The Bookkeeper

The sight perplexed Raiden and Noelle. What appeared to be a simple desert was exactly that—and yet it was only a stage. The dark aura they'd glimpsed wasn't near the surface as they'd believed, but buried far below.

What stood before them was beyond anything they had anticipated.

Towering arches of sand surrounded the top of the formation, each supporting a large crimson banner. The banners displayed sailing ships in black ink, each bearing a distinct crest: an hourglass, a sword, an arsenal, and most ominously, a menacing smile.

The banners, however, were the least of their concerns. A massive, partially ruined circular arena stretched beyond the stones, crowded with thousands of barbaric figures glowing with gray and black auras. Blue crest bearers watched from the mountains alongside their black dragons, while two red dragons dominated the sky above.

The crowd buzzed with dense anticipation, bone-breaking sounds echoing through the air. Everyone in the pit appeared to be forced participants rather than observers. The real spectators watched from above, presumably smirking at the death matches below.

Raiden gulped. "This must be where the selection happens."

"Looks that way. So we need to get selected if we want to reach the underground market."

Their hesitation was plain to see, though it had nothing to do with fear or dread of what awaited them. Noelle's knuckles cracked repeatedly, betraying her readiness, while Raiden practically vibrated with anticipation. The problem was simple: they had no idea how to join the crowd below.

Raiden pulled his clothes closer to smell them, his face darkening the instant the acrid odor assaulted his senses.

"We could probably fit in, but these people are disgusting," Noelle said with a sneer, then sighed. "Let's go in."

Raiden hesitated, unmoving. He'd learned to ignore foul smells during their journey, but the prospect of wading into that reeking crowd turned his stomach. Nevertheless, he realized they had little choice.

Following Noelle's lead, he pushed through the crowd behind her. To their left, up a short flight of stairs, they spotted an empty section. They took advantage of the crowd's focus elsewhere and quickly climbed up to claim the seats.

Both of them sighed with relief.

Their peace, however, was short-lived.

"Well, well—a rich girl?" a voice called from behind them, followed by harsh laughter from his companions. "What brings you here?"

Noelle's face began twitching with irritation, her fist clenching tight. Raiden turned back to get a look at whoever was mocking them.

The man was shirtless, his form wreathed in a gray aura. His dark brown hair hung in messy tangles over tanned, weathered skin that spoke of endless exposure to harsh heat. Faint bruises, marks, and scars decorated his body like a map of violent encounters.

The man could have passed for gentle and well-mannered at first sight, but his demeanor suggested otherwise. Raiden remained unconcerned. Noelle could handle him easily if things turned violent—she'd advanced to level five while he was still languishing at seven.

Noelle rose to her feet and turned toward him, her smile painfully artificial. "Would you like me to demonstrate what women are capable of on the battlefield?"

The man's laughter intensified, bordering on hysteria. "You… you actually think you can defeat me?" he wheezed, barely able to speak through his mirth.

A genuine smile replaced Noelle's fake one as she gestured to Raiden. "You see this blue crest bearer here? His name is Raven."

"He has five powerful servants under his command." Her smile grew menacing while Raiden puzzled over her strategy. "Kill me in the arena, and you can claim him and all his servants for yourself."

Raiden's mouth fell open as he gaped at her. "What the fuck?!"

"Shut up!" Noelle said without glancing at Raiden, her violet eyes boring straight into the man's.

The man stopped laughing and looked back and forth between Raiden and Noelle. His eyes narrowed as he considered something, while the people beside him started whispering to him urgently.

"Deal. Fight to the death!" He shifted his gaze to Raiden. "And you better not try to run, or I'll kill you myself."

He got to his feet—considerably shorter than Raiden had imagined. With a gesture, he led Noelle away from the stands. Immediately, the men who'd been with him moved to encircle Raiden.

"Don't think of running away, you little shit."

Raiden shot them a bored glance before settling back, elbow on his thigh and chin resting on his fist. He had no doubt Noelle would win, but her using him as a wager stung his pride. She'd treated him like he was expendable, which felt deeply insulting.

"You kids think this is a joke? Don't you see that Master Beeman carries a corrupt crest?" one of the guards shouted.

"They're completely stupid. He's about to join the Chaos Armada cohort, and she thinks she can beat him?"

"Once Master Beeman kills her, he's heading straight to the second strongest cohort." They all began laughing.

Their disgusting behavior irritated Raiden, but at least their words gave him some insight into the situation.

The red banners across the mountains were probably cohort markers, and those upstairs reveling in the violence were likely from each cohort. Once selected, they stood a chance of being bought out of Drake's Shell completely. Just like their original theory.

But something felt off about him. Why bother forming a group if they'd just be bought off anyway? And why call themselves an armada—were they supposed to be sailors of the desert in a place with no sea?

Raiden sat there thinking, but he could still hear the bastards beside him turning their focus to Ash, his familiar. She was a white dragon, the only one among the three without any abilities at all. Her tiny size seemed to fascinate them most.

Despite himself, Raiden found their stupidity endearing and began to smile softly. Completely oblivious as they were, he would have made the same assumptions if he were in their shoes.

However, time dragged on—minutes, perhaps hours. No one there seemed to have any sense of time except for the rise and fall of the burning sun. Raiden's stomach started rumbling from hunger when suddenly the bastards beside him began cheering like never before.

He raised his head to see Noelle and Beeman squaring off—it was their turn. He sneered with annoyance. The fact that Noelle had used him as a bargaining chip still stung, but he couldn't help being intrigued by their upcoming fight.

The only corrupt crest bearers he knew were his two servants, Soul and Speed, and Seth—the only opponent he'd ever considered truly formidable. All of them were undoubtedly strong enough to threaten him. Would Beeman prove the same?