Chapter 251: "Please, Get Up"

Inside the cage, Aren narrowly avoided another punch from Rovan before driving her fist straight into his abdomen.

THWACK!

The blow landed cleanly, but the enormous man barely seemed affected, and she retreated before he could catch her with another counterattack.

By now, however, she’d noticed something rather interesting about her opponent.

’He’s definitely not military.’

At least, not in the conventional sense.

In her experience, soldiers generally fought with a more consistent set of techniques, their movements shaped by the disciplines they’d been trained in. Even those with extensive combat experience tended to retain certain recognizable habits.

Rovan was different.

He displayed a much broader range of techniques, moving between them with the ease of someone who’d trained in several disciplines and spent years adapting them to real combat.

’He’s someone like me.’

’A mercenary.’

Across from her, Rovan seemed to recognize that she was studying him. He adjusted his footing, watching her with an expression that was almost appreciative.

"You’re much more skilled than I expected, Miss Lombardi. I’ve spent more than twenty years in the field, and I don’t believe I’ve ever encountered anyone who moves quite like you."

"Thank you, Mister Drask," Aren replied sincerely. "But you weren’t actually a regular soldier, were you? You’re a mercenary, someone who fights for hire. And I believe those gentlemen outside the cage are your colleagues."

Rovan looked faintly amused by her observation, although the amusement quickly gave way to his usual composure.

"Does it truly matter? I’m going to end your life here regardless."

"May I at least know why?" Aren asked. "I’m fairly certain we’ve never met before."

"We haven’t," Rovan agreed. "But I’m sure you’ve met my little brother."

That gave Aren pause.

"Your little brother?"

She frowned.

"Where?"

"Exactly where you killed him," Rovan replied calmly. "What was that gathering called again? The Summit of the Ten Houses?"

Aren went still.

She stared at him, trying to connect his words to what she remembered of the attack at the Summit.

There had been twelve assailants, all wearing masks. She’d fought several of them herself, but identifying any particular man afterward would have been nearly impossible.

None had demonstrated abilities comparable to Rovan’s, either.

Then again, he’d claimed to possess more than twenty years of field experience. If the two brothers belonged to the same mercenary organization, there was no reason their abilities had to be comparable.

"Your brother... was one of the twelve attackers at the Summit?"

Rovan seemed pleased that she remembered.

"He was supposed to return after completing the job in Borgata with the rest of his team. But he never came home. I was still investigating what happened when I learned someone in Borgata was looking for a cage fighter, so I decided to take the opportunity."

His expression hardened.

"Turns out the poor boy died along with his companions. And according to what I discovered, they were all taken down by a young woman with short platinum hair."

Aren regarded him more carefully.

At last, the reason for his hostility began to make sense.

"So all of this has been for revenge?"

Rovan nodded.

"You have no idea how much I’ve trained since then, just to stand in the same cage with you, Miss Lombardi. And I’m not the only one."

He gestured toward the men fighting the Pit’s security personnel outside the cage, a faint smirk returning to his face.

"We’re all here for revenge."

He shifted his stance, preparing to attack again, but just as he began transferring his weight forward, Aren raised one finger.

"One more question."

Rovan checked his momentum, looking at her with mild impatience.

"What question?"

"That contract your brother’s team received, Mister Drask," Aren asked, her expression turning serious. "Do you have any idea who hired them?"

Rovan relaxed his stance again.

For a moment, he seemed to consider the question before giving a casual shrug.

"No idea. Our clients generally prefer to keep their identities confidential. All I can tell you is that the contract file my brother’s team received was labeled B."

Aren’s expression changed.

"B?"

"As in Borgata, I suppose," Rovan replied with another shrug.

She examined his face, searching for any indication that he was deliberately withholding information. But he looked as composed as ever, and there was nothing in his expression to suggest he was lying.

’No.’

’Definitely not Borgata.’

"I think there’s been a misunderstanding," she said at last. "I didn’t kill any of those twelve men at the Summit. I knocked them unconscious because they were clearly threatening the lives of everyone attending. Whatever happened to them afterward was handled by House Moretti."

Rovan listened without interrupting, but her explanation did little to change his expression.

