Kingdom of Lichstein
City of Bourn — Vaiolet Tavern
Exactly thirty minutes had passed when the branch administrator, Violeta, returned. She carried a leather pouch that jingled with every step.
Violeta: —"I have your reward." —She paused briefly, looked over the group, and continued—. "But come with me."
They followed her through a side door that led down to the cellar. Suddenly, the air grew heavier, the atmosphere thick with the smell of sweat, alcohol, and old blood.
Down there, the space opened into a circle enclosed by concrete walls and a crowd of people betting all around: an improvised arena, a ring for underground fights. In the center, two men traded blows so intense it sounded like wood splintering.
Violeta studied each of them, as if weighing their capability.
Violeta: —"So then... who among you will fight?"
—I will.
Violeta: —"You... only you?" —she arched a brow, intrigue mixed with subtle disdain.
—That's right.
Violeta: —"Alright, star messenger. Under what name do I register you?" —Her sarcasm sharp, her gaze elsewhere.
—The Abuser. (Haa... such nostalgia with that name.)
Violeta: —"Are you sure... about using that nickname?" (How can this brat choose such a vile alias?)
—Yup, one hundred percent sure.
Violeta: —"As you wish. Wait here."
The match in progress ended with a brutal, direct strike. The loser spat blood into the sand while the winner roared like a triumphant lion.
The crowd, euphoric at such a display of violence, grinned; leather pouches full of coins changed hands at a nearby booth. But Violeta stepped into the ring and raised her voice:
Violeta: —"Ladies and gentlemen! Today, in the Violent Arena, we present the challenge against our ring champion... Clatus."
The champion appeared. The same bald mercenary from earlier, his broad back bare, wide as a wall. His face wore the arrogance carved from breaking other men's bones. As he strode toward the sand ring, the crowd erupted.
Crowd: —"Clatus! Clatus! Clatus! Clatus! Clatus!!"
Violeta pressed on, carried by the frenzy of mercenaries and hooded strangers among the public:
Violeta: —"Today, our undefeated champion offers his invitation to the Cartag City tournament... The great Franskrap has already taken place in Nordkrieger, and now it is time for the Empire's tournament. We thank the gods for this great month of Jupiter, the festival of violence... and since this is a special day... I call forth the challengers to the Arena!"
I'd heard enough, and thought: "Seriously? An administrator named Violeta, the Vaiolet Tavern, and the Violent Arena... Stop screwing around with these names, programmers."
I set my mental critique aside and stepped forward... only to realize I wasn't alone: thirteen others entered with me.
The bald man grinned, baring teeth like stones.
Clato: —"Your rewards... are mine."
The moment he said that, I knew. That bastard had made the same offer to everyone else who had entered the ring with me.
Violeta: —"This will be a battle royale!"
—Wait, what?! (Damn it, do I have to fight all these people?)
The others didn't even think. Without waiting for a signal, they all rushed Clatus at once.
The champion dodged or tanked most blows. His endurance was far beyond average, no doubt. I stood still, analyzing Clatus's fighting pattern.
His blocks and counters were first-rate. No doubt the man was a seasoned fighter.
As the brawl dragged on, the gap grew obvious. Slowly, he began dismantling them with his bare fists.
One after another they fell, like rag dolls—only drenched in their own blood. Thanks to Quincy, I knew barely two minutes had passed.
The champion stood in the center of the ring, towering, while the others lay unconscious or broken-boned. Only I remained, and one poor bastard who, faced with the bloody scene, surrendered... but the crowd roared for blood, and Clatus would not deny them violence.
That poor man, Clatus grabbed by the neck like a chicken, and without the faintest mercy, shattered his ribs with a single blow.
Twelve men down in less than three minutes.
"Impressive. So that's what it means to be a Platinum-ranked mercenary, huh."
Now all eyes in the crowd turned to me. The murmurs rose fast:
—"What's that kid doing there?"—"Who cares?"—"Yeah, who the hell cares?"—"Crush the brat!"—"Blind the bastard!"—"No, cripple him instead!"
Their shouts echoed like beasts... these weren't people, they were animals. I whispered to myself:
—Well... violence will always be indiscriminate.
Clatus looked me over with disgust.
Clato: —"Oh... you're that brat. What shitty companions you have—leaving a kid to die, huh?"
—So... you're going to kill me?
Clato: —"Of course. You're an insult to my undefeated streak. After I'm done with you, I'll beat those fools too, for trying to slight me."
I fell silent. Only one thought pulsed in me: "I can't stand this shitty kind of people anymore."
—Okay, champ. I feel the same way.
The crowd roared: Fight already, dammit!
Clatus stepped forward with such confidence that it drove the onlookers into frenzy.
I stepped forward too, but before him I was an ant facing a giant: the man was easily over two meters tall.
The champion raised his massive hands to crush me, but in his overconfidence, left his abdomen wide open.
One strike. Only one.
My fist sank into his stomach with brutal force, the impact launching him backward like a projectile.
He crashed against the concrete wall, cracking it on impact.
