Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Underground Boxing Arena

Thursday, July 27th

The gloom of the assassination attempt and the theft had yet to fully dissipate, but everything else seemed to have returned to normal. Carmine went to work, Julia attended school, and Mela and Kellerman went out shopping and sightseeing, just as they always had.

Fletcher checked on Verak’s study progress and, finding no faults in his mastery or pace, did not linger in the bedroom. Verak, taking advantage of the ample time during the day, delved deeper into his research of the lists and planning logs.

In the blink of an eye, evening arrived.

After dinner, Colin arrived right on schedule.

"Good evening, Mr. Carmine, Mrs. Mela," Colin greeted the family with his usual cheerful demeanor. "I made plans with Chris to go out tonight, so I’ve come to pick him up."

"Colin kept inviting me last time we were out, and I couldn't refuse his hospitality," Verak explained the reason for their outing.

Carmine, having no reason to be suspicious, felt confident in Verak’s current capabilities. He also believed that staying cooped up at home was not conducive to clearing suspicion, and that getting out would be good for building a foundation for his future work. He readily agreed to let Verak go.

The hard work of the past ten days had not been in vain; today’s excursion felt like a natural culmination of his efforts.

Once they were safely out, Verak couldn't help but stretch his body and let out a comfortable groan.

Seeing Verak so much more relaxed and cheerful now that he was out, Colin remarked, "You were going stir-crazy at home, weren't you?"

"Yes, I was bored to death staying inside all the time," Verak said as he followed Colin into the car. "But my health has recovered, and I’m ready to get back on track and start working."

"I really don't get it. Your family has so much money, why work so hard? Why not just enjoy yourselves?" Colin patted the driver's shoulder. "Let's go. To the fight club."

"We’re still far behind your family," Verak said with a smile, shaking his head. "It’s nice to get out and relax occasionally, but I can't just sit idle like you do, running around every day."

Colin sighed. "It was better when we were kids. Back then, I’d drag you out to skip class every day. Not like now—it takes ten days just to get you out once. You’ve become such a busy man."

"It was for health reasons, wasn't it?" Verak replied with a bitter smile.

Colin was playful, spoiled by his parents, and possessed of a substantial family fortune. Even at twenty-four, he spent his days eating, drinking, and having fun—a far cry from Chris, who was ostensibly in charge of the Thomas family's record distribution, but secretly led a rebel organization.

The car drove for nearly forty minutes before coming to a stop on the outskirts of Leysin.

"How much money did you bring?" Colin asked as they stepped out.

"I didn't bring any," Verak replied.

Colin was stunned. "What? Are you planning on just watching today?"

"I’m going to borrow some from you, and show you what a real gambling master looks like." Verak intended to play a game of "empty-handed wolf" today, leveraging his knowledge of the outcomes to win a large sum of private pocket money.

"You? You’ve never won. In the fight club, they call you the 'Mascot' and the 'Bad Omen'—whenever you bet on someone, I make sure to avoid them," Colin said dismissively. "If I lend you this money, it’s as good as thrown into the water."

Verak offered a heavy incentive: "Bet with me today. If we lose, I’ll pay you back triple."

"What’s this about? Did you find some inside information?" Colin was curious about Verak’s newfound confidence. "Is there a fix? Are they really staging fake fights right under our noses?"

"Don't overthink it. It’s just my intuition." Verak couldn't explain, of course, so he simply pulled Colin toward a dilapidated-looking building nearby.

"Young Master Colin, Young Master Chris." While the building looked unremarkable from the outside, the interior was quite luxurious. The receptionist at the front desk bowed as they entered and led them into a side corridor.

Outside, there had been no sound, but the moment they stepped into the corridor, a cacophony of cheers and jeers flooded their ears. Verak hadn't even seen the scene yet, but just from the noise, he could visualize the brutal combat taking place in the arena.

The underground fight club.

Beneath the prosperous city, it was one of the most thrilling, filthy, and blood-soaked places to be.

It was the preferred destination for countless nobles and the wealthy to seek thrills and squander their fortunes.

There were no laws here. Every fighter was a slave bought from afar by the club owner to fight to the death for the amusement of the nobles. The club held five matches every night, with a "king of the hill" format. The fights were one-on-one, and the match only ended when one side was beaten to death.

Led by the attendant, Verak and Colin passed through the corridor and into an underground space that, counting the arena and the tiered seating, was about the size of a regulation football field.

The stands were already packed—or rather, standing-room only. The crowd whistled and shouted, each of them acting like a lunatic, making no effort to hide their ugly behavior.

"We’re a bit late, but luckily the first match just started. Come on, Chris." Colin glanced at the two burly men grappling in the arena. Instead of going down into the general seating area, he walked up a side staircase to the expansive VIP section.

From their high vantage point, they could look down directly at the clash of the fighters.

"Colin, Chris, long time no see!"

Many of the nobles sitting on sofas, drinking wine and embracing beautiful women, greeted them.

"It took a lot of effort to finally drag Chris out," Colin teased Verak in front of the others.

Verak responded with a polite smile.

The two sat on a pre-reserved sofa and began to watch the match.

Colin crossed his legs, staring at the fight below. "Who did you guys bet on?"

"Isn't that a rhetorical question? Obviously, it's Kizzi. You haven't been here lately, so you probably don't know, but Kizzi has won over twenty matches in a row. He has almost no competition, so everyone is betting on him," replied a blonde man sitting on the sofa next to them.

"I know he’s strong, but it’s not very interesting if he always wins. The owner should have bought some tougher opponents, right?" Colin remarked.

"As it stands... he hasn't yet." The blonde man had barely finished speaking when, in the arena, the six-foot-three, sturdily built Kizzi landed a punch on his opponent's face, sending him flying. The first match had only been going on for a minute.

After his opponent collapsed, Kizzi walked over unhurriedly and raised his hands to soak in the applause.

The blonde man took a satisfied sip of his wine and tossed a handful of cash into the air. The bills drifted down from the VIP section, whipping the already rowdy crowd in the general seating area into an even greater frenzy.

Seeing this, Verak said to Colin, "Just bet with me later."

"Bet on Kizzi? The payout isn't high, it’s not worth the effort," Colin said, shaking his head with little interest.

In the arena, Kizzi walked up to his opponent, who was struggling to stand on the ground. He stomped fiercely on the man's head, as if crushing an ant, roaring like a madman. After a dozen stomps, blood flowed from the opponent's nose and mouth, and he stopped breathing.

"Bet on his opponent two matches from now," Verak said.