The man staggered, blood spraying from his mouth.
The crowd roared.
Adrian followed, pressing the advantage — a jab, a feint, a low kick that swept Boros's legs out. The man fell hard, choking on dust.
For a moment, silence. Then Boros pushed himself up, eyes blazing. He lunged, grabbing Adrian by the throat and driving him backward into the wall.
The impact rattled through Adrian's spine. He twisted, breaking the grip, slammed his knee into Boros's stomach twice in quick succession, and brought his fist down across the man's temple with his full weight and then some.
Boros dropped like a felled tree.
The crowd exploded in sound.
Some shouted Adrian's name. Others booed, furious they'd bet against him. Rogan stepped forward, grinning wide.
"Winner — Adrian!"
Lucien exhaled, clapping once with a grin of his own. Kael's relief was quiet but visible.
Adrian stood still, chest rising and falling with measured breaths. Then something flickered before his eyes — faint, translucent, impossible.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
You have defeated a living being.
+25 EXP gained.
His heartbeat slowed. The glowing text hovered, then faded, leaving only the echo of its message.
He didn't understand how, but it was real. It felt real — like invisible machinery had just acknowledged his existence.
Lucien was already talking to Rogan, collecting their winnings. A small pouch of silver changed hands.
Kael wrapped a strip of cloth around Adrian's knuckles where the skin had split. "You're bleeding."
Adrian barely looked at the cut. "I've had worse."
Lucien returned, tossing the pouch to Adrian. "Four silvers. Enough for food, clothes, and another fight if we're bold."
Adrian closed his hand around the coins, their weight cold and metallic. "We'll need more soon."
Kael shot him a glance. "You're already thinking about the next one."
Adrian looked back toward the pit — where attendants were cleaning the dirt, and Boros's limp body was being dragged away. The crowd had already moved on to the next thrill.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I am."
They left the underground arena late that night. The city above was quiet, the rain light and steady.
Lucien walked a few steps ahead, still grinning. "You were perfect. The crowd loves an underdog."
Kael's eyes, however, caught something different — a small group of men lingering near the entrance of the alley, watching them too long.
"Lucien," Kael murmured.
"I see them," Lucien said softly. "Don't turn around."
Adrian's hand twitched slightly at his side. "Thugs?"
"Or recruiters," Lucien replied. "Maybe both. Either way, they know your face now."
They turned down a side street, weaving through the narrow alleys until the sounds of pursuit faded. When they reached the dim light of their inn, Lucien laughed quietly. "You just made our lives more complicated, brother."
Adrian gave a faint smile. "Better complicated than hungry."
Kael shut the door behind them. "We'll have to move carefully. You've drawn eyes."
Adrian sat at the edge of the bed, opening his hand again. The faint imprint of the coins pressed into his palm.
For a long moment, he said nothing — only listening to the rain tapping against the window.
Then, in the stillness of the room, he whispered the words he'd seen in that phantom light.
"Experience points."
Lucien looked over. "What?"
Adrian shook his head. "Nothing. Just… something I saw."
Kael frowned. "Saw?"
Adrian didn't answer. The words still glowed faintly in his mind.
[Level Progress: 25 / 100 EXP]
He didn't understand the rules yet — but something in this world had just recognized him.
And that changed everything.