The sun hung low and bruised in the sky as Qiang Ming stepped off the rickety transport cart at the edge of Slaughter Barony. Before him stretched a sprawl of crumbling stone towers, soot-blackened walls, and winding alleys half-lit by flickering torchlight. Here, every surface was scarred by blade or claw; every doorway guarded by half-starved sentinels whose eyes glimmered with suspicion.
He paused for a moment, drawing a slow breath of the rancid air. The scent of spilt blood and rusted iron was almost sweet in its familiarity. He lifted one foot—muscles wound tight beneath every sinew—and crossed the threshold into the Barony proper.
The first landmark was unmistakable: the Black Column, a squat, squat-roofed tavern half–built into the Basalt Wall itself. Its sign—a chipped iron hammer overlaid on a dripping blade—swayed creakily in the wind. Lanterns hung along its eaves, their wavering glow casting grotesque shadows of patrons huddled on the stoop.
Qiang Ming's boots crunched on gravel as he entered. Inside, the tavern was a cavern of pinched faces and stained tables. A thick haze of tobacco smoke and ale steam hung overhead. Broken benches lined one wall, while rusty hook-points held half-dressed bodies drying from sweat and fresh wounds.
He moved to the bar, where a burly man in a soot-smeared apron polished a mug with a rag that had seen better centuries.
"Oi, kid—over here." A gravelly voice rasped. The barkeep was neither tall nor particularly broad, but his presence filled the room. His hair was a tangled black knot atop a leathery face stamped with a single circular scar over one eye.
"Name's Xi Wo," the man said, tossing the rag aside and beckoning Qiang Ming closer. "You look fresh. Probably woke up on the wrong side of enough corpses to count as morning." He paused, studying Qiang Ming's squared shoulders and straight back. "You here to die? Or to try your luck?"
Qiang Ming squared his jaw. "I'm here to earn my pay. And to leave—eventually."
Xi Wo chuckled. "Brave words." He slid a tankard of dark, foaming ale across the stone countertop. "Down that. We'll talk rules."
Qiang Ming drained the bitter ale in three firm gulps, then set the empty mug down with a soft thump.
Xi Wo leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You see the Barony walls? They were built long before the Federation cared. No law touches this place—no ambassador, no judge. We answer to three men: the Three Bloody Barons."
He slapped the bar for emphasis. "First is Baron Draghorn—the Pitmaster. He runs the arena. Thinks of the fights like cattle drives: you're either fattened for show or broken for hides. Second is Baron Silverclaw, the Smuggler. He controls contraband and the black-market SoulBeast rings. And the last—Baron Ironfist, the Enforcer—he's in charge of justice. Real justice. His motto? 'Offend me once, spill your blood twice.'"
Qiang Ming's purple eyes flicked from Xi Wo's face to the tavern's corners, where men nursed fresh scars. "And none of them… answer to anyone else?"
Xi Wo shook his head. "No taxes. No meddling. They've made their peace with the Federation—so long as shipments of 'volunteers' and 'contestants' keep flowing out. Anyone who tries to cross the Barons gets thrown to the wolves."
Xi Wo poured another mug and gestured toward the open doorway behind the bar, where torchlight painted a narrow corridor. "The only way out is by earning the Arena Champion amulet. All three Barons have to agree you're more problem than you're worth. Then they toss you this"—he tapped the iron-riveted medallion hanging from his chain—"and you walk out a free man."
Qiang Ming's fingers flexed. "And if they don't agree?"
Xi Wo's grin revealed a row of squared teeth. "Then you fight. And fight. And fight, until the Barons grow tired of the noise you bring. Or until you drop dead in the ring—whichever comes first."
He leaned back, nodding toward Qiang Ming's shoulder where the faint scent of the Blackstone Abyss Hammer still clung. "That hammer of yours? Might give you a shot. But here, we break hammers first and souls later."
Xi Wo stood and gestured for Qiang Ming to follow. They stepped through a low-arched doorway into a narrow laneway, lit by braziers set in carved stone niches. The roar of the arena throbbed in the distance—like a beast's heartbeat.
"One: No mercy in the pit. Never flinch. Never beg. Two: Blood debt is paid in blood. If you kill a man in the ring, you owe nothing—unless the Barons say so." He spat on the ground. "Three: Respect the code. Protect your comrades if you have any. And if you betray your word, the Barons will tear you limb from limb."
With each rule, the stones themselves seemed to vibrate.
Xi Wo stopped beneath a cragged archway carved with twin claws. "That's it. The basics. Survive your first fight, and we'll talk lodging. Beat all comers, and we'll see about that amulet."
He clapped Qiang Ming on the shoulder. "So… what'll it be? Fight for your freedom? Or die in disgrace?"
In the flickering torchlight, Qiang Ming's shadow stretched long and narrow. His black hair—just beginning to streak with purple—lay damp at his temples. He inhaled the mingled scents of sweat, steel, and spilled ale.
He clenched his fists.
He thought of the three Barons—untouchable, merciless.
He thought of Xi Wo's warning.
He thought of every breath he had taken in East Sea Academy, of every lesson learned under Wu Zhangkong's gaze.
And then he straightened.
His voice was low but unshakable.
"I'm here to earn that amulet."
Xi Wo's grin split his scarred face.
"Welcome to Slaughter Barony, Hammer Kid," he said, raising his tankard in a mock toast. "May your strikes be strong, and your soul stronger."
With that, he turned and melted back into the tavern's haze, leaving Qiang Ming alone beneath the torchlit arch.
The future lay blood-red and uncertain before him. But for the first time since the Class Zero debacle, Qiang Ming felt only one thing:
Determination.
He stepped forward.
His path was set.
The Barons awaited.