In the borderlands between the slums and the industrial district of Meshek, a small tavern stood. From the outside, it appeared as if it could accommodate perhaps fifty people, but a growing line soon swelled into a boisterous crowd. The potential patrons were held at bay by a group of rugged men adorned with tattoos and scars, armed to the hilt, who guarded the entrance with an imposing presence.

Nirav and his subordinate, hauling the cart, made their way through the throng.

"Make way, ay!" growled the old man, forcefully pushing through the sea of bodies in an attempt to reach the door.

Amidst the clamor of conversations and sporadic outbursts, he had to exert considerable effort to make his presence known. Yet, he managed to navigate past the crowd and bypass the line. One of the bouncers cast a fleeting glance in his direction and motioned for him to enter, while others had to endure a more arduous process to gain admission. Everyone was thoroughly searched for weapons, and the display of coins was mandatory; without them, entry into "The Hole" was denied.

The guard parked the cart to the side, away from the armed men, and unveiled the hidden boys by removing the cloth. The crowd responded with a chorus of crude laughter. A few individuals whistled in a discordant manner.

"Look, guys! Fresh meat!" someone shouted.

"That white ass is nothing but skin and bones! They should toss him to the pigs instead of bringing him here!"

The remarks elicited further chuckles. Ignoring the jeers, Nirav and his subordinate freed the boys' hands and legs, finally removing the cloth from their mouths.

"Inside, ay," the old man growled, pushing Javohir toward the door.

The boy surveyed his surroundings briefly before stepping forward. Bruno followed suit, while the two older men trailed behind, serving as a barrier to prevent any escape attempts.

The interior of the tavern was enveloped in the dimness, illuminated only by torches affixed to the wooden beams supporting the ceiling, and protected by metal plates, to not catch the fire, just as the walls. The air was thick with smoke, a result of burning fuel and the numerous patrons indulging in alcohol and tobacco at the few scattered tables. The haze caused Bruno to cough and his eyes to water, yet Nirav continued to urge them onward.

One by one, the patrons shifted their attention to the newcomers. Some wore twisted smiles, their teeth blackened or missing entirely. It was evident that they found amusement in the wretchedness of the enslaved boys.

The old man exchanged nods with the bartender, who reciprocated the gesture. They bypassed the counter and proceeded through the open door into the second room. It was a small space, furnished with a table, two chairs, several crates filled with bottles, and an open barrel brimming with beer.

A brick staircase descended into the basement, drawing their attention. They ventured into the darkness below. The underground chamber was even dimmer, lined with stacked barrels and crates on both sides, with wide pathways weaving between them. The wooden door at the end marked their destination. Before it stood a table adorned with four chairs, occupied by men even more unsavory-looking than the bouncers above.

Engrossed in a game of cards, illuminated by a few flickering candles, they merely glanced at the newcomers and dismissed them. The group passed by without incident. Nirav opened the door, revealing another staircase, well-lit by torches affixed to the walls.

"Go," he growled at both boys.

There was no other choice but to comply. As Bruno descended, the faint sounds of music, laughter, and cheers reached his ears, suggesting a larger gathering below. The cheers swelled and waned irregularly, sometimes transitioning into boisterous shouts.

At the foot of the stairs, hidden within the shadows, was another door. Pushing it open, they entered a spacious chamber bathed in the glow of large bowls filled with burning oil. People filled the area, clustered in groups, engaged in conversation, and sipped from bottles. Only the expansive pit at the center remained empty. Bruno's gaze also caught sight of alcoves surrounding the pit, partially veiled by curtains. Deep red with hints of gold, they added a touch of decoration.

Within one of the alcoves, a troupe of bards played melodic tunes on their instruments, their performance fully exposed to the crowd's view. To the left, closer to the entrance, a corridor beckoned, obstructed by a counter manned by a portly man selling drinks from a recessed area. A similar arrangement could be seen on the right, leading to a sturdy door that concealed whatever lay beyond.

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Nirav stepped forward, scanning the gathering. It didn't take him long to find his mark. Emerging from the midst of the crowd was an unremarkable man of average stature, sporting short black hair and a thick mustache adorning his ordinary face. He wore simple attire—a white shirt with a dark vest and pants reaching mid-calf. A golden goblet graced his hand as he indulged in its contents.

"Nirav!" he exclaimed, tearing his lips away from the wine. "Good to see you. I see you brought me a present."

"I did, Uncle Said, ay!"

"How much?"

"The usual, ay."

His words caused the man to glance at the two boys, his gaze lingering momentarily on Bruno.

"A white boy? Where did you get this one from?"

"It's a long story, ay."

