Chapter 936

“Ian?”

As Ian kept his gaze fixed on Berrick’s retreating figure descending the stairs, Hans tugged on his sleeve, puzzled. The staff’s eyes were on them, and the fallen gamblers sprawled at the bottom of the stairs seemed to be signaling, silently asking what to do next.

“…”

But Ian remained motionless, his eyes locked on the stairwell below. Berrick had long since disappeared into the crowd downstairs. What on earth was he thinking?

Then—

“Let’s go down too.”

Without looking back, Ian muttered and started down the stairs. Hans hurried after him, breathless from trying to keep up. It wasn’t like they were searching for a Black Spirit member; Ian’s pace was more like he was tracking something.

The staff glanced briefly at the empty stairwell where Ian had vanished, then returned to their posts. No one bothered to help the sprawled gamblers or showed any concern.

“Hit him in the ribs! The ribs, you idiot!”

“Look at that guy, just taking the hits!”

“Good! That’s it! Keep pushing!”

“Kill him! Woooo!”

“Double! It’s a double! Hahaha!”

“Hey, if you lose here, I’ll kill you!”

The place below was a fighting pit. Scattered around were makeshift arenas of various sizes, packed with people shouting encouragement and curses at the fighters they’d bet on.

The crowd was far denser than upstairs, but Ian’s steps didn’t falter.

“Ian!”

Hans panted, struggling to keep up with Ian’s quick pace. Ian’s eyes darted through the crowd, following a flash of red hair that appeared and disappeared.

“Hey, Berrick! Think you can win today?”

“Of course!”

“Yeah, yeah, always talk big, huh? Heh.”

“You’re the one I remember the face of.”

“Come on, let’s win this time!”

“Your recent record’s not looking good!”

Berrick had arrived at a makeshift cage roughly woven from iron bars. Some fights took place on bare ground, but this setup suggested Berrick was a somewhat known fighter here. Ian crossed his arms and watched him.

“Place your bets! Who’s putting money on Berrick to win?”

“Who’s betting on Deck to take it?”

“Side bet! How long will Berrick last? Triple payout if you guess right!”

Hands reached out like an endless stream, dropping coins and bills into the pot. Most seemed to favor Deck. The betting container passed in front of Ian and Hans, but they shook their heads, declining to join.

“Ian, aren’t you going to look for the Black Spirit member?”

Hans whispered close to Ian’s ear. Unlike upstairs, the crowd here was too dense to spot anyone easily. It’d be better to head back up and peer through the railing gaps.

But Ian shook his head slightly.

“I need to check something first.”

“Check something?”

Hans noticed Ian’s gaze never left Berrick. Was it because of the help he’d received earlier? But Ian’s expression was serious, unlike before.

“Back when I first met Naum—”

“Hm?”

Ian recalled the moment from over ten years ago when he first met Naum. A strange sensation had prickled his senses, as if something inside his head was sending a signal. That same feeling was stirring him again now.

“When I first saw Naum.”

“At the Enerjes main gate?”

“Yeah. It’s similar.”

“Who? That redhead?”

Hans looked surprised and studied Berrick carefully. The Ministry of Magic had all sorts of people, but no matter how he looked, Berrick didn’t seem like a wizard.

‘Even my brother didn’t realize he was a wizard at first…’

Only after seeing him mingle with other wizards at the Ministry did he understand there was a mysterious power they shared.

They called it the sixth sense, but to an ordinary person like Hans, it was beyond comprehension. If he had to explain it in terms anyone could grasp, it was like a feeling of intertwined fate. Anyway—

“Do you feel something?”

“Yeah, but it’s a little different.”

Berrick took a gulp of water and stepped into the cage. His opponent, Deck, was a giant, two or three times Berrick’s size. Matching them up was absurd. But then again, absurdity was the essence of a gambling den.

“Berrick! Win this one! Tomorrow’s my mom’s birthday!”

“Deck! Take him down quick!”

“Smash that bastard Berrick! Hahaha!”

A man who seemed to be Berrick’s companion whispered something in his ear. Berrick nodded slightly, then bounced on the spot, slapping his cheeks to warm up.

Deck, on the other hand, looked relaxed, as if fighting a child. There was no tension—he already seemed certain of victory.

“Alright, let’s begin!”

Ding!

The bell rang, and the crowd erupted in cheers. Berrick and Deck circled each other, sizing up their opponent. Berrick struck first.

Snap!

His movements were surprisingly agile. His kicks were sharp and heavy—far more power than his size should allow.

But Deck easily blocked with both arms and countered with a punch to Berrick’s ribs.

Thud!

“Ugh!”

The fighters exchanged blows rapidly, drawing cheers and jeers alike. Some shouted to end it quickly; others urged Berrick to hold on. The noise was deafening.

Hans frowned at the brutal scene, but Ian watched with a calm, detached expression.

“Kid’s cocky. Come at me properly!”

“Damn it, who told you to come and go as you please—!”

Thud! Crack!

Ian was certain the voice he’d overheard before coming here belonged to Berrick. The passerby’s comment about Berrick’s toughness was true. Despite Deck’s overwhelming strength, Berrick kept coming back, unfazed.

‘Doesn’t look like he has a chance.’

Ian glanced at the man who whispered to Berrick before the fight. He wasn’t watching the fight but checking his watch. It seemed their strategy was to bet on how long Berrick could last, making money off endurance rather than victory. There was no real hope for a win in his demeanor.

“Wrap it up already!”