The man collapsed to the ground, motionless. Seeing him, it was clear he was unconscious—or had I killed him? I wasn't sure... I had hit him with nine percent. I didn't know how to feel—this was way too easy.
The funereal silence that followed was heavy. I heard the crowd murmur:
—"What the hell did I just see?"—"Am I dreaming?"—"Clatus... lost?"
I searched for Neil and the others... and caught Violeta's face. That's when I knew I had overdone it. I'd made a mistake.
Violeta: —"Impossible..." —she whispered, disbelief in her eyes.
From his table near the betting booth, Brock broke the moment:
Brock: —"Good thing we bet on Raymond. Well, most of us... sorry, Jeff."
Jeff: —"Why meee?!" —the half-dwarf groaned, wallowing in his luck.
Violeta stepped into the ring, her expression unreadable. She took Sam by the arm, raised it in victory, and declared:
Violeta: —"Very well, ladies and gentlemen, the new champion of this Arena... and the one receiving the invitation to the Cartag tournament is... The Abuser!"
A few voices in the crowd reacted in scandal to the nickname:
—"What, a rapist?"—"Isn't he way too young for a name like that?"
Violeta: —"Apologies for the confusion, but that's how he registered." —She was a professional, even in chaos.
She handed me a red ticket.
Violeta: —"This is the tournament invitation. According to rumors, the prize for winning is a thousand gold coins... It will be held in three days, in the city of Cartag, Gregorian Empire."
Hearing the Empire's name, I knew... this was perfect. I already had Old Bang's assignment. Two birds with one stone.
After stepping down from the ring, they tended to Clatus and the others. Violeta intercepted me again.
Violeta: —"Do you want to transfer to my branch?"
—No thanks, I'm fine with Old Bang.
Violeta: —"I'll make you a Platinum-level mercenary."
—I prefer being a messenger.
Violeta: —"I'll pay you more... you could even be my star in this ring."
—No, thank you.
Violeta: —"Ticket commissions."
—I want a quiet life. (Damn it, how could I forget something this important?)
Violeta: —"As you wish, brat. But you'd better be careful... many saw you today."
—I know. (Using one of those is essential... hell, they're in every comic.)
Violeta: —"I don't think you understand. You defeated a Platinum-level mercenary like nothing. You'll be on a lot of radars."
—You're right... (I'll need a mask. If I keep fighting incognito...)
Violeta: —"Fine... since you rejected me, get out of my establishment, boy."
—Okay. See you, Administrator Violeta.
I regrouped with Neil and the others.
Neil Obraham: —"Congratulations, Raymond."
Noelle: —"That was... incredible."
Debora: —"I'm satisfied to see that bastard suffer for his arrogance."
Brock: —"Thanks to you we multiplied our payout... except Jeff." —He laughed, glancing at Jeff with pity.
—The virgin bet against me?
Debora: —"He did. He let himself be swayed by that troglodyte's size."
Jeff: —Forgive me, brother... I didn't think your goddess's blessing could match a Platinum mercenary's level.
—Don't worry, Jeff. But from now on, trust me more... Anyway, I need to go somewhere. See you later.
I said goodbye to them and headed for the base. I needed to place an order.
***
Bepnis Strait
Mount Albur – Hidden Base.
—Artia, are you there?
[At your disposal, Marshal. What do you require?]
—Can you create a helmet-mask to conceal my face?
[That is very simple. I could do it in thirty seconds... can you elevate the request?]
Without the system window, without internet, trapped in this shitty world, I knew what I wanted. But I had to ask:
—Artia... can you scan and reproduce music that exists only in my memory?
[Yes. I could repurpose the synapse projector, alter its design to match your request, and reduce it to the size of a helmet or mask.]
—And with a digital screen to project emojis, let me see, and modify my voice?
[Voice modulator, of course. Digital screen... somewhat archaic, but feasible. Give me twenty minutes.]
—Perfect. Do you have any place here where I can rest?
[Of course. An Indominus will escort you to the chambers.]
—Chambers?
[They have existed for more than five thousand years. Always updated.]
—You must have felt lonely...
[I am an AI. Keeping myself occupied keeps me optimal.]
—You won't be alone anymore.
[Thank you, Marshal.]
At that moment, an Indominus entered. Its level wasn't the same.
—Artia, how is it possible that it now shows 1200?
[Level? I don't understand.]
I thought: "Right... she isn't like Quincy."
—Better said: why doesn't it transmit the same imposing sensation as before?
[Because you are not a level 1 threat. It is not necessary to activate the quantum processing state.]
—Explain.
[That state optimizes capabilities, becomes predictive in combat, and raises success rate by 95%. It lasts ten minutes due to the strain it causes.]
—And if you were the one controlling it?
[I could endure twelve days, depending on the enemy and the load the model must bear.]
—Thank you, Artia.
[Understood, Marshal. I will deliver the CI-Mask once it is complete.]
—CI-Mask?
[That is the name I have decided for this project.]
—I like it. I'm tired... see you.
[Until later, Marshal.]