The next day came cloaked in a biting chill and the scent of soot that drifted in from the outer districts.
I left the mansion before dawn, long before the city stirred awake.
The coat I had bought flapped with each step as I descended into the slums.
Compared to the paved roads of the city , this place felt like another world entirely.
Rotten wood, patched walls, and makeshift homes pressed tightly against one another like they were afraid of being forgotten.
Thin smoke rose from rusted chimneys. Children watched me from behind broken fences with hungry eyes, their faces too still for their age.
Despite how run-down it all looked, this wasn't lawless.
No—this was controlled.
Everything here had its place, and everyone had someone they feared.
That fear kept the peace better than any noble's decree.
[Observation: Crime rate within slum quadrant S-7 remains high. Maintain awareness. Recommend caution in interactions.
"I know", I muttered under my breath.
It didn't take long before I found the stairwell I was looking for.
Tucked behind an abandoned tannery, hidden only by the fact that no one dared to go near it.
I walked past a drunk slumped against a barrel and entered the dark mouth of the stairs.
The steps descended for a long while.
Then I saw it—a single stone archway flickering with violet light.
A mana circle-based portal. The shimmering surface hummed with energy, guarded by a heavily cloaked man.
His eyes met mine from beneath a porcelain mask carved like a smiling fox.
"No weapons drawn. Entry fee's ten silvers."
I handed over the coins without a word.
He stepped aside.
[High-grade spatial magic. Stable. Estimated depth: 6th circle.]
Without hesitation, I stepped forward—and the world bent.
A brief pressure on my chest, like diving underwater.
Then my feet hit stone.
I had arrived.
The underworld wasn't a secret backroom or some smoky tavern basement.
It was a city beneath the city.
Stone roads paved with faintly glowing minerals.
Arches of bone and iron marked every crossroad.
People bustled—mercenaries, mages, shady merchants, and thieves walked openly here, some in cloaks, others in full armour.
It was a place of second chances, debt, and desperation.
Above us, crystal lights embedded into the ceiling mimicked a starless night.
This city functions outside the jurisdiction of the central guild. Observe discretion. Laws here operate under "Right of Power".
"No kidding…"
I passed by potion stalls that sold "untraceables", rune-sellers hawking fake relics, and a woman with eyes like mirrors offering curses for hire.
Eventually, I found what I came for.
A wide stone arena embedded into a natural cavern, lit with fire lamps and glowing glyphs. The entrance bore no doors.
Just two armed bouncers who barely glanced at me before letting me through.
Inside was chaos.
Rows of benches surrounded a central pit, where two men—an axe-wielding brute and a robed spellcaster—fought for their lives.
Around them, gamblers yelled and raised their hands, some cheering, others cursing.
In the back, long tables with ledgers, dice, and cards buzzed with energy.
This was where bets were placed—on blood, on monsters, and on mana duels. Anything that could be wagered was.
And this was where I would take my first gamble.
[Engaging Analysis Mode.]
I smirked.
"Alright, Damian. Let's win ourselves a fortune."
***
I didn't dive in right away.
Instead, I stood at the edge of it all.
In a place like this, diving in blind was suicide. You had to read the tide before trying to swim in it.
The betting system was far more structured than I had expected.
Amid the noise and crude behaviour, there was an order beneath it all.
Colour-coded tiers were carved into glowing placards hanging over various gaming tables and arenas.
Bronze Tier – Low risk, low reward. Basic card games, mana-flip contests, or beast-racing odds. Meant for newcomers and the desperate.
Silver Tier – Moderate risk, moderate reward. Games of skill and chance, often monitored by minor regulators. You needed a bit of coin and a sharper mind.
Gold Tier – High risk, high return. Usually reserved for those with deep pockets or reputations to spare.
And then, Obsidian Tier – No rules. No regulation. Bet anything, including limbs, oaths, or lives.
That one wasn't even illuminated. Just a black placard soaked in shadow.
I watched a man lose his coat in a bronze dice roll.
Another screamed as he was dragged away from a gold-tier beast battle, missing two fingers and shouting about unfair odds.
"Damian", I muttered, speaking just loud enough that the system's voice could whisper back into my mind.
"Thoughts?"
