The undercrust reminds Irmgard of her prison- with a few exceptions. Those being the presence of women and the ability to leave. Otherwise, much of it is like the prison city she ran.

“Are you sure we can find quality supplies here?” Emma asks nervously. She eyes several people passing by, all armed and looking like they are itching for a fight.

“I share Emma’s sentiment. It may be better to search above ground,” Auranta adds.

Irmgard glances at the two women, shakes her head, and then starts silently walking.

Emma and Auranta share a look before following.

Running a city, even a prison city, has taught Irmgard that you will always find a separation of wealth and competence in accordance to where the wealth is concentrated. In the case of the undercrust, Irgmard can already tell that it's going to be located near the bottom of the city, where the fighting rings are located.

To the surprise of both Emma and Auranta, their descent is left unmolested. Normally, three girls would be found as easy prey for a variety of reasons. Instead, Irmgards presence alone is that of a warden ready to rip a prisoner apart should they take even the slightest step out of line. Her back is straight, eyes are focused, and hand rests on the hilt of her sword. The sheer confidence of her presence is a testament to not only skill, but the willingness to use said skill in the most violent way possible.

Most prisoners understand this- those who don’t. Well, the weak generally don’t survive.

Arriving at the bottom, the girls are met with flashing runic lights, yelling, screaming, and the sound of combat. Booths and stores stand ready with [Guards] as all manner of items line the shelves from weapons, armor, food, and objects of lust. Irmgard looks around for a moment until her eyes land on a larger shop selling a variety of goods.

“This way.” She orders. On her arrival, the [Shopkeeper] quickly grins as whatever skill he has warns him of a possibly large purchase.

“Ladies, welcome to Orman’s Crusted Goods. I’m Orman. What can I get for you all?”

“My [Runesmith] requires a large quantity of quality materials for runeing for a reasonable price. Can you provide?” Irmgard asks.

Orman smiles. “Depends on the quantity and what exactly you’re looking for.”

Irmgard extends a hand to Emma. Emma, realizing what she wants, retrieves a paper from her bag and hands it to the [First Mate].

“Are you capable of supplying these materials?”

Orman accepts the paper. He adjusts his glasses, begins reading, and then frowns. “This is quite a bit. I can have these supplies ready in a week's time if you’re willing to wait- otherwise I can offer a fraction immediately.”

“We’ll take what you have on hand and order the rest in a week if that’s acceptable.”

“Perfectly. Just know that I will have to charge you a fee on account of getting the supplies.”

Before Irmgard can answer, the sound of yelling attracts her attention. Turning, she finds an interesting scene involving a group of armed men wearing lion furs and Cillian. The leader of the men is yelling at Cillian, while the Scot is unbothered and sipping a mug.

“Orman, please wait a moment.” Irgmard leaves the counter and walks to the scene with Auranta and Emma at her heels.

“Cillian, what’s happening here?” She asks on approach.

“Who the fuck are you?” the leader of the armed group of men asks.

A quick glance at the group tells Irmgard that these men aren’t weak. But she can also tell that they aren’t at the level of someone like Boriss. Irmgard also takes a glance at Nepenthes standing behind Cillian- which she argues is the reason why Cillian is so calm right now.

“I’m the [First Mate] of the crewman you are talking to. Is there a problem?”

“Yea, there is. This shrimp’s been cheating in all the rounds.”

“I’m not cheating! I’m making logical bets that pay off.”

“You can’t win seven rounds in a row! The fighters are the same level!”

“Fuck their level,” Cillian swishes his mug. “I’m making bets on their weapons, muscle distribution, stance, and all other manner of quality. I’ve watched enough idiots bashing each other in a ring to predict who is the better fighter.”

“That’s a fucking lie!” the man snarls.

“Do you have proof?” Imrgard asks.

“Proof? My proof is in my fucking axe if I don’t get my money back.”

“I’m not giving anything back. I won it fair and square.”

The man growls and grabs the axe at his hip. But before he can pull it out, Irmgards cutlass unsheathes and stops at his neck as though she’d expected such a reaction.

“I asked for proof.” She says.

“HEY! ALL FIGHTING IN THE UNDERCRUST IS TO BE DONE IN THE RING?” A fully armed and armored man with a shield and sword insignia on his chest arrives with a grimace.

A glance is all it takes for Irmgard to realize that the man that just arrived is on a whole other level of capability- enough so that the men she’s dealing with have grown nervous.

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The armored man's gaze falls on Irmgards blade. “Sheathe your weapon,” He orders.

Irmgard frowns, but complies.

“Good. Now, what's happening here?”

Lion-furred man points at Cillian. “This guy predicted and won seven fights in a row. He must be cheating.”

“They were easy predictions!” Cillian argues. “It’s not my fault you put so much emphasis on levels and class instead of actual experience, equipment, and skill.”

“Lies. Even the best [Gamblers] couldn't predict seven straight fights.”

The armored man shakes his head. “There is not enough proof, so I cannot allow this fight to continue.”

The lion-furred guy frowns. He retrieves a bag of coins from his belt and raises it forward. “I ask for the right of combat to retrieve all winnings in equal combat.”

