Kain, Talon, and Redd followed Ash through winding alleyways, the streets growing narrower as they moved deeper into what must have been Krevane''s old brewery district. The smell of fermentation still lingered in the air, mixed with the musty scent of disuse.
"Are you sure this is the right way?" Redd asked, his voice low with concern.
"Positive," Ash replied, stopping before what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. "The man I spoke with was very specific."
Kain studied the building. Nothing about it suggested an underground fighting club—no guards, no sounds of combat or crowds. But then again, that was probably the point.
Ash approached a side door and knocked three times, paused, then twice more. After a moment, a small viewing slot slid open, revealing a pair of bloodshot eyes.
"What?" a gruff voice demanded.
"We heard there might be some entertainment tonight," Ash said, repeating the phrase he''d been told to use.
The eyes narrowed, scanning each of them. "Fresh meat, eh? Entry''s five berries each."
After they paid, the door swung open. A narrow staircase descended into darkness, illuminated only by occasional oil lamps mounted on the walls. The sound of cheering grew louder with each step.
The staircase opened into a vast underground chamber that must have once been a storage cellar. Now it housed a circular pit surrounded by crude wooden stands filled with shouting spectators. The air was thick with smoke, sweat, and excitement.
"Impressive," Talon murmured, and Kain nodded in agreement.
"You boys look lost," came a voice from behind them.
Kain turned to find an elderly man with a long gray beard braided into sections. Despite his age, his arms were corded with muscle, and his eyes held the sharp clarity of someone who''d seen countless battles.
"First time at the fights?" the old man asked, his lips curling into what might have been a smile.
"That obvious?" Kain replied.
"Like lambs wandering into a wolf den," the man chuckled. "Name''s Drogg. Most folks call me Old Man Drogg."
"I''m Kain. These are my brothers—Ash, Redd, and Talon."
Drogg''s eyes lingered on each of the four brothers. "Looking to fight or just watch?"
"Both, maybe," Ash said eagerly. "What exactly happens here?"
Drogg gestured for them to follow him to a less crowded corner where they could speak without shouting. "Listen up, kids. Fights here are brutal, and not everyone walks away alive. If you''re gonna step into that ring, do it for the right reasons—fame won''t save your skin."
"People die here?" Redd asked, his enthusiasm visibly dimming.
"Only in death matches," Drogg explained. "Before each fight, contestants decide—to the death or just until surrender. Most choose the latter these days. Too many graves being dug lately."
"And anyone can join?" Ash pressed.
"The Krevane Fighting Club''s seen better days, but it''s still the best place to hone your skills. Just remember—winners are made, not born. You''ve got to work hard if you want to survive here." Drogg pointed toward the pit. "New fight''s starting. Death match. Watch carefully if you''re thinking of stepping in."
They found space along the railing overlooking the arena. Two men entered from opposite sides—one young and muscular, the other older but moving with the calculated precision of experience.
"Newcomer against a veteran," Drogg commented. "Poor choice for a death match."
The fight began with a bell. The younger fighter charged immediately, all aggression and power. The veteran sidestepped easily, landing a precise strike to his opponent''s kidney. What followed was less a fight than a methodical dismantling. The veteran toyed with his opponent, drawing out the combat while inflicting maximum damage.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Kain felt his stomach turn as the veteran finally ended it with a knife to the throat. The crowd roared its approval while attendants dragged the body away, quickly spreading sand over the blood.
"That''s entertainment here?" Redd whispered, disgust evident in his voice.
"That''s survival," Drogg corrected. "In Krevane, you either fight or you die. At least here, you choose your battles."
The next few fights were less brutal—matches to surrender that ended with bruises and broken bones rather than death. Kain studied the techniques, noting the variety of fighting styles. Some relied on brute strength, others on speed or cunning.
After the fourth fight, Ash could contain himself no longer. "I''m going up," he announced.
"Ash, wait—" Kain began, but his brother was already pushing through the crowd toward the sign-up area.
"Your friend''s eager," Drogg observed. "Might want to get him some protection first. There''s a shop over there—sells weapons and armor. Shitty quality, but better than nothing."
They followed Ash to the sign-up booth, then to the store Drogg had indicated. The shopkeeper, a heavyset woman with an eyepatch, watched them with amusement.
"First-timers, eh? What''ll it be?"
Ash immediately gravitated toward a sturdy wooden staff. "Like this one," he said, testing its weight. "Reminds me of home." It wasn''t nearly as nice as Garik''s solid metal staff, but it was close enough.
