Chapter 15 – The Path to the Champion

[System Notification]

Victory Achieved. Processing Combat Experience…

Level Up!

[System Status – Abyssal Rebirth System]

Name: Aldric Everthorne

Class: Abyssal Revenant

Title: Forsaken Commander

Level: 15 (+1)

[Attributes Increased]

Strength: 32 → 34 (Enhanced by Abyssal Influence)

Agility: 26 → 28 (Refined through combat experience)

Vitality: 40 → 42 (Revenant Physiology Strengthened)

Arcane: 18 → 20 (Abyssal Connection Expanding)

Willpower: 35 → 37 (Resisting the Abyss)

[New Effect Noted: Abysswalker's Veil]

Status: Unknown. Synchronizing with host.Further data required for complete integration.

Aldric exhaled as the cold rush of the system's influence settled into his bones. The pain from Gregor's final attack had already begun to fade, his body adjusting to the unnatural resilience granted by the Abyss. He flexed his fingers, feeling the subtle but undeniable shift in strength.

His grip on King's End felt steadier. His movements had sharpened. The pit was a crucible, and he was forging himself into a weapon.

The crowd still roared behind him, their cries echoing off the stone walls. The announcer shouted his victory again, reveling in the bloodshed. Coins exchanged hands, some celebrating their winnings, others cursing their misfortune. But Aldric paid them no mind.

He had no interest in the pit's glory. Only in its purpose.

He turned away from Gregor's lifeless body, stepping back toward the waiting area where fighters nursed their wounds, planned their next moves, or simply tried to survive another night in the Hollow Maw.

Aldric strode through the dimly lit corridors beyond the pit, his boots echoing against the worn stone floor. The blood-soaked cheers behind him faded into a distant hum, swallowed by the heavy silence of the fighters' quarters. Here, men and women sat in the flickering torchlight, wrapping wounds, sharpening weapons, or simply staring into the void, lost in thought.

He found an empty bench and lowered himself onto it, resting King's End across his lap. The weight of the greatsword was familiar now, its Abyssal edge humming faintly against his fingertips.

[System Notification]Abysswalker's Veil partially synchronized.

Status: Dormant. Activation conditions unknown.

His fingers brushed the mask at his hip. The Veil. It had taken to him, binding itself to his presence, but its purpose remained unclear. He hadn't needed it against Gregor. That only meant his true trials were still ahead.

A shadow moved nearby. Aldric's gaze flicked toward a fighter leaning against a pillar, watching him with quiet intensity. A woman, scarred and wrapped in layers of worn leather, her fingers idly tracing the hilt of a curved dagger. She wasn't the only one paying attention. Others had noticed him now—some with curiosity, others with the thinly veiled hostility of men who didn't appreciate a new contender rising through the ranks.

Aldric ignored them. He had no need for petty rivalries. His focus was singular.

Still, information was power. And he needed to know the road ahead.

He turned his gaze to a nearby table, where a few fighters sat drinking from crude metal cups. One of them, a wiry man with a long scar running down his cheek, spoke in a low, hushed voice. Aldric caught the name Varik among the murmurs.

He rose to his feet, approaching the table. The men looked up as he neared, their expressions shifting between caution and amusement. The scarred man tilted his head, eyes narrowing.

"Didn't think the mute warrior would be interested in conversation," he muttered.

Aldric pulled a small pouch from his coat and tossed it onto the table. The weight of coins silenced any further remarks.

"Tell me about Varik," Aldric said.

The scarred man chuckled, picking up the pouch and weighing it in his palm. "Straight to business, huh?" He leaned forward, his voice dropping. "Varik the Cleaver ain't just some fighter like Gregor."

He's been ruling this pit for years. Everyone who's ever climbed high enough to challenge him has either left in pieces or never left at all."

Aldric remained silent, waiting.

"He's bigger than you. Stronger. But that ain't the real problem." The man tapped a finger against the table. "He likes to kill. Some of these fighters, they're just here for survival or coin. Varik? He enjoys it. He draws it out. He makes a show of it. That's why the crowd loves him."

Aldric processed the information. A brute who thrived on spectacle. That meant predictable patterns. Weaknesses hidden in arrogance.

The scarred man smirked. "And if you're planning to take him down, you better start making a name for yourself. The Pit doesn't just let anyone challenge the champion." He gestured to the surrounding fighters. "You need more blood on the sand before they let you anywhere near him."

Aldric nodded once. That suited him fine.

