The city of the Lana Guild.
The underground fight club thriving beneath that very city was experiencing unprecedented prosperity.
Rumors are like words without feet. Secret tales that inevitably leak out, no matter how hard you try to hide them. Representatives of the great nobles participating in the ‘Black Market’ are gathering one by one in Guild City. Before the black market opens, a power struggle to establish the hierarchy is unfolding.
Like an underground arena where no rules apply, there would be no fixed location.
Knowing this, the people of Guild City also gathered there for a spectacle rarely seen.
An arena for the mighty, where mere mercenaries or third-rate thieves dare not even approach. From the representatives of the great nobles to the ambitious souls seeking to prove their worth against them.
The back alleys of Lana’s city.
On the surface, it appears to be a shabby slum, but beneath it lies a vast hollow cavity.
Originally an underground tunnel built during the Unification War, it has since been expanded and reinforced multiple times, transforming into the ‘Underground Colosseum’—a symbol of the darkness of the Lana Guild.
Dale, too, was right there in that darkness.
“I’m here to sign up for Fight Club.”
“……!”
At Dale’s words, the man at the reception desk swallowed hard. The mercenaries and thieves nearby turned their attention to them.
“Brother, do you even know what that means these days?”
Despite his rough appearance, the man cautiously asked back, seemingly concerned for Dale.
“I am aware of that point.”
Dale nodded with a smile.
“Th-then surely not…”
Seeing that composure, without a shred of hesitation or doubt, the receptionist instinctively knew. As someone from the underworld, his intuition told him: this man was one of the powerful figures they had been waiting for.
“Alright, fine. Please sign here to confirm receipt. And the payment…”
The underground arena featured several events.
Among them, the one Dale aimed for was the ‘Winner’s Tournament’—where he could test his skills against the black market’s elite.
In a sense, this was the real game of the Fight Club…
“Before getting properly into the game, I’d like to warm up a bit.”
“Understood.”
Furthermore, there is a tournament where the loser steps down after each fight on the ring, and the winner continues to face the next challenger, extending the streak.
Before the real contest begins, a little light entertainment is in order.
Above all, there’s no place more suitable than a fight club for padding one’s pockets. Separate from the Saxon family’s funds, he couldn’t pass up the chance to fill his pockets generously.
With that thought, Dale crossed the underground passageway in the back alley.
Separate from the areas used by spectators, a back alley for participants of the fight club. Volunteering as gladiators who risk their lives in bloody battles in the arena.
Dale’s turn came sooner than expected.
The reason was that the participants waiting before him had largely abandoned their matches and fled in droves.
‘What?’
Dale glanced at the arena scene from the waiting room, puzzled. Immediately after, he gasped. Blood, entrails, and chunks of human flesh were scattered chaotically. It felt like he was looking at a slaughterhouse, not an arena.
The reality of the underground arena where even taking an opponent’s life is carried out without hesitation.
Amidst that blood-soaked chaos, the victor raised both arms in exaggerated triumph. He was a heavily armored knight clad in black armor.
‘Black armor?’
A deafening roar echoed through the arena.
A festival of bloodlust and madness. The Golden Empire, where even human death becomes mere entertainment. This is the true face of Guild City.
“WAAAAAAAH!”
“The Butcher! The Butcher!”
It was a man bearing the name ‘Butcher’.
In his hand was a greatsword resembling that of the House of Saxony. And the aura flowing through his body was certainly not that of a third-rate knight. It possessed a cleanliness comparable to that of a knight formally educated and trained.
Moreover, he looked incredibly familiar.
“Who on earth will stop the Butcher’s undefeated streak!”
“Already nine victories! With this, the tenth victory is within reach!”
“Ah, what a pity. Everyone’s too busy running away at the sight of him!”
“The Butcher’s celebrations are always famously extreme!”
“It seems like securing ten wins with a perfect record isn’t impossible after all!”
From afar, the amplified voices of the commentators echoed.
“Me? You want me to face that monster? Don’t make me laugh!”
The last challenger before Dale took off running. A thousand gold coins are worthless compared to one’s life, after all.
“Oh, dear! Another tail-tucking loser has run away!”
“Wooooo!”
“That leaves just one challenger remaining! Does he have the guts to face the Butcher?”
“Well, judging by that suspicious robe, he might not be your average skilled fighter!”
Finally, Dale’s turn arrived. Without a moment’s hesitation, Dale stepped toward the arena.
In the Fight Club, the underground arena, ‘any means necessary to win’ is permitted.
With only two exceptions: as a mage, he couldn’t use the ‘world of thought,’ and as a knight, he couldn’t use his ‘avatar.’
In the former case, it’s because the spectacle loses its meaning; in the latter, it’s because the damage would be unbearable. After all, if fighters of that caliber clashed with full force, it would be difficult to guarantee the audience’s safety.
That very point was also why Dale was confident of victory in the Fight Club.
Surely among the representatives of the Great Nobles, there would be a knight who had reached the realm of an Avatar. Even someone like Dale couldn’t guarantee a 100% victory against an Avatar-level opponent.
