Amid the chaos unfolding inside the caged arena, there was nothing stopping Aron from entering the fight. The guard who usually stationed himself beside the cage door, meant to prevent exactly this kind of intrusion, was already unconscious on the ground. He had been one of the first to attack Aron earlier, and Aron had dealt with him without hesitation.
Now, after learning what the host had revealed and after taking care of what needed to be done, Aron saw only one objective left in front of him: he had to assist Na.
There was a brief moment, only a breath long, where Aron considered a different option.
What if he simply left Na to his fate?
It wouldn’t be difficult. Na was already battered, barely standing, practically a lost cause. There was a chance that Evon wouldn’t push things past the point of death. Superhuman or not, Na was durable. He might survive. He might limp away from this battered but alive.
A darker thought followed.
Doesn’t he somewhat deserve a beating?
After everything he’d done in the past... after the indirect role he played in Abby’s situation... part of Aron didn’t feel compelled to save him.
But there were other concerns, concerns far greater than personal resentment.
What if Na was captured?
What if he broke?
What if he revealed information about Max... about the Stern family... about the Billion Bloodline group?
A man like Na, desperate and cornered, could become a dangerous liability. If he cracked under pressure, their entire operation could suffer irreversible damage.
Aron evaluated the risks.
Leaving was the safer choice.
Leaving was the easier choice.
He could escape with Sheri, break through the guards blocking the exits, and avoid this entire situation spiraling further. Evon likely wouldn’t chase them, not over just two people.
But despite all those rational reasons, Aron still stepped into the ring.
He had told Sheri to return to her seat, to act as if nothing unusual was happening, to pretend she was simply continuing her bets like everyone else. He hadn’t explained the full reasoning to her, only that she should not follow him.
There was one reason for Aron’s decision.
A reason powerful enough to ignore the calculations and the risks.
A reason tied to Max, to Abby, to the vow Aron made to protect what remained of their group.
And that reason brought him face-to-face with Evon.
"Haha," Evon said with amusement as he locked eyes on Aron. From the corner of his vision, he glanced at the half-conscious host. The host’s face was pale, blood trailing down his cheek and dripping from his hand. "It seems you have some sort of connection to this one."
Evon gestured toward Na, who was barely able to keep his footing.
"And now that you’re stepping inside the ring, I suppose you figured something was off. How touching." Evon lifted his arm and stretched out his thumb and index finger as if giving a silent command.
Instantly, staff members, servers, attendants, bartenders, began to move. They shifted with uncanny coordination, heading toward each and every door in the venue. Some pulled out concealed weapons. Others, without a second thought, struck the guards that the guests had brought with them.
A swift stab to the spine here, a brutal crack to the back of the head there, each guard dropped to the floor before they could even understand what was happening.
The guests screamed, panic rolling through the hall like a shockwave. All their confidence, all their assumptions that they were protected by their personal security teams, evaporated in seconds as bodies hit the ground.
Every bit of this ambush had been arranged between Evon and the host beforehand.
Because control of the venue, of the entire night, had been handed to Evon.
The Black Hounds were under the thumb of the Gilt Rats, and Evon had the power to command them at will.
"I apologize, dear guests," Evon said, raising his arms as if conducting a theatrical performance. "Truly, I am sorry to do this to all of you."
His tone, however, held not a hint of remorse.
"But an upsetting situation occurred earlier this evening. And because of that, I’ve been forced to take extreme measures."
He paced slowly, confidently, as if he owned the entire arena.
"Each and every one of you here will make a generous donation to the Gilt Rats. A donation that ensures your businesses won’t mysteriously be shut down. A donation that ensures your families don’t... disappear in the night."
Fear spread across the audience. No one spoke. No one dared.
"But do not worry!" Evon continued cheerfully. "These donations will contribute to the advancement of a new society. One far more stable and powerful than the one we currently have. You’ll all be part of something meaningful."
Then he gestured to the arena itself.
"As for this venue... I’m afraid tonight is its final operation. After this, it will be shut down permanently. Consider it our apology for the inconvenience."
The guests remained silent, not out of agreement but pure, chilling fear. The Black Hounds were already notorious, and the Gilt Rats had a darker reputation.
Evon then turned back to Aron and Na.
"You see, once in a while, we must remind the city, remind all the other groups, why we are considered a Syndicate-level organization. Why we are the ones who hold real power in Notsburg."
His eyes narrowed, evaluating Aron with new interest.
"And now here you are. Clearly, neither you nor your friend is ordinary." He pointed toward Na. "So tell me, what group do you belong to?"
Aron responded not with fear but with a slow, steady smile, a smile that carried warning and provocation in equal measure.
"The day you learn our group’s name," Aron said evenly, "will be the day you and your entire syndicate regret ever crossing paths with us."
His voice dropped to a deadly whisper.
"So I’m giving you one chance. One warning."
He stepped closer, the air around him tightening with tension.
"Let us walk out of here safely."