After the scarred man finished talking Aldric left the table were they were talking. As he was leaving he could hear them laughing at him.

"Another dead men walking.". They said as they laugh.

Aldric didn't look back. He had no time for the opinions of the weak, he could only focus on killing Varik, because the only thing that matter to him was finding everything about his death and what was the real reason that made them kill them and erase his names from history.

Aldric stepped away from the table, the laughter of the fighters fading behind him as he moved deeper into the dimly lit corridors of the Hollow Maw. Each echoing footfall resonated in his chest, a reminder of what lay ahead.

In the back of his mind, the system continued to process. The Abysswalker's Veil was still dormant, its true purpose eluding him. The power surging through him, enhanced with each battle, would be essential if he hoped to confront Varik—the Cleaver.

He navigated the shadows of the fighters' quarters, observing the others who occupied this brutal life. Some were nursing wounds, while others traded tales of glory or despair, laughter mingling with cries of pain. Yet Aldric felt disconnected from it all. He was more than a fighter now; he was a weapon forged in darkness, guided by revenge.

He sought solitude, finding an unoccupied corner where he could collect his thoughts and strategize. Sliding down the rough stone wall, Aldric closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Memories of his old life flickered like ghosts—faces of friends, the warmth of home—before being swallowed by the abyss.

As he stood up, a sound from the entrance of the corridor caught his attention. A group of fighters had gathered, their rough voices rising with a mixture of mockery and admiration. It seemed they were discussing someone.

"Looks like Kira thinks she can challenge the Cleaver," one fighter said, a broad-shouldered man with a scruffy beard and a smug smile. "Bet she doesn't know what she's in for."

Another fighter chimed in, her voice sharp. "Let her come. Varik hasn't faced anyone in years who could give him a real fight. Might be entertaining to watch."

That conversation picked Aldric's attention, who was that kira, that was as foolish as him to try to challenge the champion of the Pit.

Since Aldric had some time before the next fight he decided to go to the training grounds of the Pit to maybe make some sparring and who knows finally Abysswalker's Veil would show some of its strengths.

The training grounds of the Hollow Maw are a gritty, dimly lit space just off the main arena. The air smells of sweat and blood, remnants of many fierce training sessions. The floor is packed dirt, worn down from countless fights, with deep grooves left by the fighters.

Scattered throughout are makeshift training tools—old weapon racks, tattered dummies, and heavy sandbags. Wooden pillars stand in the corners for practicing grappling and strikes. The sound of clashing steel fills the air as fighters spar with each other, accompanied by grunts and shouts of exertion.

At the center lies a circular makeshift arena, marked by stones, where fighters engage in one-on-one matches. Around it, spectators watch with a mix of interest and coaching, creating a sense of community among the fighters.

The space is filled with energy and determination, serving as both a battlefield and a place to hone skills. It's a crucial place for warriors to train, pushing themselves to become stronger in preparation for the challenges that await them in the pit.

As he entered the training grounds, Aldric picked a corner away from the crowd and lifted a practice sword, his muscles already adjusting to the slight difference from King's End. He had no time to waste. He needed to sharpen his form, push his limits, force the Abyss to awaken more of its gifts.

The crowd in the center of the grounds suddenly grew louder. A sparring match was drawing attention. Aldric glanced over.

A giant of a man faced off against a much smaller opponent. The contrast was almost comical—the brute had the clear advantage in reach and strength. It wasn't a fight. It was a slow execution.

Then, in an instant, the smaller figure moved.

A blur. A sharp twist of motion. A shift in weight.

The giant collapsed, his breath leaving him in a single, stunned gasp. The woman stood over him, a foot pressed to his throat, the blade of a dagger barely an inch from his eye.

The pit fell silent for a heartbeat. Then murmurs rippled through the spectators.

Aldric narrowed his eyes. She's fast.

Impressive, but not his concern. He turned back to his training, striking the wooden dummy with calculated force. The air shifted behind him. A presence moved too close.

Aldric reacted instinctively. His body twisted, the practice sword slicing through the air in a lethal arc—

—And stopped an inch from the intruder's throat.

The woman from before. The fighter who had downed the giant. She hadn't flinched.

A slow smile crept onto her face. "So you're the masked warrior everyone's whispering about." Her voice was steady, eyes filled with challenge.

She stepped back, rolling her shoulders. "Let's see if you're as good as they say."

Aldric stared at her for a moment, then lowered his practice sword.

This was unexpected.

But perhaps, exactly what he needed.