Chapter 22: Changing Roles

Yun Jin and Merlin sat at a wooden table in the dimly lit restaurant, their meals set before them. The warm aroma of broth and roasted meat filled the air, yet a lingering tension pressed against the walls like an unseen force. Mara, the restaurant’s owner, sat nearby, her fingers anxiously tracing the worn edge of her wheelchair’s armrest.

She sighed heavily. "This city wasn’t always like this, you know. There was a time when adventurers came here to find work, trade flourished, and people lived without fear. But now..." Her voice trailed off, eyes dark with old wounds. "Now, people like us are nothing more than prey."

Elara stood silently near the entrance, hands folded, watching Yun Jin’s reaction carefully. Hagan, Mara’s husband, grumbled under his breath, shaking his head. "This place was once for warriors and explorers. Now it’s just another den for parasites."

Merlin, between bites, raised an eyebrow. "Why hasn’t anyone stopped them?"

Mara’s lips tightened. "Who’s left to fight them? The ones with the power either work for them or have already been buried. And the ones that do fight them... they have to maintain a delicate balance. If they take too many risks, everything collapses."

She sighed, her gaze drifting toward Elara, who stood silently outside, her posture still and composed. The unspoken weight behind Mara’s words hung in the air.

then suddenly The restaurant’s door slammed open, sending a sharp gust of air rippling through the small space. Three men strode in with the swagger of those who believed they owned everything in sight, their rough features marked by tattoos and battle-worn armor. The leader, a stocky brute with a jagged scar carved across his cheek, sneered at Hagan.

"Time’s up, old man. Payment’s due. And you know damn well we’re not here for coin."

Mara paled, gripping her chair tightly. "Hagan still isn’t fully recovered! You can’t make him fight!"

Yun Jin’s eyes narrowed. Fight?

Hagan exhaled heavily, pushing his plate aside. "I don’t have a choice."

The gang leader smirked, slamming a heavy hand against the counter. "Oh, you do. Either you step into the ring tonight, or we take your wife and daughter instead."

Mara stiffened, her hands trembling. "You wouldn’t dare."

The gang leader chuckled darkly. "Wouldn’t we?"

At that moment.

Before anyone could react, Yun Jin moved.

A single open-handed strike landed squarely on the thug’s throat. A sickening crack filled the restaurant. The leader collapsed instantly—dead before he hit the floor.

The remaining two thugs stumbled back, their faces pale with shock.

Yun Jin dusted his sleeve. "I offered to take his place in the ring. That should be acceptable, shouldn’t it? Or... would you rather refuse?"

They gulped, scrambling to hand him the fighter’s invitation card—the one meant for Hagan. They muttered hurried excuses before dragging their dead comrade out the door, vanishing into the street.

The tension in the room didn’t ease. Mara covered her mouth, shaking. Hagan clenched his fists, staring at the invitation in Yun Jin’s hands.

"You don’t know what you just signed up for," Hagan muttered. "This isn’t just a fight—it’s a death sentence."

Yun Jin raised an eyebrow and pulled out his own invitation card, comparing it to the fighter’s card in his other hand. The details were exactly the same, except for one difference—his role. His fingers tightened around the parchment, realization settling in.

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"Twelve rounds, right? And then the champion? Sounds interesting."

Hagan let out a bitter laugh. "You think this is a game? That last match—it’s a bloodbath. They call it the Death’s Throne event. No one walks away from it. No one except the champ..."

He turned away, jaw clenched. "I was a fighter once, just trying to save some coin for my family. At first, it was just another gig... but then they came. They scared customers away, forced me to rely on them. Tied my hands. And when I tried to leave—"

His gaze flickered to his wife's crippled leg. "They made sure I couldn't."

Yun Jin reached out, placing a hand on Hagan’s shoulder. The moment their Qi connected, Hagan’s body trembled—a deep warmth flooding through him, his old wounds tingling as something long dormant stirred inside him.

Hagan’s eyes widened as a system notification flickered before him, something he had never seen before. His bruised skin rapidly healed, the pain in his joints fading like morning mist. Mara gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, and their daughter stepped closer, eyes round with shock.

