Silva walked, distancing himself from the manor with every step. He walked at a steady pace, not rushing at all.
After a while, he made it to a populated road, people moved all around, carrying out one activity or another. He could see guards walking along the street, each one clad in full armor, the emblem of the empire on it.
As he walked, he used Dragon Eyes to see the average strength of the guards and people around. Their strength ranged from level 50 to around 80.
It was easy, though, to tell the strength difference among the guards because the ones who had a level of seventy and above seemingly had a different armor design. It didn’t take Silva long to notice that.
The capital was a well-built place, with massive buildings comparable to Europe on Earth. It had a modern yet old-time swag to it.
He found himself watching and admiring the glass windows of different colors and all the other setups in the capital.
Before he knew it, he had walked a long distance and made it to a place called the Pig’s Pot Fight Club.
“A fight club? Is that allowed here?” Silva asked himself. He shrugged afterward—it didn’t matter to him whether it was legal or not. He walked right to the door and knocked.
It was a single-story building, but Silva was not dumb. He used vibration sensing—there was a space underground where the fights were currently going on.
Someone came to the door, and after a few locks were unlocked, the door swung open, and a burly man stood there. He stared at Silva with vicious eyes.
“One silver imperial coin,” the man said outright. Silva took one out of his ring and handed it to the man. The man stared at Silva’s ring for a moment but then moved out of the way to let Silva in.
Silva walked in. He saw a receptionist behind a counter, so he walked to her. Her face detailed that she didn’t want to be here right now but had to be—but that was none of Silva’s business.
She looked up with dead eyes. When she saw Silva, she evidently forced out a question. “Will you be watching or fighting?”
Silva thought about it for a moment, and all his minds screamed in unison—fighting.
“I’ll be fighting,” he said. She looked at him, a little glint of shock in her eyes before it vanished again, but Silva saw it.
She took out a form and handed it to him along with a quill. He quickly filled it in, writing all his new forged information. He handed it to her, and she took a stamp and stamped it.
She pulled out a wooden card from below—it had the letter F engraved on it. Silva took the card from her.
“Head to the stairway, show your card, and someone will guide you,” she said her final words and turned away from him. She was like an NPC from a game that, after finishing giving a mission, went back to idle mode.
Silva didn’t care, though. He walked to the stairs and started walking down. He reached the bottom, where a massive soundproof iron door stood. There was also a table to the side and a man standing there.
As soon as Silva reached, he showed his card to the man. The man took a look at it and frowned. “You’re a fighter?” he asked.
“Yes, is there a problem with that?” Silva asked.
“I wouldn’t call it a problem, but are you sure about this, kid? If you really need money, there are other ways to go about it, boy. This place is not for jokes—people die constantly,” the man warned Silva.
“That’s fine. I’m not doing this for money—just the fun of it,” Silva said.
The man stared at Silva, not sure what he should say. He stayed that way for a moment and then shrugged. “It’s your funeral.”
He walked to the table, pulled out a piece of paper from the stack that was there, and handed it to Silva with a quill.
“Since you are a fighter, you’ll need to sign this with your blood. The contract details that no matter what happens to you, Pig’s Pot will not and cannot be held responsible.
The contract is blood-binding, which means you can’t break it, and in the event that you die, no one can still hold us responsible,” the man explained.
Silva didn’t waste a second. He bit into his finger and drew blood, then let it drip onto the page.
“That covers it, right? So when do I get to fight?” Silva asked.
The man nodded, no longer asking any questions. He took out a large key and opened the door of the fight club. As soon as the door opened, a pounding and massive roar of hundreds of people hit Silva. Your next read awaits at My Virtual Library Empire
He looked inside and saw a massive crowd in an arena-style seating. They were watching the ring at the center as two men viciously mutilated each other with punches and kicks.
Silva paused a bit, watching the scene. The man tapped him. “No turning back now, kid. You have to fight at least one fight—follow me,” the man said, and Silva followed him. He led Silva through the back of the seats until they made it to a small space where another man sat at a table.
“Hey, Legion, set this kid up for the next fight,” the first man said. The man called Legion looked at Silva—he seemed a bit confused but decided not to think too much into it.
“Alright, this fight is about to be over. Stand here, kid. We’ll set you up,” Legion said.
The man that brought Silva turned and walked away, leaving Silva with Legion. Legion kept his eyes focused on the fight.
The bigger fighter finally got a good grip on the smaller one, and in one swift move, he lifted the man off the ground, throwing him so hard that he slammed against the wall and cracked it.
The bigger one then rushed like a bull, with so much explosive force that his knee went straight into the smaller guy, taking him out of the fight entirely.