Part B – The Master in the Dark
The chamber was silent but for Kuangren's breathing. Deep. Steady. The kind of breathing a beast makes after feeding.
Then came the sound.
Clink. Clink.
The door's iron latch slid open from the outside. Heavy boots approached, deliberate, their weight measured, their rhythm purposeful. Kuangren didn't look up. He continued to stare at his bloodied hand, still smeared across his cheek like crimson paint.
The boots stopped at the threshold.
"Gu Kuangren," a voice spoke—low, smooth, commanding.
Kuangren raised his crimson eyes.
The Arena master stepped into the chamber, his form cloaked in shadow despite the torchlight behind him. A tall figure, robed in black, his face obscured by a hood, but his presence filled the room. He carried no weapon, yet there was no mistaking the danger that radiated from him.
Behind him stood two guards in iron masks, their spears crossed, though both shifted uneasily, their grips tight with nervousness.
Kuangren tilted his head, the faintest smile twitching at his lips.
"And who," he rumbled, voice low and rough, "dares disturb my silence?"
The Arena master's hood shifted slightly, revealing a flash of pale skin, sharp cheekbones. His tone remained calm, even courteous, but there was steel beneath it.
"You are no ordinary fighter, Kuangren. Men do not rise from wounds like yours. Men do not embrace pain with laughter."
Kuangren chuckled, leaning back against the bench. Blood streaked across the stone.
"Men?" His crimson eyes gleamed. "Then perhaps I am not one."
The guards stiffened. The master, however, laughed quietly.
"A beast, then? Or perhaps a devil?"
Kuangren shrugged, the grin widening. "Names don't matter. Blood does."
From the shadows above the doorway, Zhu Zhuqing crouched in perfect stillness, her golden eyes wide. She hadn't expected this. The master himself rarely appeared in person. For him to step into a fighter's chamber…
He's interested in Kuangren.
Her claws dug into the stone as she strained to hear.
The Arena master's voice dropped lower, measured like a blade sliding free from its sheath.
"I see men fight for gold. I see men fight for glory. Others fight because they are driven by desperation."
He paused, his gaze boring into Kuangren.
"But you… you fight for none of these. You fight because you love it."
Kuangren laughed then—deep, ragged, a sound that made even the guards flinch.
"Finally, someone who sees it." His crimson eyes burned brighter. "Yes. The kill, the cut, the scream… that's life. That's truth. The only thing worth feeling."
The Arena master's lips curved faintly. "Then you are what I need."
Silence pressed down. The torchlight wavered.
The master stepped closer, stopping just a pace away from Kuangren. Despite the difference in height—Kuangren towering even as he sat—the master did not waver. His presence filled the space, oppressive but calm.
"I will give you more opponents. Stronger. Faster. More dangerous than the last. Each one will bleed for you."
His voice sharpened, cold and deliberate.
"But you will give me something in return."
Kuangren's grin twisted into something sharper. "And what would that be?"
"Your loyalty."
For the first time, Kuangren's laughter stopped. His grin remained, but his crimson eyes narrowed. The silence stretched long, heavy.
Then, slowly, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gaze locked with the master's shadowed face.
"Loyalty is a leash," he said softly, dangerously. "And I don't wear chains."
The guards shifted nervously, one raising his spear slightly, but the master raised a hand. Still calm. Still watching.
"Not a leash," the master corrected. "A path. Follow it, and I will lead you to greater blood than this Arena has ever offered. Resist, and you will rot here in obscurity, your hunger wasted."
Zhu Zhuqing's heart pounded. She had heard bargains before, manipulations cloaked in honeyed words. But never had she heard them spoken to someone who might truly accept—or destroy—them.
Her golden eyes flicked between them.
Will he submit?
But no—she knew. From the moment she first saw him, she knew.
Gu Kuangren would never bow.
Kuangren leaned back once more, grin widening into something feral.
"Then bring me your blood," he growled. "Bring me your prey. Let me see if your promises are worth more than Kael's broken corpse."
The master chuckled. "So be it."
He turned, cloak swaying, and walked from the chamber. The guards followed, though they glanced back uneasily, as though relieved to be leaving.
When the door shut, silence returned.
Kuangren tilted his head back, eyes half-closed, smile still sharp.
More blood was coming. He could feel it.
Above the doorway, Zhu Zhuqing's claws dug deeper into stone, her breath unsteady.
He didn't submit. He bargained with the Arena master as though they were equals.
Her golden eyes narrowed, shimmering faintly.
What are you becoming, Gu Kuangren?