House Fennec's compound was organized chaos.
Jona followed a guard through the courtyard, taking it all in. Training yards where fighters sparred with brutal efficiency. Workshops belching steam and the ring of hammers on metal. A mess hall packed with Houseless masters eating breakfast and trading insults. No fancy architecture or glowing runes here. Just function over form, survival over style. Wisps of smoke lingered everywhere, a nod to Boss Ren's mastery.
"Boss puts you in the barracks," the guard said, pointing to a low building. "Third bunk. Don't steal, don't start fights inside the walls, and don't miss meals. Cook gets cranky."
Jona nodded. The guard left.
The barracks was a long room lined with bunks, each claiming a narrow slice of personal space. Most were occupied by people who'd been chewed up by the world and spat back out. Scars. Hard stares.
His kind of people.
"Fresh meat!" A voice called out.
A woman approached, early twenties, with copper-red hair tied in a braid and a crossbow slung across her back. Athletic build, quick movements, calculating eyes that assessed him in two seconds.
"Renna," she said, not offering her hand. "You're the Priolo killer. Word spreads fast in here."
"Jona."
"I know. Fifty thousand gold head. Very impressive." She circled him like a shark. "Underworld mastery. Tier 1. Green as grass but ballsy enough to kill an heir. Boss must see something, or he wouldn't have let you through the gates."
Another figure slouched over from a corner bunk. Male, mid-twenties, lean and wiry with dark skin and darker eyes. He wore fingerless gloves and had daggers strapped everywhere: hips, boots, crossed sheaths on his back.
"Marcus," he said quietly. His voice was soft but carried weight. "Silence mastery. Tier 2. Before you ask, yes, it's exactly what it sounds like."
"Can you actually make people shut up?" Jona asked. "Because that sounds amazing."
Marcus's mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Among other things."
"We're Houseless," Renna said. "Been with Fennec for six months. We do jobs, we train, we survive. Boss takes a cut, we get protection and resources. Fair deal."
"You fighting in the tournament?" Jona asked.
"Obviously. Prize money's good, but it's the reputation we want. Win enough matches, and Houses start taking notice. Maybe get recruited into something better than Under House scraps." Renna's eyes gleamed. "What about you? Three days to prove yourself, I heard."
"That's the deal."
"Brutal," Marcus said. "Underground tournaments are no joke. People die."
"Frequently," Renna added cheerfully. "Last month, some guy got his neck snapped in round two. Crowd loved it."
Jona's stomach tightened. "How comforting."
"Hey, you wanted to play with the big kids." Renna clapped his shoulder. "Come on. If you're fighting, you need training. Can't have you embarrassing Fennec by dying immediately."
The training yard was packed.
Fighters sparred under the midday sun, their weapons clashing in rhythms Jona was starting to recognize. Different styles. Different masteries. All of them desperate to climb higher.
Renna led him to an empty corner where training dummies stood like silent guardians.
"Show me what you've got," she said. "Use your mastery."
Jona drew his sword and focused. Shadows curled around the blade, responding to his will. He slashed at a dummy. The shadow-wreathed strike cut deeper than steel alone, leaving a smoking gash.
[Skill Progress: Shadow Blade - Basic]
"Not bad," Renna said. "But you're thinking too hard. Mastery isn't about forcing it. It's about letting it flow. Try again. This time, don't think. Just move."
Jona attacked again. Faster. The shadows responded quicker, wrapping his movements in darkness. Strike. Parry. Strike. The dummy's torso split open.
[Skill Improvement: Shadow Blade - Intermediate]
[XP Gained: 25]
"Better," Marcus said. He'd appeared without sound, making Jona jump. "Now try this."
He demonstrated a technique, moving in absolute silence despite his boots crunching on gravel. No footsteps. No breathing sounds. Like watching a ghost.
"Silence isn't just about noise," Marcus explained. "It's about presence. Making yourself forgettable. Your shadows can do something similar. Blend. Disappear. You already did it last night."
Jona thought back to evading Kiarra's squad. The way darkness had wrapped around him.
He tried to recreate it. Focused on the shadows pooling at his feet. Pulled them up like a cloak.
[Shadow Shroud - Active Training]
[Progress: 15%]
The world dimmed. Not invisible, but harder to notice. Like background noise in a crowded room.
"Good," Renna said. "Keep practicing. Tournament fighters will be using masteries at Tier 2, maybe Tier 3. You're Tier 1, which means you're the underdog. Use surprise. Use speed. Hit hard and don't give them time to hit back."
They drilled for hours. Shadow Blade. Shadow Shroud. Even basic footwork without mastery, because sometimes technique mattered more than power. Jona's muscles screamed. Sweat soaked his shirt. But with each repetition, the movements got smoother. More natural.
[Combat Skill Increased]
[Shadow Blade: Intermediate → Advanced]
[Shadow Shroud: Progress 45%]
"Enough," Marcus finally said. "You'll burn out. Rest before the tournament."
Jona collapsed against a wall, gulping water from a canteen Renna tossed him.
"So what's the tournament actually like?" he asked between breaths.