However, within the constraints of ‘being unable to use the world of thought and avatars,’ it’s a different story.
Even if his opponent were a knight of the ‘Oru Master’, Dail was confident he would not lose now.
The Hero’s Sword and the Fourth Circle. That butcher, who hadn’t even reached the realm of an Avatar, was beyond comparison.
The eldest son of the Duke’s household stepped into the arena where lives were at stake.
If his mother, Elise, were to find out, she’d likely faint on the spot. Thinking this, Dale smiled bitterly.
“Huh.”
Right before that very moment, the butcher repositioned his greatsword.
‘Just as I thought.’
Dale’s prediction was not wrong.
The black armor, painted over the breastplate to conceal its ‘affiliation,’ was one thing, but above all, the shape of that greatsword… Though it had undergone various modifications, its foundation was unmistakable.
The greatsword bestowed upon the Saxon House’s Night Raven Knights, specifically those of the rank of Oer Knight or higher.
A Zweihänder.
“Why is a Night Raven Knight, who should be loyal to House Saxon, here?”
“…!”
That was why Dale asked back. For a moment, a flicker of unease crossed the Butcher’s face.
“No, surely not…”
With a tremor, black aura swirled around his greatsword. The Saxon House’s Black Sword, the jet-black aura blade that symbolized the Knight of the Night Crow.
“Waaaaaah!”
The moment that aura appeared, roars erupted once more from the crowd.
“Now, the Butcher has finally drawn his aura blade!”
“The man in the robe… um, what should we call him?”
“Well, before we even get to his name, shouldn’t we be worried about whether the fight will be over first?”
“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!”
“Please win! I bet my entire fortune on your tenth victory!”
Maddened shouts echoed from every corner.
“…I hope the river water is warm.”
Dale replied, and the Butcher charged. The Saxon House’s black sword swung. And in a place where not even a breeze stirred, Dale drew the knight’s sword slung diagonally at his waist. It was a draw of such swiftness it was impossible to believe it came from a mage.
Clang!
The single blade enveloped in aura was blocked cleanly.
“Ah, no, what on earth just happened?!”
“A man in robes blocked the Slaughterer’s aura blade with a mere iron sword!”
“I can’t believe my eyes!”
When an ordinary steel blade clashes with an aura blade, even if it doesn’t shatter on impact, the blade itself inevitably sustains fatal damage. Yet, facing the Butcher’s black blade, Dale’s blade still radiates a deep blue edge.
Not a single scratch marred the blade’s surface.
The ideology now projected onto Dale’s knight’s sword was something far greater than mere aura.
──The result of a mage’s absurd notion to project his own spirit into his weapon.
The sword of the hero he had wielded in his past life, Peacemaker.
Using the projection of the ancient sword as a medium, the act of linking one’s past self with one’s present self.
And now, what Dale possessed was not merely the hero’s might. Four circles began to rotate along his heart. Black-blue magic swirled like a whirlwind, and his shadow cloak began to glow.
The slaughterer backed away as if fleeing at the tip of a sword. Seeing this, Dale spoke.
“I ask again, knight who broke your oath.”
“Y-You can’t be…?”
“Why did you break the Saxon Oath?”
Why he had left the House of Saxony and ended up here remained a mystery.
He might be a renegade knight, or perhaps he simply chose to abandon Saxony’s sword and leave of his own accord. After all, leaving one’s lord’s service is a knight’s freedom.
But a man who did not swear allegiance to Saxony wielding Saxony’s Black Sword was another matter entirely.
Dale finally removed his hood and spoke.
“Why does one who has renounced the name of Saxony hold the black sword of ‘our house’?”
A cloak of shadows swirling at his feet. A prodigious mage who reached the Fourth Circle at the age of twelve.
The empire’s foremost talent—a title adorned by but one epithet.
“The… Black Prince…”
The butcher’s mutter was met with an instant hush in the hall. The silence did not last long.
“The Black Prince!”
“It’s the Black Prince of the Saxon House!”
“The Black Prince has appeared in the Fight Club!”
Soon, shouts filled with madness echoed throughout the hall.
“Is what I’m seeing real?!”
“The empire’s foremost genius, the very eldest son of House Saxon, has appeared in the arena!”
The commentators’ amplified voices boomed out. By now, no one was shouting the Butcher’s name.
“Well, a mere Saxon brat like him…”
Gripping Saxony’s Black Sword, the Butcher spat out in a voice dripping with malice.
“You hypocrite looking down on us from above, what do you know to dare utter such nonsense!”
At the Butcher’s words, Dale sneered coldly.
“At least you know your sword won’t reach the heavens.”
As if he were some being above the heavens. Black blades formed along the shadow cloak, orbiting around Dale like satellites.
Simultaneously, Dale re-gripped the hilt of his master sword, Peacemaker.
The Butcher charged, and Dale charged as well. Against a knight using his aura at full power, without any aura of his own.
Two blades clashed. Immediately after, the six shadow blades orbiting around Dale surged forward.
A bloody festival where even human death became mere entertainment.
In that festival of madness, to prove the infamy and cruelty of the ‘Black Prince’ who shows not even a shred of mercy.