Hagan flexed his hands, his fingers no longer stiff and swollen. The sensation was unreal, like stepping into a younger version of himself. He turned his arms over, running his fingertips along skin that had been bruised moments before.

A slow smirk curled at Yun Jin’s lips. "Would you look at that?"

Hagan, however, was still staring at his hands, disbelief settling in as he flexed his fingers again. His bruises had disappeared entirely, his body no longer aching from old wounds. But despite the miraculous recovery, Yun Jin’s expression grew serious.

"Don’t get any ideas," Yun Jin said, pressing a hand against Hagan’s shoulder again, grounding him. "You might feel like a new man, but your internal body is a mess. You only lived this long because you already had a strong foundation, but your meridians are still adjusting. Let the power settle before you even think about fighting."

Hagan gritted his teeth. He wanted to argue, to say he could still stand, still fight—but deep down, he knew Yun Jin was right. He exhaled sharply. "Damn kid, talking like you’ve known me for years."

Yun Jin chuckled. "I just know warriors. And you? You were a real one." He folded his arms. "Once you fully recover, I believe you’ll be a formidable fighter again—one that no one will dare to confront. But until then, you rest."

Hagan was quiet for a moment, then let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

Yun Jin then glanced across the room, spotting Merlin playing with Lina, conjuring little dancing rock golems that twirled around the girl, making her giggle. A small smile tugged at Yun Jin’s lips as he approached them, reaching out to ruffle Merlin’s hair.

"Good boy."

Merlin immediately pouted, swatting Yun Jin’s hand away. "I’m not a dog!"

Yun Jin laughed. "Then stop acting like a puppy who gets distracted so easily."

She waved back, grinning. "Bye, big sister!"

Merlin huffed but reluctantly dismissed the golems, giving Lina a quick wave. "Bye, Lina! Wait..."

Yun Jin turned back to Hagan, his expression steady. "You don’t have to worry now. I will take care of everything. Expect good news."

Without another word, he stepped outside, where Elara stood waiting by the carriage. He turned to her and said, "Pay the bill."

Elara bowed slightly before stepping into the restaurant, handing a gold bar to Mara. The woman’s eyes widened in shock, her lips parting as if to protest, but Elara simply nodded before returning to Yun Jin’s side.

As she climbed into the carriage, she looked back at Yun Jin. "Where would you like to go next?"

Yun Jin exhaled, stepping inside. "Take me wherever Ardent told you to."

Elara’s lips curled into a small smile. "Very well, sir."

--

Laughter echoed through the grand halls of a lavish estate, where noblemen and criminals alike sipped their expensive wines and exchanged whispers about the upcoming Death’s Throne event.

At the center of it all sat a woman draped in silk, her raven-black hair cascading over her shoulders. She leaned back on a luxurious couch, laughing as she swirled her wine. "I despise that filthy pit of a ring," she mused, her voice sultry yet edged with venom. "The stench, the noise—none of it suits my taste. But the money... well, that’s another story."

Beside her, a towering man covered in scars leaned back, a massive keg of ale in his grasp. The reigning champion of Death’s Throne. Women surrounded him, their hands tracing over his bulging muscles as he chugged the alcohol in deep gulps.

One of the nobles scoffed. "If you let that brute get drunk before the tournament, we’ll all lose money. The entire operation depends on him winning."

The champion, overhearing the remark, slammed the keg down, his scarred face twisting into a smirk. He stood, towering over the nobles, casting a long, menacing shadow over them.

The noblemen tensed, some shrinking back. The woman in silk, however, merely chuckled. "Careful, dear," she cooed.

One of the knights, mistaking her amusement for an opening, stepped forward to mediate. "Let’s not cause trouble—"

The champion’s fist struck like a thunderclap, and in an instant, the knight collapsed into a pile of crushed flesh and bone—his body mangled beyond recognition.

The room fell into dead silence.

The champion rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. "You still want to doubt, mister?"

The noblemen exchanged terrified glances.

The silk-draped woman merely smirked, raising her glass as if to toast the moment.

"Enjoy the show, gentlemen."