Uncle sighed.

"Half for this one. He's just skin and bones. He's no good," he shook his head.

Nirav clenched his teeth, contemplating something in his mind for a moment before nodding.

"Fine. Half for this one, ay."

Uncle smiled, reaching into his pocket and producing a handful of coins, which he displayed on an open palm before the scarred man. The amount of money present far exceeded the previously mentioned price of three silver frigates.

Nirav hesitated, his eyes fixed on the man. The unfolding scene attracted the attention of several onlookers, their faces adorned with mischievous smiles. Murmurs circulated among them. Bruno observed it all with great care, pondering, and analyzing. Though he considered calling out Billy's name, hoping it would somehow reach his friend's ears, he hesitated, uncertain of how the people might react. Thus, he remained silent, keeping his mouth shut.

"Because we are friends," Said declared, his smile widening.

The scarred man nodded and accepted the money with a wide smile that suddenly bloomed on his lips.

"Boys, come with me. I'll show you your new home," said the uncle, completely disregarding the two men who had brought him the slaves.

He strode directly to the door on the right and pushed it open, revealing a massive bald man with a scarred face, clearly a formidable bodyguard of sorts. The man sat on a stool, engrossed in his bottle, paying no attention to Said's presence.

Glancing over his shoulder, the man gestured for the two boys to follow him. They exchanged a glance before obediently trailing behind him.

They entered a long, well-lit corridor adorned with torches fixed to the walls, leading them to yet another closed door. Passing through this space, Uncle unveiled what lay beyond—a vast expanse with the floor far below covered in sand, illuminated by a towering bowl filled with crackling wood, serving as the primary source of light. Wooden dummies were scattered around, accompanied by several people. Some appeared to be their age, while others were significantly older, yet still robust and physically capable. It was evident that everyone was engaged in rigorous training.

Among them stood a dark-skinned man, whose visage stirred memories of Bruno's past life. In the Ard Al'ibil empire, there existed a renowned clan of warriors known for their extraordinary prowess. Bruno had caught glimpses of them during his visits there. The man's physique and complexion brought those recollections flooding back.

Instinctively, the young alchemist glanced up at the towering ceiling, where smoke escaped through purposefully crafted apertures leaving marks of soot.

"Welcome to your new home," announced Uncle Said, gesturing towards a staircase on their right that descended to the sandpit. His words were enough for many of the warriors below to pause their efforts and look up.

With a pat on both boys' shoulders, the man departed passing between them, leaving them to endure the prying gazes of many, particularly the dark-skinned man who drew closer.

His bald head was smoothly shaved, and his bright, deep-brown eyes shimmered. Possessing a handsome face with thick lips, no facial hair, and a defined jawline, he exuded a sense of strength. His lean physique boasted well-defined muscles beneath the dark vest he wore.

Numerous small scars adorned his forearms, while the rest of his body remained unblemished, at least from what Bruno could discern.

"I'm Mamadou. I will be training you!" he declared loudly. "Your names?!"

"I'm Javohir, and this is Bruno!" Javohir responded.

"Good!" Mamadou clapped his hands, and the others resumed their training. "Come down here!"

The two boys followed his lead, their eyes darting around the surroundings. With a closer examination, Bruno noticed stones scattered in varying sizes, heavy-looking wooden beams and upright logs secured with ropes.

Some individuals resumed sparring, while others returned to circling the sandpit or commenced lifting the stones.

Mamadou intercepted the boys midway.

"Come with me," he instructed, leading them to one of the logs.

Red stains of blood marred the rope-wrapped surface, evidently serving as a form of protection. It would undoubtedly inflict pain if repeatedly strike or kick it, and Bruno assumed the crimson marks were signs of frequent use. His assumption proved accurate, as he soon discovered.

"I want both of you to beat this. Punch and kick as hard as you can. Show me your strength," Mamadou commanded.

Javohir looked at Bruno, then complied, gritting his teeth against the ensuing pain. After a series of punches and kicks, the instructor intervened, placing a firm hand on Javohir's shoulder.

"Enough. Now you," the trainer shifted his attention to the young alchemist.

Though Bruno possessed some fighting experience from his past encounters in the Ard Al'ibil empire, it felt like a distant memory. One of the warriors had once demonstrated a few moves to him, and they had even engaged in sparring. The boy ended up on the ground, swiftly subdued by the warrior's flawless grappling technique. He had learned to respect their skill.

Assuming a stance, he unleashed a series of punches and kicks, displaying the remnants of his previous training.

"Enough. I've seen what I needed to see," Mamadou stated. "Now join the others in running circles around the sandpit."