Night had fallen like a shroud over Slaughter Barony, and the twisted alleyways beyond the arena breathed with the stench of spilled blood and ragged hopes. Qiang Ming—now infamous as "Hammer Kid"—cut a solitary figure as he made his way to the Black Column, the only tavern in these parts bold enough to serve ale alongside the crack of bones. His shirt was still stained with sand and blood from the Dark Tiger fight, and each step echoed through the narrow corridor's grimy stones.
Inside, the tavern was a cacophony of low laughter, clangs of tankards, and whispered wagers. Patrons elbows-deep in shadow eyed him with veiled respect, or perhaps fear. Xi Wo stood behind the bar, polishing a mug with a rag that had soaked up more blood than ale. He nodded once, wordlessly, and slid a foaming pint toward Qiang Ming.
Qiang Ming accepted it with a curt nod, the ale's bitter tang settling on his tongue like cold ash. He scanned the room, noting the hollow looks, the twitch of steel at hidden sheaths, the barbed anticipation in every gaze. This was home now—a crucible of sweat, steel, and bone.
From the far corner, a figure emerged. Tall, draped in flowing midnight-blue robes that swallowed the torchlight, Fen Luo glided forward. Her steps made no sound, her presence a sudden chill amid the tavern's heat. Her face was sharp—high cheekbones and a hawk's gaze—and at her belt gleamed a spirit dagger whose intricate hilt writhed like living shadow.
"Good evening, Hammer Kid," she purred, voice velvet over steel. Patrons fell silent, sliding away as if burned. Qiang Ming watched her, amber torchlight flickering across her narrowed eyes. "I am Fen Luo of the Black Veil Syndicate. Word of your… talent has spread beyond these walls. We offer you true power: access to forbidden knowledge, resources to break even the Federation's strongest rings, and alliances you have yet to dream of. Join us, and you will never stand alone in the pit again."
Qiang Ming swirled the ale, letting the rich head slosh against the mug's rim. He had no illusions. The Barony forbade spirit‐ring abilities here, but beyond its walls, Fen Luo's world lay hidden under a blanket of corruption and influence. Yet her invitation stank of manipulation. He straightened, amber eyes glinting.
"I have no need for shadowy alliances," he replied, voice low and controlled. The tavern's patrons leaned in, sensing the storm. Fen Luo's lips curved into a cold smile.
"Your skill is wasted on mere arenas. With the Black Veil behind you, you would command fear in every court. You could shape kingdoms." She lifted a slender hand, jewel-adorned fingers tracing the air as if sculpting her vision. "We value discretion—no fanfare. Only results. Yours would be legendary."
Qiang Ming took a deliberate swallow of ale, then set the mug down. His hammer—an ornate, obsidian-and-purple weapon—hung at his back, reminding him of every battle fought without mercy. Fen Luo's proposition was an attempt to buy loyalty with false promises. That would not stand.
In a motion so swift it drew gasps, Qiang Ming reached over the bar, wrapped his powerful fist around the haft of his hammer, and hefted it. Fen Luo's smile faltered. Before she could react, Qiang Ming's hammer descended in a brutal arc, driving into the side of her skull with a thunderous crack. Brain matter sprayed across the polished wood and splattered the nearby wall in grotesque petals. Fen Luo's body slumped to the floor, limbs splayed, dagger clattering beneath her. Silence seized the tavern.
A heartbeat passed. Then the roar of panicked voices shattered the quiet. Chairs scraped back, and patrons spilled into the exit. Xi Wo ducked behind the bar, eyes wide but steady. Qiang Ming stood over Fen Luo's broken form, chest heaving, every muscle taut with controlled fury.
"Clean it up," he said to Xi Wo, voice the cold edge of a blade. "And fetch a new rag."
With that, he turned on his heel and walked into the night, leaving the tavern's reek of blood and ale swirling behind him.
The next evening, Qiang Ming returned, shoulders squared beneath the flickering torchlight. Xi Wo stood behind the bar, broom in hand, his apron stained dark.
"Thought you might show," Xi Wo said, sweeping at the floor. His tone was half exasperated, half amused. "Brain matter's a bitch to clean—walls, floor, table legs, and the damn ceiling. You owe me five pints, Hammer Kid. And use a fresh rag this time."
Qiang Ming reached into his leather pouch and laid down a handful of coins heavier than any he'd ever carried. "Five pints, no argument," he said, sliding onto his usual stool.
Xi Wo snorted, shaking his head. "You're a legend already—a one-man massacre. No spirit rings, no grand techniques—just you and that hammer." He raised a fresh mug. "Here's to you surviving the madness."
Qiang Ming lifted the tankard and downed it in a single swallow. The bitter warmth flowed through him, stinging the bruise on his ribs. He set the mug down gently, meeting Xi Wo's steady gaze. "I'll need more than ale to drown what I've seen."
Xi Wo merely shrugged. "Around here, we learn to live with it—or get buried under the sand."
Behind them, the tavern's patrons had returned, eyes darting toward Qiang Ming with a mixture of reverence and dread. Whispers began anew: "Hammer Kid," they breathed—"Brain Explosion." The story would spread through every alley and arena, another grim chapter in Slaughter Barony's iron-bound lore.
And for Qiang Ming, each night's victory, each broken skull, was a rung on the ladder he had chosen—a ladder that led either to true power or to a grave where even the Blackstone Abyss Hammer could not save him.