[Observation complete. Gladiator matches display signs of manipulation. Multiple combatants analysed exhibited restraint patterns inconsistent with genuine battle.
"You mean they're rigged."
[Correct. It appears to be performance-based gambling. Outcomes favour house-selected winners based on crowd investment ratios. Your chances of winning are approximately 12.8%.
I narrowed my eyes toward one of the fighting pits as a "losing" gladiator tumbled dramatically with exaggerated pain.
The crowd roared. Coin flew.
Yeah. Definitely rigged.
"Then what's safe?"
[Most favourable probability lies in strategic probability games. Blackjack tables in the Silver Tier currently maintain the lowest interference rate and highest house transparency.
I glanced toward a cluster of tables where the crowd was thinner.
The air was calmer there—tense, but less violent.
Men and women sat with arms crossed, eyes trained like hawks on runes glowing over decks of cards. Enchanted counters tracked totals in real time above the tables.
"Silver Tier then."
[Recommended. Initiate with low bids to establish behavioural consistency. Sudden success may trigger surveillance.]
"Right... if I win too fast, they'll smell something."
I rolled my shoulders and began walking toward the table.
No need to rush. After all, I had Damian to help me.
As I made my way toward the cluster of blackjack tables, a sharp-eyed man stepped forward from the sidelines.
He was dressed sharply—too sharply. A velvet waistcoat of rich wine red, embroidered with silver threads that shimmered subtly in the low lighting.
His gloves were spotless white.
"Good evening, sir," he greeted with a slight bow, eyes sharp behind a pair of thin-rimmed glasses. "
Welcome to the Silver Tier. Are you here for blackjack?"
I gave him a curt nod. "Yeah."
His smile twitched—slightly amused. As if he'd heard that same tone a thousand times before.
"Then, a small precaution, if you please."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small silver ring set with a dull blue gem. It glowed faintly.
"A mana-restraining ring?" I asked, my brows knitting together.
"Indeed," he said with the same polite tone.
"Silver Tier tables operate under strict conditions. No enchantments, no detection arts, no hidden aids. All for the integrity of the game, of course."
I didn't argue.
I understood now why this tier had the lowest interference rate.
They were prepared.
Suppressing magic use meant no cheats from mages or rune scribes. No hexes were cast mid-game.
I took the ring and slid it onto my finger. At once, I felt the pressure shift. Like someone had pressed cotton into my veins, muting the hum of mana I'd started growing used to since coming here.
The runes on my fingers flickered faintly, then dimmed.
Still there—but distant.
[System integration unaffected. I am not a mana-based system.]
"Good," I muttered under my breath.
The man led me toward a table near the centre.
A dealer in a crisp black coat shuffled enchanted cards that floated and split on their own accord before snapping back into her hands.
Four other players sat around the table, none of them looking at each other.
All had that same distant focus—the look of men and women who knew a coin could mean life or death.
The man who greeted me pulled out a chair.
"Best of luck, sir."
I sat down.
My hand hovered over the table. The mana circle glowed faintly on its surface, displaying betting chips, totals, and payout margins.
A magical eye in the centre blinked, scanning for tampering.
The dealer smiled coolly. "Place your bets."
I dropped a single bronze chip onto the mana line-marked betting circle.
Just like Damian recommended.
The cards danced into my hand.
Queen of hearts. Seven of spades.
A solid start. Seventeen.
"Stand", I said calmly.
To my right, a man with a curled moustache and nervous fingers hit—and busted.
To my left, a woman with sharp nails split her pair of eights.
The dealer flipped her own hand: ten and six. Then a four.
Twenty.
My hand was lost.
I exhaled slowly, hiding my expression.
[Calibrating patterns... internal deck enchantment mimics standard distribution with minor magical variability. Calculating bias shifts... done.]
"Let's try again," I whispered.
Another hand.
Ten. Five.
The dealer showed a six.
"Hit", I said.
Three of diamonds.
Eighteen.
"Stand."
The dealer flipped her hidden card—eight. Then drew again—busted at twenty-four.
I won.
A bronze chip became two.
[Optimal win frequency should stabilise at 62.3% for the next 14 hands. Adjust bet size gradually.
I smirked to myself.
Alright, Damian.
Let's win this whole damn table.