Redd, after some deliberation, selected two short swords. "I''ve always wanted to try dual-wielding," he explained, practicing a few experimental swings.
Kain and Talon exchanged glances, their shared consciousness momentarily synchronized. They both reached for the same pair of leather gauntlets reinforced with metal plates across the knuckles.
"Those won''t cover much," the shopkeeper warned.
"They''ll do," Kain replied, slipping them on. They felt right somehow—allowing freedom of movement while protecting his hands.
Talon purchased an identical pair, and they returned to find Ash already registered for the next non-lethal bout.
"You''re really doing this?" Redd asked, concern evident in his voice.
Ash grinned, spinning his new staff with surprising dexterity. "We came here for experience, didn''t we? Time to get some."
****
Ash''s heart pounded against his ribs as he stepped into the fighting pit. The crowd''s roar washed over him, their faces blurring into a ring of shadowed anticipation. He gripped his newly purchased staff, testing its weight one final time. Not as good as Garik''s metal one, but it would do.
His opponent entered from the opposite side—a short, slim man whose body told a story of survival through a tapestry of scars. One particularly nasty line ran from his left eye down to his jaw. Despite his unimposing stature, something in the man''s posture made Ash''s confidence waver.
"This here''s Whisper," the announcer bellowed. "This year alone, he''s had Thirty-seven fights and twenty-nine wins! And challenging him today, a newcomer—Ash Creed!"
The veteran fighter—Whisper—gave Ash a once-over and smirked. The expression sent a chill through Ash''s spine, but he shook it off. This scarred twig of a man couldn''t be that dangerous.
"Begin!"
Ash charged forward, swinging his staff in a wide arc aimed at Whisper''s head. The man didn''t even bother dodging—he simply wasn''t there anymore. A sharp pain exploded in Ash''s side as Whisper''s fist connected with his ribs.
"Too obvious, boy," Whisper murmured, his voice surprisingly gentle.
Ash recovered quickly, spinning to face his opponent. He jabbed the staff forward in quick succession, trying to keep Whisper at a distance. The veteran weaved between the strikes like water flowing around stones.
"Stop telegraphing your moves," Whisper advised, slipping past Ash''s guard and landing another blow, this time to his shoulder.
Gritting his teeth, Ash adjusted his grip and attempted a feint—high, then low. Whisper fell for neither, catching the staff mid-swing and using Ash''s momentum to send him sprawling into the dirt.
The crowd jeered. Someone shouted for Whisper to "finish the kid quick!"
Ash scrambled to his feet, dirt clinging to his sweaty face. The only time he''d been played with like this was when Garik''s spars turned serious.
"You''ve got spirit," Whisper acknowledged, circling Ash with predatory patience. "But spirit doesn''t win fights."
Ash launched himself forward again, this time keeping his staff close, minimizing his movements as he''d seen Garik do. He managed to clip Whisper''s shoulder, drawing a surprised grunt from the veteran.
"Better," Whisper said, before disappearing from view.
Pain exploded across Ash''s back as Whisper''s foot connected with his spine. He stumbled forward but maintained his grip on the staff, whirling it around in a defensive circle.
For two more minutes, they danced—Ash attacking with increasing desperation, Whisper countering with effortless grace. For every blow Ash landed, Whisper delivered three.
Finally, a sweeping kick took Ash''s legs from under him. He crashed to the ground, staff clattering away. Whisper''s foot pressed lightly against his throat.
"Surrender?" Whisper asked quietly.
Ash nodded, defeated.
The bell rang. "Winner by submission—Whisper!"
Back in the preparation area, Ash slumped against a wall, nursing his bruises. His brothers found him there, staring at his hands.
"Hey," Kain started, "you did—"
"You know what Garik would say right now?" Ash looked up at his brothers with fire in his eyes.
"He''d say failure is just the first step to getting good at something."
He gestured to his bruised body, wincing slightly. "All those years watching him... I thought I understood. But this—this is where the real learning begins."
A determined smile broke through his grimace of pain. "So watch me… I''ll train, then train some more… until no one in this place can knock me down again, so don''t give me your sympathy. What I need is more… more training and more opponents."
****
****
[Kain’s current stats:
Physique: 4.93
Stamina: 5.07
Haki: None
Devil Fruit - None
Rokushiki: None]
****
[Talon’s current stats:
Physique: 5.01
Stamina: 4.95
Haki: None
Devil Fruit - None
Rokushiki: None]
****
Read ahead at https://www.patreon.com/NamelessAuthor_</a>