Morning in Nocturne's End was never truly bright.
The sunlight that illuminated the marble towers of the upper city only reached the boundary of the lower streets. Down here, all that remained was thin mist and lingering long shadows. Leon stood before a cracked mirror in the back room of the Blue Flame Tavern, staring at his reflection.
A black mask covered half his face. A simple black cloak replaced his old clothes. No more Belphegor insignias. No more identifiable marks.
"Zero," he whispered to himself, trying out the name.
Within him, Satan chuckled softly. "A fitting name for someone starting from nothing."
Leon didn't answer. His hand touched the pendant around his neck—hidden beneath his cloak, but still warm.
Behind him, Kazan leaned against the wall, two swords sheathed at his waist. "Ready?"
Leon nodded. "Ready."
Elliot, tidying up the tables, snorted. "Don't die in the first round. I haven't been paid yet."
From the corner of the room, Raina, still holding her soup bowl, looked at Leon with shining eyes. "Brother Leon... will win."
Leon smiled beneath his mask. He ruffled the little girl's hair. "Thank you, Raina."
---
The Bloodsport Bets Arena was located on the border between the upper city and the lower city. Exactly where the two worlds met.
From the outside, the building looked like an ancient temple—white marble pillars rising high, carved with fanged creatures. But behind that grandeur, Leon could smell blood. Faint, but real.
Nix had disappeared since earlier—he said he would watch from a distance. Leon and Kazan walked through the iron gates, greeted by two large guards in black uniforms.
"Contestants?" one asked.
Leon nodded.
The guard pointed to a long table on the left side. "Register there. Don't cause trouble."
They walked to the registration table. A bald man with papers scattered before him raised a lazy eyebrow.
"Name?"
"Zero."
The man stopped writing. "Zero? Strange name." He scribbled something. "Origin?"
"Not important."
The man snorted. "No family name? No kingdom? No connections?"
Leon looked at him. "I have a name. Zero."
The man shook his head but kept writing. "Fine. Contestant number 227. Preliminary round begins in one hour. Don't be late."
Kazan patted Leon's shoulder. "I can't go in. Arena rules only allow one participant per registrant. But I'll be in the stands. If anything happens..."
Leon nodded. "I can do this."
Kazan stared at him for a moment, then turned. "I know."
---
Leon stood in the corridor leading to the arena. Around him, other contestants began arriving. Some were giants with stone-like skin. Some were gaunt with glowing eyes. Some carried swords, axes, even spiked chains.
Leon stood in a corner, silent, observing.
And among the crowd, his eyes caught something.
A slender contestant, cloaked entirely in black from head to toe. A white mask covered their face. No visible weapons. But the way they stood—upright, calm, as if unaffected by the chaos around them.
Leon couldn't explain why, but something felt familiar.
"Watch them," Satan whispered.
Leon nodded inwardly. That contestant's aura was different from the others.
On another side, a contestant in a grey cloak stood alone. No weapons either. But their eyes—Leon could see them from behind his mask—moved quickly, observing everyone, every corner, every possibility.
"They're reading movements," Satan whispered. "Be careful."
Leon watched that contestant for a moment. Then looked away. Too much to track.
---
An hour later, a bell rang.
Leon stood at the arena entrance with 499 other contestants. From inside, the roar of the crowd was already deafening—thousands of people shouting, cheering, calling out names Leon didn't recognize.
"Welcome to Bloodsport Bets!"
The voice echoed from all directions. Leon looked up. Above the arena, on the highest balcony draped with golden curtains, a figure stood. Platinum blond hair, lavish robes, a folding fan in hand.
Zenless Mammon.
"Simple rules!" His voice sounded casual, like he was telling a story. "Out of 500 contestants, only 5 will advance to the next round. How? Survive. Or..." he smiled. "...make sure the others don't."
The crowd's cheers were deafening.
"Contestants ready? Arena ready? Then..." Zenless raised his fan.
"BEGIN!"
The iron gates opened.