The armored man raises an eyebrow at the request. After long moments of silence, he finally nods. “I will grant this request.”

The armored man turns to Cillian, “Will you fight or will you use a proxy?”

Cilian blinks. “What's the right of combat?”

“A way for warriors to deal with differences in the ring. If you do not accept, you must forfeit your winnings. If you do accept, then you must fight. If you win the fight, then your winnings will be doubled.”

“You said I can use a proxy?”

“As the accused, you have that right.”

Cillian grins. “I accept. Nepenthes here will be my proxy.”

The armored man calmly looks at Nepenthes, and then shakes his head. “Proxies must match the species of either combatant to keep combat fair.”

Irmgard sighs. She steps forward. “I’ll be the proxy.”

__________________________________________________________________

After our successful meeting with the leader of the Flamingos, me and Gino make our way deeper into the city. Which, surprisingly, involves going further down into its depths. As we travel deeper, the general quality of goods, people, levels, and wealth improve- to the point that I see actual [Nobles] wandering around.

“Why is the bottom of this place wealthier than the top?” I ask. “I’d expect it to be the opposite, where the poor and weak live at the bottom away from prying eyes.”

Gino continues walking and descending. He raises a hand and points further down. “The fighting rings and coliseums are at the bottom of the undercrust for foundational support. High level fighters make a lot of money but need sturdier Arenas. The bottom of the undercrust has the space and support to allow these fights to happen.”

I nod to his explanation. We continue heading deeper and deeper until I start seeing some heavily armed and armored [Guards] with levels quite a bit higher than mine. “Gino, those [Guards] with the Shield and Sword crest on their chest. Who are they?”

“Them? They are part of the Warrior Gangs. They keep the peace in the lower undercrust.”

“That's one of the major gangs, right? They’re pretty strong.”

“The three major gangs control the bottom of the undercrust. The Warrior’s deal with protection and are composed solely of former [Gladiators].”

“What about the other two?”

“The Crusts are in charge of trade and the movement of money. The Royals are in charge of laws and all the combat that happens down there. Honestly, they’re barely antagonistic to each other unlike the minor gangs which constantly have feuds.”

“I’m guessing we’re going to deal with the Crusts in regards to bets, right?”

Gino nods. “Yea. They accept bets from both Gladius and Undercrust.”

“Good. We’ll put all of that money into Boriss winning.”

“Sure.”

When we finally reach the bottom, I see a plump body holding a bottle and leaning over a railing. “Gino,” I tap my mounts neck and point a paw, “take me to the plump one.” I order and he obliges.

“Cillian, nice to see you’re here.”

Cillian glances and grins. He wiggles his bottle, “[Captain], come here. I’m about to make a lot of coin.”

I hop off Gino’s shoulder and land on the railing of the arena. Looking into the Arena, I find Irmgard with the rest of my crew on one side and a guy wearing a lion-fur cloak surrounded by men wearing the same.

“What's happening here?” I ask.

“Irmgard is going to fight in the arena.” Cillian explains.

“Why?”

“It’s… complicated. Long story short, I won multiple bets in a row and was accused of cheating. Now Irmgard fights to prove my innocence.”

“Right… you do realize that she might lose, right?” I ask.

“Yea, but she’s more skilled. Her chance to win is higher.”

I shake my head at the Scot and take a closer look at her opponent.

Gorbichon Drevon: Level 34 [Gang Captain]

The guy has levels on her by a decent amount on top of being quite fit. He has two hand-axes at his side, so he probably fights with both of them. Considering the scars on his body, he has plenty of experience in regards to combat.

“Gino, what can you tell me about that guy's gang?” I point a paw at Gorbichon.

“He’s part of the Lion Gang. They’re a gang of arena fighters. They’re not as good as [Gladiators], but they also aren't weak either.

“I see.”

If memory serves, Irmgard trained heavily in hema with a specialty in fencing. Considering she only wields a cutlass, her chances might not be as high as Cillian expects.

“Gino, take my money and buy a rapier or some other long-light piercing weapon. Then go to the woman who is about to fight and give it to her alongside the dagger hidden in your left leg.”

“How do you-”

“Don’t talk, just do. Mention my name.”

“O-ok.” Gino rushes off as I return my attention back to the arena.”

“I don’t think she’s going to need it,” Cillian explains.

“Know something I don’t?” I ask the scot.

He nods and points at Gorbichon. “See his axes?”

“Yea,” I nod.

“Look at the bladed edges.”

Blinking, I focus on the blade.

“It’s chipped!”

Cillian takes a gulp of his beverage and grins. “Aye. Truly good fighters always keep their weapons well maintained. Irmgard and Boriss both always polish and sharpen their weapons. Even me,” he taps the revolver at his hip, “I keep this baby well oiled and maintained.”

I frown. “I should have noticed that myself.”

Cillian shrugs. “I like weapons and guns. It’s generally the first thing I notice before I meet a person. Anyway, the rapier and dagger is a good way to reduce risk.”

I nod and continue looking down, hoping Gino arrives on time.