While working on the wheel, Arthur noticed two boys running off in the distance, headed toward the open arena.
It was a wide, idle space in the middle of the slums — a rough, open ground once meant for stage plays and duels, but now mostly used for street fights.
Rich folk from the upper districts would often gather there, placing bets on fighters desperate for coins.
Fighting here was a gamble. You never knew who your opponent might be — or who might be backing them.
Most of the time, it was the gangs. They'd pit their members against one another, treating the arena like their own battleground.
Two gangs ruled these streets: The Black Maw and The Cinder Crows.
Both were feared. But it was The Black Maw that held more power — especially since whispers said the mayor of Fallowmere backed them in secret.
"Shall we go... check it out?" Old man Tim asked.
"Sure," Arthur nodded. "Just after I finish this."
He tightened the last bolt on the newly carved wheel. It looked solid — polished, sturdy, and far better than before. Of course, he had Aeon to thank for that.
Once done, the two made their way to the arena, curious about who was fighting today.
A crowd had already gathered. New faces — mostly young men — had stepped up to earn some fast coin.
'I could give it a try', Arthur thought. He had been training hard, drilling daily. He'd leveled up, grown stronger.
Stronger than the average man, at least.
"Hey sir," he asked, "do you think I could win if I fought?"
Tim shrugged. "I'm not sure, kid… but no harm in trying."
It was risky, sure. But Arthur needed the money.
Near the crowd stood a man behind a table — the organizer. Arthur walked up to him.
"Can I join?" he asked.
The man looked him over. "Entry fee's five bronze."
Arthur handed over the last of his saved coins. It was a gamble, but he had to try.
"Make sure you beat someone up, kid," the man grinned.
"O-Okay," Arthur mumbled, unsure if he could, but willing to try.
Tim found a seat among the crowd while Arthur watched the fights begin.
There was no gear, no armor. Killing wasn't allowed — but pretty much everything else was.
The first few matches were messy. Sloppy punches, wide swings, barely any form. Arthur could tell — these were just rookies looking to survive.
"Do any of them seem different?" Arthur asked quietly.
"Not really," Aeon replied. "Most are inexperienced. A few are stronger than you, though."
As the matches went on, Arthur studied every move, every stance. Some fights were more serious. One caught his eye — two experienced fighters, dodging, countering, striking cleanly.
The man on the right started with a quick jab. His opponent dodged, returned a counterpunch.
Bets flew through the crowd.
"Twenty silvers on Greg!" the host shouted.
Greg — a member of The Black Maw — was clearly the arena's current champion.
Arthur kept watching, learning.
"He used the jab as a feint, then followed with an uppercut," Aeon noted.
Then came the voice over the crowd:
"Next match: Arthur Greystone versus Luke Hephtar!"
Arthur stood up, heart steady. He stepped into the ring.
His opponent was a lean, older man — about 5'7", maybe in his thirties — already in position.
"Two silvers on Luke! Thirty bronze on Arthur!" the host announced.
"That kid won't last a round," someone laughed from the crowd.
"Fight!"
As soon as the call rang out, Luke rushed forward with his right arm raised.
Arthur parried the swing and jabbed him straight in the face.
It connected cleanly.
Without waiting, he stepped in and punched Luke in the side — right at the kidney.
Luke let out a sharp cry and staggered. In a panic, he threw a flurry of wild punches — none of them landed. Arthur weaved through them easily.
Then he kicked high. It missed the face but landed hard on Luke's neck.
Luke dropped to the ground.
Silence. Then murmurs.
Arthur had won.
He could've smiled — maybe even celebrated — but he didn't.
There were too many eyes on him now.
Arthur collected his winnings — forty bronze coins, more than he'd made in two weeks of labor.
Not bad for a few punches and a well-placed kick.
But as he turned to leave, he could feel the eyes still watching him.
The crowd hadn't thinned — if anything, more people had gathered. Lanterns flickered along the edges of the arena, casting long shadows. The night had grown colder, but the fights were just heating up.
Arthur stood near the edge of the pit, watching as the announcer climbed onto the wooden platform once again.
"Alright folks! Final fight of the night!"
The crowd roared.
"We've got a new challenger rising through the ranks — Arthur Greystone!"
A few claps, some murmurs. Most people didn't know his name yet.
"And facing him — Carrin of the Black Maw!"
That name got a reaction.
A man stepped out from the crowd, tall and wiry, with a long scar across his cheek and black leather wraps on his forearms. He rolled his shoulders, cracked his knuckles, and gave Arthur a crooked grin.
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
"A Black Maw fighter…" he muttered.
"Be careful," Aeon said in his mind. "He's more skilled than the last one — not a top dog, but trained. He knows how to fight smart."
"Got it," Arthur whispered.
The crowd hushed as both men stepped into the ring. This fight was serious. Carrin didn't posture or shout — he just raised his hands, light on his feet, confident.
Arthur mirrored him, knees slightly bent, fists raised.
"Begin!"
Carrin came in fast.
Arthur blocked the first jab, but didn't see the low kick coming. It struck his shin hard, making him stumble back. The crowd gasped.
"Focus," Aeon snapped. "Don't just block — control the flow."
Arthur reset his stance. Carrin followed up with another jab, then a hook. Arthur ducked under and threw a quick counter to the ribs — it landed, but barely fazed Carrin.
Carrin smirked and launched a spinning elbow — it grazed Arthur's jaw, staggering him.
'He's fast… faster than I thought.'
"His pattern is three hits, then he pauses. Wait for that third strike," Aeon advised.
Arthur nodded and steadied his breathing.
Carrin came in again. Jab. Cross. Hook.
Arthur blocked the first two and then — as the third strike came — he stepped inside and delivered a brutal body shot. Carrin grunted and backed off.
This time, Arthur didn't wait. He pressed forward, throwing sharp jabs, keeping Carrin on defense. But Carrin wasn't done — he ducked low and swept Arthur's leg.
Arthur hit the ground hard.
"Move now!" Aeon shouted.
Carrin was already coming down with a heavy punch.
Arthur rolled just in time, sprang to his feet, and slammed a knee into Carrin's chest. The crowd roared.
They circled each other, breathing heavy. Sweat ran down Arthur's face. His muscles burned, but he could feel Aeon adjusting his stance slightly, guiding his motion.
"Use the opening after his next dodge. Aim high — then low."
Carrin charged again, fist raised.
Arthur feinted a high punch — Carrin raised his guard — and in that split second, Arthur twisted and landed a hard strike to the side of his leg.
Carrin's balance broke. Arthur took the chance, grabbed his collar, and drove his fist into his jaw — once, twice.
Carrin dropped.
Silence fell. Then the announcer shouted:
"And the winner — Arthur Greystone!"
The crowd erupted. Even those who had doubted him earlier now watched him with new eyes.
Arthur stepped back, chest rising and falling, blood pumping.
"Nice," Aeon said simply. "You're adapting."
Arthur didn't smile. He just glanced around the crowd — scanning the shadows, the faces.
Some were cheering.
Some… were watching too closely.
Black Maw eyes.
This fight had earned him money. But it may have earned him something else too.