Leon ran into the arena with the crowd. The ground beneath was coarse sand, mixed with dark, dried stains. Around them, stone walls rose high, filled with screaming spectators.
In the center of the arena, some had already fallen.
A large contestant struck two others with his fists. In another corner, a woman with poisoned daggers took down her victims. Blood began staining the sand.
Leon moved. Not to the center, not into the crowd. He ran to the edge, observing, calculating.
"Don't rush," Satan whispered.
"I know."
Two contestants flanked him from the sides. One with an axe, one with a chain.
"Ugly mask," one of them laughed. "Die fast—"
Leon moved. The axe hadn't even swung before Leon was behind him. One strike to the back of the head. The man fell.
The second panicked, his chain swinging wildly. Leon dodged, grabbed the chain, pulled, and in one motion, drove his knee into the opponent's stomach.
Two bodies fell in the sand. Leon stood between them, his breathing still steady.
"Slow," Satan commented.
Leon didn't answer. His eyes had already shifted to the crowd.
---
In the stands, Kazan sat in the back row, his eyes following Leon's movements. Beside him, Nix appeared suddenly with a drink.
"Not bad," Nix commented.
Kazan didn't answer.
On the highest balcony, Zenless narrowed his eyes. His fingers tapped his fan, his gaze following one cloaked figure moving through the crowd.
"Contestant number 227," he murmured.
Beside him, a bald man with papers in hand immediately opened his records. "Zero. No origin. No family. No prior records."
Zenless smiled. "Interesting."
---
In the arena, Leon kept moving.
He didn't kill. Only incapacitated. A punch here, a kick there. His body moved like water—dodging, pivoting, taking down. No wasted movements. No wasted energy.
But in the corner of the arena, the white-masked contestant also moved. Their movements were fast, agile, and each time they passed, another contestant fell. No one could see clearly how they did it.
Leon watched.
"They're fast," Satan whispered.
Leon nodded. "But I can see them."
His eyes tracked the contestant's movements—and for a moment, their eyes met.
Leon didn't know who was behind that white mask. But there was something in that gaze. Not a threat. Not a challenge. But... curiosity.
The contestant turned, disappearing into the crowd.
---
Time passed. The sand in the arena had changed color. From 500 contestants, only dozens remained. Then a handful. Then...
"STOP!"
Zenless's voice echoed. In the center of the arena, only five people remained standing.
Leon stood in the corner, his breathing still steady. His black mask was still intact.
In the center, the white-masked contestant stood motionless. On the other side, the grey-cloaked contestant with sharp eyes also remained. The other two were a giant of a man and a man with a thin sword.
Zenless rose from his seat, his fan wide open.
"Incredible! This year's contestants are truly... entertaining." His gaze shifted from one contestant to another, then stopped at Leon.
"Contestant number 227. Zero." He smiled. "You didn't kill a single opponent. Yet you're still standing. Interesting."
The crowd roared.
Leon didn't answer. Behind his mask, his eyes remained calm.
Zenless raised his fan. "The first round is over! These five contestants will advance to the next round. Rest. Train. Prepare. Because tomorrow..." he smiled widely. "You'll fight each other."
---
Leon walked out of the arena. Kazan was already waiting in the corridor.
"You didn't kill," Kazan said. Not a question.
Leon nodded. "No need."
Kazan said nothing. But at the corner of his lips, there was a faint smile.
They walked through the long corridor. At the end, a cloaked figure stood—the white-masked contestant.
Leon and the contestant looked at each other. No words. Just a gaze.
Then the contestant turned and left.
Leon stood there, watching the back disappear through a door.
"Do you know them?" Satan asked.
Leon shook his head. "No. But... something's there."
"We'll see."
They exited the arena. Above, the sky was growing dark. The marble towers of the upper city began to light up, creating artificial light that was beautiful and cold.
Leon looked at them for a moment. Then turned, heading toward the lower city. Toward the tavern. Toward Raina, who was waiting.
Tomorrow, the real battle would begin.
=== CHAPTER 19 END ===