Chapter 10-Welcome to Blackthorn City[2]

As he tried to sit up, pain flared through his ribs, forcing a sharp hiss from his lips. His body felt like it had been trampled by a stampede of beasts. Yet, despite the pain, his mind was sharp, alert. His last memory was of collapsing after his grueling battle with the shadow leopard. And now… he was here.

Suddenly the heavy wooden doors creaked open as Dante stepped inside, his long cloak trailing behind him. He was no longer wearing his usual travel-worn attire; instead, he donned a dark, fitted robe embroidered with gold. At the center of his chest, the symbol of a hellhound—its eyes burning with crimson fire, fangs bared in eternal fury—was etched in black and red thread. It was the unmistakable mark of Blackthorn City, a sigil that carried both fear and authority.

"You're finally awake," Dante said, his deep voice carrying a note of amusement. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "I was starting to think you wouldn't make it."

Ren exhaled sharply, ignoring the throbbing in his head. "Where… where am I?"

"Blackthorn City," Dante answered simply. "After you collapsed, I carried you the rest of the way here. You were in bad shape, nearly bled out before I got you treated. You should be grateful—I don't usually go out of my way to save reckless idiots."

He said " how would you fight with your foe and not leave a way out for your self? what if you were the only one in the forest? i bet you would be in a vicious beast stomach now"

Ren gritted his teeth and pushed himself upright, wincing as his muscles protested.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his feet touching the cool marble floor. His entire body ached, but he refused to remain lying down like an invalid. He needed to see this city for himself. With slow, deliberate movements, he stood, staggering slightly before regaining his balance. Dante made no move to help him.

Step by step, Ren forced himself forward, crossing the room toward the open balcony. The heavy velvet curtains swayed in the breeze as he pushed them aside.

Blackthorn City stretched endlessly before him, a vast expanse of darkened stone and gleaming metal. Towers, their spires clawing at the heavens, loomed like silent sentinels, while bridges of steel and onyx crisscrossed the city, connecting districts of differing grandeur. The streets below teemed with life—merchants calling out their wares, warriors clad in dark armor moving with purpose, and nobles in flowing robes being carried in grand palanquins.

At the heart of the city rose an imposing fortress, crowned with spires that seemed to scrape the heavens. The fortress walls were adorned with intricate carvings—depictions of ancient myths and heroic tales—etched into the black stone. Surrounding the fortress was a grand square, paved with smooth black stones, where markets buzzed with merchants hawking exotic goods from distant lands, their vibrant textiles and golden wares providing a vivid contrast to the city's dark elegance.

The streets of this city stretched wide and long, flanked by towering buildings with arches and columns that spoke of a refined aesthetic. Every corner seemed to exude opulence, from the expansive courtyards filled with fountains of crystal-clear water to the towering statues of legendary figures that lined the main avenues. Above, grand aqueducts, also of black brick, carried water to every part of the city, a testament to the ingenuity of its architects.

Surrounding the city was an impenetrable black stone wall, wide enough to support patrols of guards who kept watch day and nightthe armoured puppets placed there and From the battlements, one could see the sprawl of the city: the glinting rooftops, the sprawling gardens, and the bustling harbors where sleek ships of ebony wood docked, unloading treasures from across the seas.

Here's a refined version incorporating your request:

At the heart of Blackthorn City, a colossal fortress of black stone loomed, its walls etched with intricate crimson patterns that pulsed faintly like living veins. This was no ordinary castle—it was the city's battle coliseum, a grand arena where warriors clashed in brutal combat, where the strong ascended and the weak were trampled beneath. Towering spires encircled the arena, their tips adorned with the flaming sigil of the hellhound, ever-watching, ever-judging, carvings of fanged beasts and warriors locked in eternal struggle decorated its exterior, illuminated by the fiery torches that lined its jagged battlements. The very air around it seemed thick with the echoes of past bloodshed, carrying the scent of steel and death.

Beside the coliseum, an imposing mansion of dark steel and obsidian stood in eerie silence—the City Lord's residence. Though smaller than the coliseum, it radiated an even greater pressure, as if the very walls whispered tales of bloodshed and conquest. Those who walked past dared not linger, for within those halls resided the ruler of Blackthorn City, a man whose mere presence dictated life or death.

"This…" His voice was barely a whisper, his mind struggling to process the overwhelming spectacle before him. "This place… is insane."

Behind him, Dante chuckled, his voice laced with amusement. "Welcome to Blackthorn City."