Shadow slave: Sovereign of the Unknown

The underground arena buzzed with energy long after the final match of the night had ended. Fighters nursed their wounds, gamblers counted their winnings, and the scent of sweat, blood, and cheap alcohol filled the air.

He sat on a worn-out bench in the dimly lit waiting area, rolling his shoulder to ease the stiffness creeping in. His body ached from the brutal fight against Iron Bull, but he welcomed the pain—it was proof of progress.

The system screen flickered in his vision.

---

[System Status]

> Synchronization: 6% (+1%)

Physical Enhancements: Strength +1.0, Endurance +0.7

Martial Techniques Acquired: [Brawler's Resilience] (Passive: Reduces damage taken from physical blows by 10%)

---

A slow smirk formed on his lips. He could already feel the changes. His body was growing tougher, adjusting to the harsh reality of this world. Every battle sharpened him, refined him. Made him more dangerous.

The sound of heavy boots approaching made him glance up.

It was the recruiter. The man's usual smirk was replaced with a more serious expression. "Got a message for you," he said, tossing a small piece of paper onto the bench.

He picked it up, eyes scanning the messy handwriting.

> "If you want to rise, come to the Black Sun's den. Midnight. Don't be late."

His fingers tightened around the note.

The Black Sun. He had heard whispers about them. A ruthless underground faction that operated in the shadows of the slums, dealing in everything from illegal fights to mercenary work.

"Looks like you've caught someone's attention," the recruiter said, folding his arms. "You gonna go?"

He didn't answer immediately. He weighed his options carefully.

Pros: A chance to gather more information about the power structures in the city. Possibly more opportunities to gain strength.

Cons: Walking into a potential trap.

After a moment, he folded the note and tucked it away. "I'll think about it."

The recruiter chuckled. "Suit yourself. But if I were you, I'd be careful. The Black Sun doesn't invite just anyone. They either want to use you… or bury you."

---

A Meeting in the Dark

Midnight approached, and he found himself moving through the slums, his steps light, his senses sharp. The streets were quiet, but he knew better than to assume they were empty.

Hidden eyes watched from the shadows. Predators lurked in the alleys, waiting for weakness.

He arrived at the designated location—a rundown building with boarded-up windows and the faint glow of lanterns from within. Two armed men stood at the entrance, their expressions unreadable.

Before he could speak, one of them nodded. "They're expecting you."

He stepped inside.

The air was thick with smoke. Several figures sat around a wooden table, their faces obscured by hoods. A single candle flickered in the center, casting eerie shadows.

A woman sat at the head of the table, her presence commanding. Unlike the others, she didn't wear a hood. Her short silver hair and piercing green eyes stood out in the dim light.

"You made it," she said, her voice smooth but carrying an edge of danger.

He studied her carefully. She was strong. He could tell from the way she carried herself, the subtle control in her posture.

"I hear you've been making a name for yourself," she continued, gesturing for him to sit. "Winning fights, showing promise. But raw talent isn't enough. What do you truly want?"

He met her gaze evenly. "Power."

She smiled, as if amused. "A common desire. But power comes at a cost."

He leaned back slightly, arms crossed. "And what is your price?"

Her smile widened. "Loyalty. The Black Sun is growing, and we need capable people. Join us, and we'll give you resources, training, real opportunities to rise."

It was a tempting offer. A structured way to gain strength. But he had no intention of being someone's pawn.

"What if I refuse?" he asked.

Her smile didn't fade. "Then you walk away. But opportunities like this don't come twice."

He considered his options. He could play along, learn what he could, and leave when the time was right. Or he could refuse and find his own path.

Either way, he wouldn't let himself be controlled.

---

Testing Grounds

Just as he was about to respond, another man at the table spoke up.

"We don't trust empty words," the deep-voiced figure said, shifting forward. "If you want to be one of us, you prove yourself. Right here. Right now."

The woman, still smiling, gestured towards a doorway in the back. "There's a fighting pit below this building. You win, you earn a place in the Black Sun. You lose, you walk away… or we drag you out."

He narrowed his eyes. "Who's my opponent?"

She tapped her fingers on the table. "A veteran. Someone who has fought in the Dream Realm."

That made him pause.

A Dreamer?

Most fighters in the underground rings were regular people trying to make a name for themselves before obtaining the Nightmare Spell. But this…

This was something different.

A test.

And perhaps… an opportunity.

---

Stepping Into the Pit

The underground pit was nothing more than a circular stone room, torches lining the walls, their flames flickering. A dozen Black Sun members gathered around the edge, eager to witness the fight.

His opponent stepped into the ring.

A tall man, muscular but lean, with a predator's gaze. Scars lined his arms, and there was an undeniable sharpness in his stance.

This man had fought in the Nightmare Realm.

The moment the fight began, the Dreamer vanished from sight.

A blur of motion. Fast. Too fast.

But he had seen speed before. He forced himself to stay calm, relying on instinct rather than panicking.

WHOOSH!

A fist came at his head. He barely dodged, twisting his body to the side as he countered with a precise strike—only for his fist to meet empty air.

The Dreamer was already moving, launching a spinning kick towards his ribs.

Tch.

Pain exploded in his side as he staggered back. The force was brutal, but he had felt worse.

His body reacted, his foot sliding into position as his sword-drawing stance formed—Phantom Rend!

A flash of speed. A sharp slash through the air.

His opponent dodged at the last second, but not completely. A shallow cut appeared on the man's shoulder.

The Dreamer's eyes widened. He hadn't expected that.

Smirking, he flexed his fingers.

This was his true test.

And he intended to win.

---

To Be Continued…