They took Raizō and Taren underground. The stairs spiraled down farther than Raizō expected. Stone gave way to iron. Iron to packed earth. The air grew thicker with every step, heavy and damp, carrying the sharp scent of sweat and rusted blood. Voices echoed from below, blurred at first, then clearer. Laughter. Shouting. The sound of a crowd that had been waiting a long time.

  This place wasn’t hidden. It was buried.

  Torches lined the walls, their flames weak and smoky. Between them were iron cages bolted into the stone. Most were empty. Bent bars. Dried blood crusted into the floor like it had been there too long to scrub away. Then Raizō saw one that wasn’t.

  A man gripped the bars with both hands, fingers raw and split. His breathing was shallow. One eye was swollen shut. The other widened when he saw people passing.

  Raizō recognized him immediately.

  It was the man from the street. The one dragged away while his wife screamed. The one whose children had clung to her dress as guards pulled him back. Taren stopped walking.

  His breath caught, sharp and sudden. “That’s…” He couldn’t finish it.

  The man saw them. Hope flashed across his face like a spark struck in the dark.

  “Please,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Please, I didn’t do anything. I just couldn’t pay. I swear I’ll work. I’ll do anything.”

  No one answered him. The guards shoved Raizō and Taren forward. Behind them, the man’s voice cracked as he called out again, louder this time. Begging. Not for freedom. Just for time.

  The pits were already active. They dragged the man from the cage and threw him down into the sand. He stumbled, caught himself, then collapsed to his knees. His hands shook as he tried to stand again.

  He looked up at the crowd. Hundreds of faces stared back. Some masked. Some smiling. Some bored. Then he saw his opponent. The other man stood still at the far end of the pit. Tall. Broad. Scarred. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy. This wasn’t a fight to him. It was routine.

  The caged man crawled backward, palms scraping through the sand. “Please,” he cried. “Please, I have a family.”

  The crowd laughed. Coins clinked as they were tossed from above. The pit fighter walked forward, slow and deliberate. No rush. No tension. He raised his hand once. The strike was clean.

  Final.

  The man collapsed face-first into the sand. His body twitched once. Then didn’t move again. For a heartbeat, the pit was silent. The man didn’t move. For a second, no one seemed to understand that it was over. His body lay twisted in the sand, one arm bent the wrong way, his face half-buried like he was trying to hide.

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  Then the crowd erupted.

  Cheers burst from the stands. Coins clattered against stone. Someone laughed too loudly, the sound sharp and wrong. A few voices shouted the fighter’s name like he was a hero. Raizō didn’t react. His eyes stayed on the body. Not the blood. Not the crowd. Just the man. The way his fingers were still curled, like he had been holding onto something right up until the end. His jaw tightened.

  Taren swore under his breath.

  He turned his head away, fast, like looking any longer would make him sick. His chest rose and fell unevenly. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, forcing himself not to say anything. This place didn’t care about anger. It fed on it.

  Seris went still.

  Her hands clenched in her lap. She had seen executions before. Trials that ended badly. Orders carried out “for the greater good.” But this wasn’t that. There was no excuse here. No ceremony. Just death, sold as entertainment. Her eyes hardened.

  Shizume felt it in her stomach first.

  A sharp, twisting pull that made her breath catch. Her fingers trembled before she forced them still. She hated that she understood this place. Hated that part of her knew how easily someone could disappear here and never be spoken of again. Her gaze flicked to Raizō. He hadn’t looked away. That scared her more than the killing.

  Rylan leaned back in his seat, arms spread across the stone like he owned the place. He was still smiling, but it was thinner now. Less playful. His eyes followed Raizō, studying him with a new kind of interest.

  “Damn,” he muttered lightly. “They don’t waste time down here.”

  He was already there, sitting comfortably between Seris and Shizume. Seris didn’t look at him at all. Her eyes stayed fixed on the pit below. Shizume noticed immediately.

  “Move,” she said.

  Her voice was calm, but her hand twitched near her blade.

  Rylan smiled. “Can’t. This seat was assigned to me.”

  It was a lie. A lazy one. Shizume’s fingers curled tighter. Something dark stirred under her skin. Her urge to end his life kept surfacing. She forced it down, jaw clenched. Rylan noticed. He always noticed. He leaned back like he belonged there.

  No one answered him. Below, the pit fighter wiped his hands on his pants and waited. Above, the crowd was already hungry for the next body. And for the first time since they’d been dragged underground, everyone understood the same thing. This wasn’t about survival. It was about breaking people. And now, Raizō was next.

  Cheers. Shouts. Applause. The sound of excitement, like something impressive had just happened. Raizō didn’t move. His jaw tightened. His chest felt heavy, like something had settled there and refused to leave. That wasn’t a fight. It was a message.

  They were shoved aside to wait. Above the pits, the stands were packed tight. Criminals leaning forward. Fighters watching with interest. Masked nobles hidden behind cloth and shadow, their attention sharp and hungry.

  Raizō’s name was called. Not properly. Not respectfully. They announced him as “the one with the medallion.” The crowd leaned in. The pit fighter stepped back into view. The same one. He looked at Raizō once. Just once. Then rolled his shoulders, loosening up like he was preparing for another chore. No excitement. No anger.

  He already expected to win.

  There would be no Kaijin here. No abilities. Just bodies, skill, and pain. Raizō studied him quietly. The stance. The balance. The way he conserved movement. This man ended things quickly because that’s what kept him alive.

  Behind the bars, Taren gripped the iron railing until his knuckles went white. He wanted to shout. To do something. He didn’t. Above them, Shizume couldn’t look away. Her chest felt tight, breath shallow. Seris understood this place immediately. She had seen versions of it before. She had just hoped this one wasn’t real.

  The gate to the pit began to rise. No bell rang. No signal was given. The noise faded into a dull, suffocating roar. Raizō stepped forward anyway.

  Into the sand. Into the pit.