"Does it really matter?" he asked. "If you hadn’t stopped them, perhaps they would have succeeded in their mission and come home."

There was something painfully direct about the answer. She understood that feeling more than he could possibly imagine.

She knew what it meant to wait for brothers who’d been sent on dangerous missions, hoping they would return safely. In her former life, she’d done exactly that, praying each time that the people she cared about would make it home.

She also knew what it felt like when they didn’t.

"I understand your pain," Aren said, her voice growing quieter. "But I can’t let you kill me. I still have a very important contract to fulfill, and my client needs me."

Rovan looked momentarily surprised.

He doubted this young woman could truly understand what losing a brother meant to him. Nevertheless, there was something unusually earnest about the way she’d spoken.

His mouth curved into a faint smirk.

"Then try to survive me."

He lunged.

This time, his attack came from Aren’s left.

She moved to intercept him, expecting the same aggressive combinations he’d favored throughout their earlier exchanges. But almost immediately, she noticed the difference.

Until now, Rovan had relied heavily on attacks from his right side. Now he was using an entirely different approach.

’So he was holding back.’

She responded as quickly as she could, avoiding a strike toward her head and countering with a kick intended to interrupt his advance.

For several exchanges, neither managed to gain a decisive advantage.

Rovan adjusted his stance and kept pressing her. Aren began adapting to his new rhythm, but he varied it again, forcing her to divide her attention between anticipating his next attack and maintaining enough distance to avoid being caught.

Then he seized her leg.

Aren reacted immediately, shifting her weight to recover her balance, but the adjustment left an opening she recognized a fraction too late.

Rovan saw it.

His fist drove straight into her face.

THWACK!

The impact snapped Aren’s head backward. Pain burst across her face and through her skull, briefly overwhelming her awareness of everything else.

’That hurt.’

She barely registered Rovan preparing another strike before instinct forced her to move. She dropped low beneath his next punch, then staggered toward a corner of the cage.

’Damn it.’

Her vision blurred.

For several seconds, the arena lights seemed to smear across her field of view, and the floor beneath her feet felt disturbingly unsteady. She tried to straighten, but the movement sent another wave of dizziness through her.

’He’s too strong.’

’One clean punch and I’m already struggling this much.’

’I’ve got to finish this quickly, or I’ll end up with a concussion before I can stop him.’

She blinked hard, attempting to bring Rovan back into focus, but she could already hear heavy footsteps approaching. Rovan wasn’t giving her time to recover.

Outside the cage, Jeremiah had witnessed the punch land. His stomach tightened as she staggered away from Rovan, her movements visibly less coordinated than before.

He’d watched enough of her fights to recognize the difference immediately. She was disoriented, and Rovan was already closing in again.

"ARIANA! YOUR LEFT!" Jeremiah shouted, pushing closer to the cage. "DROP LOW AND PIVOT RIGHT! DON’T LET HIM CORNER YOU!"

His voice reached Aren through the ringing in her ears. She reacted instinctively, lowering her body just as Rovan’s next attack swept toward her.

The strike passed above her shoulder.

She planted her foot, pivoted to her right, and managed to move clear of the corner before he could trap her against the fencing.

Jeremiah was watching Rovan closely now. The fighter turned to follow her, preparing another strike, and for a brief moment, the movement left the side of his face exposed.

"NOW, ARIANA! HIS LEFT JAW! HIT HIM BEFORE HE TURNS!"

Aren followed the instruction without hesitation. She drove forward, using her momentum to deliver a powerful strike to the side of Rovan’s face.

THUD!

The impact caught him before he could complete his turn. His head jerked sideways, and for the first time since their fight began, his balance failed him.

He staggered, attempted to recover, and finally fell heavily to the floor.

"Hurg!"

At that very moment, high above the arena, a sniper had finally taken position inside one of the VIP booths.

The man settled behind his rifle and adjusted his scope, searching for a clear angle through the cage.

Rovan was on the floor, struggling to rise.

The sniper brought the crosshairs toward his upper body, but the distance and the fencing made the shot less certain than he would’ve liked.

He spoke into his earpiece.

"Target acquired, Young Boss. Can’t guarantee a clean shot. Permission to fire?"

