There was one thing working in the trio’s favor, even as they were being overwhelmed from every direction, and that was dominance.
It wasn’t something that could be measured easily, nor was it something that came purely from raw strength alone. It was presence, how they moved, how they struck, how confidently they stood their ground even while surrounded. Despite the sheer number of opponents flooding the fighting pit, the truth was simple.
Most of these people weren’t on the same level as Joe or Wolf.
They might have been fighters. Some were bodyguards, others mercenaries, and a few were hardened criminals who had fought plenty of battles before. But if they truly belonged among the strongest, they would have reached the finals of the fighting tournament themselves. They would have been chosen by Vivian as individual threats, not thrown into a chaotic free-for-all as expendable pieces.
Even Vivian knew this.
That was why she hadn’t faced them directly.
Watching from above, her eyes narrowed as Joe and Wolf continued to hold their ground, even after enduring fight after fight throughout the night. Their movements were slower than before, sweat soaked into their clothes, and bruises covered their bodies, but still, they dominated the space around them.
That dominance alone made people hesitate.
The fighters who had rushed in recklessly at first were already lying on the floor, groaning, unconscious, or clutching broken ribs. The ones still standing began to slow their steps, circling instead of charging. No one wanted to be the next one taken down cleanly in front of everyone else.
Wolf noticed it immediately.
Thanks to his Vow, his mind was working at an almost instinctual level. His perception wasn’t just sharper, it was ruthless. With a single glance, he could tell who was exhausted, who was bluffing, who carried injuries hidden behind forced bravado. His eyes naturally drifted toward the weakest links, the ones whose balance was off or whose breathing gave them away.
It made his strength seem greater than it actually was.
When people saw someone being knocked down one after another with terrifying efficiency, they didn’t think about statistics or stamina. They thought, I might be next.
Fear was contagious.
And when Chad shouted his panicked suggestion into the chaos, Wolf felt the final piece click into place.
"Can’t you just offer them more money than what she’s offering or something!" Chad yelled as he stumbled back toward the others, narrowly avoiding a punch aimed at his head.
Wolf’s eyes widened slightly.
"Wait a second," he said.
In that instant, Wolf stopped thinking like a fighter, and started thinking like a tactician.
He twisted his body and slammed his fist into one man’s jaw, the impact snapping the man’s head sideways before he could react. Before the fighter collapsed fully, Wolf grabbed him by his long, curly hair and yanked him upright, turning his body outward so everyone could see.
Blood dripped from the man’s mouth as he struggled weakly in Wolf’s grip.
"Did any of you even think this through before you jumped in?" Wolf shouted, his voice carrying across the pit. "How are you even supposed to get paid?"
The fighters froze.
Some mid-charge stopped abruptly. Others lowered their fists just slightly, confusion flashing across their faces.
Wolf continued, his words sharp and deliberate.
"If all of you work together to wear us down, then what happens when one person lands the last hit?" he asked. "Does that person get all ten million? Or do you really think they’re planning to split it nicely among everyone?"
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Some of the stronger fighters at the back had already been thinking the same thing. They hadn’t rushed in immediately. They had waited, watching, conserving energy, planning to strike when the moment was right.
Wolf pressed harder.
"What about the people already on the floor?" he shouted, gesturing to the groaning bodies scattered around the pit. "They fought. They got hurt. And they’re getting nothing. Not a single cent."
He threw the man in his grip to the ground and sprinted toward Chad, who was being targeted by a pair of fighters sensing weakness. Wolf launched a fast kick into one man’s temple, sending him skidding across the floor before snapping a punch into the second man’s throat, dropping him instantly.
"Right now," Wolf continued, "you’re trusting the Black Hounds to pay you. But tell me, how can you trust them at all?"
His voice grew louder, angrier.
"They’re the ones who put a bounty on us just because we won our matches! That’s who you’re trusting to be fair?"
That was when Chad finally understood what Wolf was doing.
And he joined in.
"And even if you do beat us," Chad shouted, pointing upward toward Vivian, "what happens when it’s time to pay out? She’ll just send her own people after you!"
The crowd stirred violently now.
"She threw me , a paying client, into this pit!" Chad continued. "That should tell you everything you need to know! The trust is already broken!"
Wolf felt a surge of satisfaction.
Chad wasn’t strong, but right now, he was useful.
The momentum shifted.
Fighters hesitated openly now, fists lowering, eyes darting toward one another. Suspicion replaced greed. No one wanted to be the one doing all the work while someone else claimed the prize.
One man lunged at another from behind, wrapping his arm around the man’s neck in a chokehold. Somewhere else, a fist slammed into a former ally’s ribs. The chaos twisted inward, no longer focused solely on Wolf, Joe, and Chad.
Joe retreated quickly, stepping back to Wolf’s side.
"We don’t have long," Wolf said quietly. "This won’t hold."
Joe nodded. They moved.
Now that hesitation had taken root, Wolf and Joe struck with full force. They targeted those who were frozen, uncertain, or distracted by infighting. Each blow was decisive. Each movement was ruthless.
A punch to the jaw. A knee to the stomach. A kick that sent a man collapsing into two others.
Bodies hit the ground rapidly.
"You idiots!" Vivian shouted from above, fury twisting her expression. "They’re lying to you!"
Her voice cut through the chaos.
"I’ll pay every single one of you one hundred thousand just for fighting!" she declared. "And whoever takes them out gets the full ten million!"
Some fighters stiffened.
But Vivian wasn’t finished.
"And if you think you can just walk away," she continued coldly, "remember who you’re dealing with. The Black Hounds remember faces."
Fear surged back into the pit. Now the attackers had two motivations pushing them forward: greed and terror. They charged again. But it was too late.
Too many were already down. Too many were injured or shaken. The coordinated pressure they needed was gone, fractured by doubt and internal conflict.
Wolf smashed another man to the floor and exhaled sharply.
"Alright," he said, wiping blood from his knuckles. "It’s time to get out of here."
Joe stood beside him, breathing heavily but still steady.
"But before that," Wolf added, eyes lifting toward Vivian, "someone needs to pay."