Victory and the Aftermath
Leon stood over the fallen Deathbound Gladiator, his opponent groaning in pain as the arena echoed with the cheers and jeers of the crowd. Some chanted his name, others cursed their losses from misplaced bets.
The announcer's voice boomed overhead, amplifying the moment.
"VICTORY—LEON!"
Leon exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he stepped away from the motionless body. His Elite Sorcerer and Warrior Zombie stood behind him, their glowing eyes fixed on the defeated enemy, ready to strike again if needed.
The Black Market Arena was nothing like a dungeon. This wasn't about fighting mindless monsters. These opponents were alive, thinking, adapting. It was kill or be killed.
And he had only won his first fight.
As he left the ring, he could feel eyes on him—sharp, analyzing, interested. The kind of gazes that only came when someone had proven themselves worth noticing.
A man in dark robes, seated in a private booth above the arena, whispered something to a hooded figure beside him. A masked woman in the back rows tilted her head, her fingers tapping against the armrest of her chair.
Leon didn't acknowledge them.
He simply walked toward the exit.
One fight down. Two to go.
Learning More About Necromantic Evolution
The underground market was alive with noise—shouts of merchants, clinking of coins, low murmurs of secret deals being made.
Leon moved with purpose, his boots clicking softly against the stone as he wove through the maze of vendor stalls.
Some of the merchants recognized him now—a necromancer who had just won in the arena. A few nodded at him, others watched him with guarded curiosity.
Then, an old voice called out.
"You fight well, for one so young."
Leon turned.
The speaker was an elderly necromancer, seated in a dimly lit corner, hunched over a table of forbidden scrolls and decayed bones. His left hand was skeletal, the skin and muscle long rotted away, though the fingers still twitched as if they were alive.
Leon approached cautiously. "You know who I am?"
The old man chuckled. "I know what you are." His glowing yellow eyes peered at Leon's undead, watching how they moved, stood, and reacted.
"They are different," the necromancer muttered. "Not mindless. Not bound by the normal limits of undeath."
Leon narrowed his gaze. "You can tell?"
The old necromancer nodded. "Because I once sought the same path."
Leon's fingers twitched slightly.
"You mean—"
"The Path of the Deathborn," the necromancer confirmed. He gestured to the ancient scrolls on his table. "Regular necromancers raise the dead. But those who walk the Deathborn path? They create true undead. Warriors who grow, adapt, and—" his skeletal fingers tapped against the table, "think."
Leon remained silent, his mind racing.
His system had already given him intelligent summons.
Was it connected to this Path of the Deathborn?
Or was it something even greater?
Attempting to Bargain for the Tome
Leon arrived back at the book vendor's stall.
The merchant didn't look up as Leon stepped forward. He simply turned a page in his book, speaking in a slow, measured voice.
"You won your first fight."
Leon ignored the statement, his eyes locked on the forbidden tome sitting on the merchant's desk.
"The Path of the Deathborn," Leon said. "I want it."
The merchant smirked. "And I want 750,000 dollars."
Leon clenched his jaw. He had 400,000 after selling his dungeon loot. He was still short.
He leaned forward slightly. "I can offer something else."
The merchant finally looked up, one eyebrow raised. "Do tell."
Leon tapped the side of his holster. "A relic-grade mana gun. Custom-modified. Fires necrotic rounds."
The merchant chuckled. "Tempting. But not enough."
Leon's fingers curled.
"What about—"
"Save your breath," the merchant interrupted, shaking his head. "Knowledge isn't given. It's earned. Or stolen." He tilted his head slightly. "You want the book? Fight for it."
Leon stepped back.
Fine.
Gaining Insight from Other Fighters(Slice of Life Moment)
He walked through the Black Market, letting the frustration settle.
He ended up in a small food stall, where fighters from the arena gathered between matches. The scent of roasted meat and spiced broth filled the air, a sharp contrast to the tension still lingering in his muscles.
Leon sat at an empty table, listening.
A few warriors and rogue mages sat nearby, speaking in hushed tones.
"You see that necromancer kid fight?" one of them muttered. "He got lucky. That first opponent was weak."
"Lucky or not," another added, "his next fight won't be so easy. The second match is rigged against new challengers."
Leon's fingers twitched.
"How?"
The men turned, surprised to see him. But one of them smirked. "Oh, so you're listening?"
Leon didn't repeat the question.
The man leaned forward. "Your next opponent isn't just some random mercenary. He's one of the arena's top fighters."
Leon remained still.
"He's got a trick," the man continued. "His undead? Fused summons. Two creatures merged into one. Stronger, faster, and damn near impossible to kill."
Leon tapped his fingers against the table, already calculating.
Fused summons, huh?
He'd dealt with stronger enemies before.
This wouldn't change anything.
Preparing for the Next Fight
Leon sat on a bench near the arena tunnels, his gun resting on his lap.
He checked the ammo chamber, feeling the familiar weight of the weapon.
Then, he turned his attention to his undead.
His Elite Sorcerer flickered, the mana around it pulsing. His Warrior Zombie stood ready, its greatsword resting against its shoulder.
They were strong. But against a fused summon?
He might need to evolve them further.
Leon exhaled, glancing back toward the Path of the Deathborn, still sitting on the merchant's table.
It was just out of reach.
But not for long.
One fight down. Two to go.
And when he stepped into the next match—
He wasn't just fighting to win.
He was fighting for knowledge.