Then, someone tossed a dagger into the cage. No one stopped it—not even the referee. Ian and Hans realized there were no weapon restrictions and widened their eyes slightly.

Thud.

The dagger landed in the center. Berrick and Deck lunged for it, but weapons started flying in from all directions—daggers, axes, hammers, even forks.

“Well, at least no longswords.”

Hans swallowed nervously. Probably because they were expensive—too valuable to throw around in a place like this.

Pant, pant…

Both fighters ended up holding daggers, facing off amid the chaos. Despite the noise, Berrick’s ragged breathing was clear. Blood covered him, while Deck had only a few cuts on his mouth.

Ian raised an eyebrow at Berrick’s stance, sword in hand.

‘What’s this?’

Though he’d grabbed the weapon haphazardly, his balance was solid. More than that, there was no fear in the tip of his blade. Even in a hopeless situation, facing death with a single cut, Berrick showed no sign of fear.

Ian, who was seeing this for the first time, couldn’t help but respect his spirit. Even if the outcome was obvious, he understood why gamblers cheered for Berrick.

“You know, Berrick, I really didn’t like you.”

“Yeah? That worked? I thought your face was damn annoying!”

Swish!

Clang! Clang!

The short blades made the fight even more tense. Any slight imbalance could mean a fatal cut to the neck or ribs. The thrill was nerve-wracking.

Then—

Click.

Berrick’s companion snapped the lid shut on his watch and snapped his fingers. Outwardly, it looked like a signal to get Berrick focused, but Ian immediately recognized it.

‘It’s a signal.’

Time to finish this no matter what.

Berrick clenched his teeth. Playtime was over. His attacks grew stronger and faster. Deck looked momentarily thrown off but was probably just playing along to hype the crowd.

Clang! Clang!

Crash!

Blades clashed with bone-shaking force. As their strength waned, fists flew. Blood splattered, fueling the crowd’s frenzy.

When Berrick’s head snapped back from a solid hit and he froze, the crowd held its breath. If he fell now, the match was over.

“No, no, no!”

“Berrick! Get it together!”

Berrick swayed backward but regained his balance and charged Deck again.

“Arrgh!”

A primal roar, pure instinct. Deck sneered, grabbed Berrick’s hair, and slammed several punches into his abdomen, howling with rage.

Thud! Crack!

“Ah, he’s busted open.”

“Berrick, snap out of it!”

“Let’s finish this. It’s been dragged out long enough!”

Deck dragged Berrick’s barely conscious head by the hair and grabbed a nearby dagger. Hans squeezed his eyes shut, unable to watch, while Ian crossed his arms, eyes fixed on the scene.

“Who’s the winner today?!”

“Deck! Deck! Deck!”

Thud!

Deck’s dagger plunged harshly into Berrick’s side. The blood that spilled onto the already sweat- and grime-streaked arena floor was a deep, sticky red—darker than Berrick’s own hair.

Splash.

“Waaaaah!”

The victor was decided. Deck left the arena to the roar of the crowd, while the gamblers rushed to the staff to collect their winnings.

As the crowd shifted to one side, Hans grabbed Ian firmly. Amid the flowing mass of people, Ian stood frozen, staring at the fallen Berrick.

“Hey, Berrick.”

A man who looked like Berrick’s comrade climbed into the arena and rummaged through his pockets. He tossed two gold coins and five silver ones onto the ground with a nod.

“You held out over five minutes, so double pay.”

“…”

“I heard it’s your sister’s birthday this week. I added a little extra—go eat some meat.”

“…Damn it, I got stabbed, give me more money.”

“Hah, alright then.”

The man chuckled softly, tossed a couple more silver coins, and climbed back down.

Berrick curled up, clutching his bleeding side as blood bubbled from the wound. Despite the pain, his other hand fumbled, trying to grasp the coins. Damn, today’s just not my day. It usually doesn’t get this bad.

“Ha, shit…”

His mind swam. This was bad. Losing consciousness in the middle of a gambling den was the worst. There was no one to take him to a hospital—only people who’d pick his pockets.

As Berrick struggled to hold onto consciousness—

A soft swish.

A pair of polished shoes came into view. A shadow fell over him. The bright lights obscured the face, but there was something familiar about it.

“Berrick, right?”

A voice that was plain yet kind.

Berrick furrowed his brow.

“W-what the hell, just go away…”

If he took my money, I’m dead. Damn Deck, that bastard. I really should’ve won. Next time we fight, I’ll give him two stabs—no, I’ll just put a hole right through his gut.

Ian, watching Berrick mutter to himself, suddenly recalled Barsabe’s words.

“The meeting of a mage and a magic swordsman sometimes comes as fate.”

A power similar to a mage’s, but distinctly different.

“Unfortunately, a magic swordsman needs a mage to awaken their ki. Without an external trigger, it remains dormant. That’s why many didn’t even realize they were magic swordsmen before they died.”

Carefully, Ian knelt on one knee and gently lifted Berrick’s chin. He barely seemed able to breathe; if left like this, he might die.

“Hey.”

“…Go away.”

Ziiing. Ziiing.

Ian released his magic. It was healing magic, but also the kind that could stir dormant power inside the body with a gentle touch. He bowed his head deeply, hiding his eyes beneath his robe.

“…”

The magic flowed. Smoothly, naturally, like a breeze sweeping across an open plain, Ian’s immense power was absorbed instantly.

Berrick slipped into unconsciousness completely. Ian gave a faint smile, then frowned.

“Tch.”

A talent who should be serving gloriously in the royal palace as a magic swordsman…

“…Why the hell are you here?”