Jeremiah could scarcely believe the man was asking.

"SHOOT HIM NOW!"

The sniper fired.

THOOM!

"Hurgh—!"

The bullet struck Rovan in the shoulder just as he was pushing himself upright. He grunted and collapsed back onto the floor, one hand immediately moving toward the wound.

Aren saw the opening.

Despite the pain in her head, she threw herself toward him before he could recover.

She caught Rovan as he struggled to rise, wrapping both legs around his neck while bringing one arm across his throat. Using her weight for leverage, she dragged him backward into a chokehold.

"Hargh—"

Rovan resisted immediately.

His powerful arms rose, trying to pry her away, but Aren locked her legs more firmly and pulled with everything she had.

’Come on.’

She tightened her grip.

’Come on! Pass out!’

Rovan’s face reddened as he struggled for air. She struck the side of his head repeatedly with her free hand, trying to hasten the process.

THUD!

THUD!

THUD!

"Gah—!"

Rovan remained conscious.

His arms strained against her hold, and he managed to throw several punches at her as he struggled to break free.

"Hagh—gah!"

Aren gritted her teeth, enduring the blows while maintaining her grip.

’Damn it!’

The pain in her head was worsening.

Her vision blurred again, and a fresh wave of dizziness made it difficult to maintain her hold.

’I can’t keep this up.’

’At this rate, I’m going to pass out before he does.’

She’d wanted to take him alive.

If she could, there might still be an opportunity to question him further about his brother’s mission and the mysterious client identified only as "B." But she could no longer be certain she’d survive long enough to question him.

’No.’

’I can’t let him kill me.’

"Sorry, Mister Drask."

She shifted her grip, securing his head between her arms and applying one final, forceful twist.

CRACK!

Rovan’s neck broke.

His resistance stopped instantly, and his enormous body went limp against her.

Outside the cage, the men who’d been fighting to protect their captain finally noticed what had happened. Several turned toward the fencing, their expressions changing as they saw Rovan lying motionless on the floor.

"...Captain?"

Their hesitation was brief, but it was enough. Jeremiah’s security personnel immediately seized the opportunity, striking and restraining the attackers before they could regroup.

"Get down, you bastards!"

"The Wolf is down!"

"Put your fucking hands down! Surrender now!"

The remaining attackers hesitated, looking toward the cage as though expecting Rovan to recover, but he didn’t. The remaining struggle collapsed as the Pit’s guards overpowered the distracted men and began taking them into custody.

Inside the cage, Aren lay beneath part of Rovan’s considerable weight, struggling to catch her breath. It had been a long time since she’d encountered an opponent capable of overwhelming her so thoroughly with a single clean strike.

’That was difficult.’

’I need to train harder.’

’Definitely much harder.’

Carefully, she worked herself out from beneath Rovan’s body and pushed herself onto her hands and knees. When she looked around, several security personnel were already rushing toward the cage door, working to release the locks.

Jeremiah was directly behind them.

The moment the door opened, he hurried forward, his expression so openly alarmed that Aren almost failed to recognize him.

"Mister Castellano."

She rose unsteadily and took a step toward him, intending to explain what was happening.

"I think there’s something wrong with—"

Her legs gave way.

Jeremiah rushed into the cage.

"Miss Lombardi!"

He caught Aren as she collapsed, his earlier anger giving way to a fear so immediate that he scarcely recognized his own voice.

"Miss Lombardi! Miss Lombardi!"

He called to her again, searching her face for any sign that she’d heard him, but there was no response. The woman who’d been speaking to him only a moment earlier now lay unconscious in his arms, her eyes closed and her body frighteningly still.

’No.’

’No, no, no.’

’No, please!’

’Please, get up!’

’Get up!’

He remembered the punch Rovan had landed, the way Aren had stumbled afterward, and how she’d struggled to remain standing even after the fight was over. His thoughts immediately returned to the reports he’d read about the Black Wolf’s previous opponents.

Severe brain damage.

A single punch.

He looked up at the security personnel gathering at the entrance.

"GET ALL THE FUCKING MEDICS HERE! NOW! AND CALL A FUCKING AMBULANCE!"