"Brutal," Renna repeated. "Underground arena. Houseless only. Single elimination. Matches last until surrender, knockout, or death. No rules except you can't use ranged weapons beyond thirty feet."
"Why?"
"Because rich people watching from the stands don't want stray crossbow bolts in their faces." She grinned. "Three wins gets you noticed. Five wins gets you fame. Seven wins, you're tournament champion and every House wants to recruit you."
"Boss only needs me to win three," Jona said.
"Yeah, and that's harder than it sounds. You'll be fighting people who've been training for years. Who've killed dozens. Who are just as desperate as you." Marcus's dark eyes were serious. "Don't underestimate anyone. Pride kills faster than swords."
A commotion at the compound gates drew their attention. Voices raised. Laughter.
Jona stood, squinting across the courtyard.
A massive figure walked through, waving at people like he owned the place. Warhammer on his back. Scarred face split in a grin.
Lomenol.
"Oh no," Jona muttered.
The big man spotted him and his grin widened. He strode over, ignoring everyone else.
"Shadow-boy! You made it!" Lomenol laughed, clapping Jona's shoulder hard enough to rattle teeth. "I heard Boss Ren gave you the tournament test. Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful."
"You're competing too?" Jona asked.
"Obviously. Been training with Fennec for a year. This is my third tournament." Lomenol's eyes gleamed. "Don't worry, kid. We probably won't face each other until later rounds. If you survive that long."
"Comforting."
"Hey, I like you. That negotiation in the Hollows? Classic. But business is business, and tournament matches pay out separate bounties for winners. So if we do meet in the arena..." He shrugged. "Nothing personal."
Renna whistled low. "You know Lomenol Kade?"
"We've met," Jona said.
"Small world," Marcus murmured.
Lomenol laughed again and wandered off, shouting greetings at other fighters.
"He's Tier 2," Renna said. "Metal mastery. Turns his skin to iron in combat. You really don't want to face him early."
"Noted."
The afternoon bled into evening. Jona ate with the others in the mess hall, listening to stories about past tournaments, famous upsets, brutal deaths. The atmosphere was electric. Anticipation mixed with nerves. Everyone here was gambling their lives for a chance to rise.
Just like him.
[Quest Update: Prove Your Worth]
[Tournament begins: Tomorrow at noon]
[Participants: 64 fighters]
[Current Status: Seeded #47 (Tier 1, Low Combat Experience)]
That night, Jona lay in his bunk, staring at the ceiling. His body ached from training. His mind raced with techniques, strategies, ways to survive. Around him, others snored or whispered to themselves. Warriors preparing for battle.
Tomorrow, he'd step into the arena. Face someone who wanted him dead. Either he'd win, or he'd become another corpse ground under the Great Houses' boots.
No, he thought. I didn't survive Jin Priolo just to die in some underground pit.
He clenched his fist. Shadows curled around his fingers.
I'm going to win. All three matches. And then I'm going to keep climbing until every House that destroyed Mozzeri pays.
Sleep came eventually, restless and full of dark dreams.
Noon arrived too fast.
The tournament arena was buried three levels beneath the eastern slums, accessed through tunnels that reeked of blood and old sweat. Fighters filed in, their faces grim. The crowd above roared, hundreds of voices echoing down stone corridors.
Jona stood in the preparation area with sixty-three others. Renna and Marcus were somewhere in the mix. Lomenol too, looking relaxed and cheerful. Others looked sick with nerves or wired with pre-battle rage.
A man in gray robes stepped forward. Tournament official.
"Welcome to the Grinder," he announced. "Sixty-four fighters. Single elimination. Matches are randomized. No healing between rounds. Surrender or die. Those are your options." He smiled without warmth. "First bracket posted now."
A board lit up with glowing runes. Names appeared in pairs.
Jona scanned the list, looking for his name.
There.
[Match 1 - Bracket A]
Jona Mozzeri vs. Krell the Breaker
His opponent was listed as Tier 2. Bloodlust mastery. Record: 23 wins, 8 kills.
Across the preparation area, a man stood. Easily seven feet tall, built like a siege engine. His eyes were bloodshot, veins bulging in his neck. He cracked his knuckles, and the sound echoed like breaking bones.
Krell smiled. All teeth.
[Threat Analysis: Krell the Breaker - Bloodlust Mastery, Tier 2]
[Combat Style: Berserker - Increases strength/speed with damage taken]
[Warning: Extremely Dangerous - Strategy Recommended]
"First match!" the official called. "Jona Mozzeri and Krell the Breaker! Enter the arena!"
The crowd's roar intensified, shaking dust from the ceiling.
Krell strode toward the tunnel to the arena floor. He didn't even look at Jona. Like he was already dead.
Renna appeared at Jona's elbow. "Don't let him hit you. Bloodlust masters get stronger the longer fights last. End it fast or you're finished."
"No pressure," Jona muttered.
He checked his gear. Sword. Armor. Knives. All there.
Then he walked toward the tunnel, shadows coiling around him like eager hounds.
The roar of the crowd swallowed him whole.