Since Stephen had won another match, it meant that, as per the deal, Max was to be paid instantly.
The money appeared in his account almost the moment the fight had ended. Max didn’t even need to check twice; the notification alone was enough to confirm it. He could feel the rise in power almost immediately, a familiar sensation that spread through his body like a quiet current. Inwardly, Max was smiling so widely it felt as though it could reach the moon.
With all of the money from the other venues, along with what we’ve made here so far, I’ve gained more than what was lost paying out Jett, Max thought.
I knew this plan would work. I have more money now than ever before.
That part, at least, was undeniably true.
Having more money than ever also meant that the condition of Max’s Vow was stronger than it had been in a long time. It reminded him of the period when he had defeated the Rejected Corps, perhaps he was even slightly stronger now than he had been back then. Especially since, unlike before, he had been actively training to compensate for the times when his funds dipped and his Vow weakened.
Still, Max didn’t allow himself to grow complacent.
I can’t afford to get overconfident, he reminded himself. Not with the situation being what it is right now.
From what Jett had shown earlier, Max knew he wouldn’t be able to take him out on his own, not directly, and certainly not without paying a serious price. And even with Darno and Stephen using the full force of their powers, it was difficult to say how things would turn out if it came down to a real confrontation.
Neither of them has truly pushed themselves to their absolute limits yet, Max thought. And that means there’s still a lot I don’t know about what they can really do.
As he continued to mentally calculate the situation, Max figured they only had a couple more matches they could safely bet on before Darius became genuinely irritated. Max still hadn’t determined whether Darius was the type of leader who could fight himself, or if he relied purely on others to enforce his authority. Either way, pushing things too far would only invite trouble.
"Stephen," Max said calmly, turning toward him. "I know you’ve been using your Vow in the last two fights, but it might be best if you try to reserve your strength as much as possible."
"I know what you’re saying," Stephen replied. "But it’s a balancing act for me. I have to consider whether taking hits or tiring myself out is the worse option."
He clenched his hands slightly, flexing his fingers as if testing the lingering strain in his body.
"I’ll be careful," Stephen continued. "I expect the fights to get harder as the night goes on. And if we need to get out of here later, I’ll make sure I have something left in the tank."
The two of them nodded at each other, a silent understanding passing between them. Meanwhile, Darno let out a long, exaggerated sigh.
He was stuck playing the role of a fake guard for Max, which meant he hadn’t had a single opportunity to test the limits of his own Vow. The frustration was beginning to build.
He had hoped, if only a little, that he and Stephen might swap roles halfway through, or that something would come up that would let him step into a fight. But judging by how well Stephen was performing, that didn’t seem likely at all.
Several more matches took place after that, and the level of skill on display continued to rise.
This wasn’t just any underground event. It was one of the top gatherings the Black Hounds were hosting. Past winners from multiple venues had been brought together, and among the participants were even some high-ranking members of the Black Hounds themselves. Every match drew louder reactions from the crowd, the tension building steadily with each bout.
Finally, it was time for Stephen to fight again.
One advantage of the event being filled with highly skilled fighters was that Stephen had been given plenty of time to rest between matches. His stamina had largely recovered. His breathing was steady, his muscles responsive.
His bones, however, told a different story.
The bruises, the strain, the subtle damage accumulating beneath the surface, it was all still there, lingering. He could ignore it for now, but he knew it would catch up with him eventually.
"All right," Max said, checking the odds one last time. "This time, I’ll up the bet a bit."
He placed down fifty million without hesitation.
It was a bold move. Max wasn’t restricted by a hard limit like the others were, and he could afford to play with his winnings more freely. Even so, he knew there was a fine line between confidence and recklessness.
Stephen wasn’t nervous as he stepped forward, but he was focused. Knowing there was a difficult fight ahead, and that he needed to limit his reliance on his Vow, he had already decided to impose restrictions on himself. He would try to win using his own skills first, conserving his power unless absolutely necessary.
He stepped onto the platform.
Opposite him stood a man with a large scar running down his arm, the mark jagged and unmistakable. The man looked experienced, hardened by years of fighting.
But just moments before he could fully step into position, someone grabbed him from behind.
The scarred man turned, only to find himself face-to-face with Jett.
"I’m sorry," Jett said calmly, his tone polite to the point of mockery. "But it seems you’re too injured to go up there. We’re going to need a replacement."
Too injured? the man thought in disbelief. He had barely been touched in his previous fights.
Then the pain hit.
An overwhelming surge of agony exploded through his arm. He felt his bones crack, the sound sickeningly clear, as blood threatened to burst through his skin. It happened in an instant, precise, controlled, and utterly devastating.
When Jett released his grip, the man’s arm was mangled beyond recognition. Blood dripped freely as he collapsed, screaming in pain.
"Since we can’t disappoint the people," Jett said smoothly, stepping forward, "I’ll be the replacement for this match."