[Secret Headquarters – District Three]
A full hour passed as I lay on that cold wooden platform, counting the breaths of everyone around me. I decided it was time to end this play. I opened my eyes slowly, feigning confusion, and looked around to find dozens of soldiers filling the room; most were mere novices, their movements clumsy and their eyes lacking the coldness of true killers.
The mercenary I had faced at the inn stepped toward me, trying to gather his courage in front of his comrades. He shouted loudly for all to hear: "The slave is finally awake! I thought my strike had shattered your massive skull!"
I shot him a look of silent hatred that made his body freeze in place. He leaned in as if checking my restraints and whispered in a trembling, barely audible voice: "I'm sorry, sir... please... I need to show them I'm strong to keep my place among them... forgive me."
I didn't answer; I let him finish his act. The soldiers gathered around me, tightening the shackles—which I could have shattered with a single touch—and led me through damp corridors to a massive room at the end of the cellar.
[The Command Room]
At the far end of the room, behind a table of black ebony, sat a man radiating a lethal calm. He looked at me as if reading an open book.
"You... the big one," he said coldly, gesturing toward me. "How did you kill it?" I asked in a toneless voice: "Kill who?" He leaned forward. "The Stone Ghoul. We confiscated your blade; it's weak, ancient, and rusted. It's impossible to slaughter a beast of that size with such a pathetic blade... unless the one holding it isn't an ordinary human."
I said briefly: "I am a trained professional. The weapon is just a tool; the hand is what kills".
A glint of suppressed admiration shone in his eyes. He said: "Then... I want you to join us. I am Skyro, the master of the Ryumin Gang. Here, we don't kill for pleasure; we are assassins. We kill for gold, but we have rules: we do not kill women or children."
I asked, feigning curiosity: "And are there those who order you to kill specific people?" Skyro laughed coldly, leaning back in his chair: "Yes, we fulfill the requests of nobles... and sometimes, we need to clear out some 'trash' that disturbs the capital, don't we?"
The soldiers burst into laughter, and I laughed coldly with them to match the tense atmosphere. The laughter stopped abruptly when he asked: "So... what is your name?" I replied: "My name is Ray."
"Very well, Ray... your first mission begins tomorrow. For now, go and live your life normally. Work your job by day, and by night, come here to gather and arrange the blood."
[Outside the HQ – Dawn]
I stepped out of that dark cellar as the first threads of dawn tore through the sky of Draka. At the exit, I found the mercenary who had tried to kill me at the inn waiting, rubbing his hands nervously.
As soon as he saw me, he rushed forward and spoke in anticipation: "Welcome, Master Ray... my name is Nero. I hope we work well together... and regarding what happened inside—" Before he could finish, I gave him a look that made him swallow his words, sending him running away, trembling in fear.
I stood alone in the empty street, looking at my hands stained with the Ghoul's blood. I whispered to myself as the cold wind brushed my face:
"So... what do I do now?"
[Capital Outskirts – Noon]
The sun in Draka was not just a source of light; it was like a whip lashing the backs of the weary. At first, I tried working in farming, telling myself it was a quiet profession to camouflage my presence. But after hours of striking the earth with an axe under suffocating heat, I felt an overwhelming urge to shatter the axe over the head of the farmer who was screaming at the workers. Physical exhaustion wasn't the problem, but the deadly routine and the sound of dust filling my lungs made my anger rise. I threw the axe into the mud and walked away without looking back. "Farming is for the weak, and I have no patience for the earth".
I headed to the Grand Market. I walked through the crowd with my black scarf and sharp gaze. People automatically cleared a path for me; some trembled, thinking I was a mercenary from "Sura," while others lowered their heads in respect, believing I was a noble disguised in simple clothes.
I stopped in front of the small shop where I had bought the blade yesterday. The old man was sitting, cleaning an old piece of iron. "I need work... and I'll settle for a place to sleep and a few coins," I said in a firm tone. The old man lifted his head, gave a toothless smile, and said: "You're the owner of the old blade... this body of yours was made for wars, but if you want to sell, the place is yours."
[Inside the Weapons Shop]
The hours passed heavily. I sat on a wooden chair, watching the street through the hanging blades. I noticed something strange in the passersby; most of their skin wasn't entirely human. Lizard scales appeared on their necks, and some had eyes like dragons with vertical pupils.
"Are they humans with dragon traits? Or are they transforming completely?" I asked myself secretly. The world here was more complex than I thought, and power lay not just in muscles, but in this hybrid blood running through their veins.
An arrogant man interrupted my thoughts, wearing shining armor that was empty of true strength. "Merchant!" he shouted, slamming the table. "I want a weapon that kills in one strike... the price doesn't matter. I want something that ends the opponent the moment it touches them."
I looked at him coldly, not moving from my spot, and said: "There is no such thing as a weapon that kills in one strike. A weapon is just a piece of dead iron... it depends on who holds it. If you are skilled, you will kill your opponent with a tree branch; but if you are weak and hold the strongest sword in Draka, you won't even scratch their skin."
The man's face turned red with rage, and he shouted: "I asked for a weapon, not philosophical advice! You're just a merchant who knows nothing; give me a strong sword and be silent."
With utter calmness, I picked up a heavy blade and threw it before him. He took the sword and left, muttering stupid insults. The old man emerged from the back room, laughing: "Oh... so you have a deep understanding of the essence of combat, Ray." I replied: "Yes... I have some experience in how lives are taken."
[Afternoon – The Confrontation]
The old man leaned his back against the wall and looked at my massive build intently. "Ray... you have a majestic body and understand the language of blades... why waste your time here? Why don't you participate?" I asked as I cleaned a dagger: "Participate in what?"
"Participate in the Great Arena Fight... a week from now. There will be bloody confrontations, just like the ones you saw between Brock and the Sura Guard."
I went silent for a moment... the arena meant attracting attention, which was the opposite of my plan to hide. But the old man continued with a glint in his eyes: "The winner gets 1,000 gold coins... it's the chance of a lifetime; you could buy half this neighborhood with that amount."
1,000 coins... this amount would allow me to buy information, weapons, and even loyalties within the "Ryumin" gang. I looked at the old man, and my eyes flashed with a dark brilliance.
"Agreed... I'll participate," I said, knowing that the arena of Draka would soon witness a new kind of death... a kind it had never seen before.