I woke to pain.

A dull, throbbing ache pulsed behind my eyes, along with the sharp taste of copper in my mouth. I tried to sit up but found my arms bound tightly behind me. Cold metal pressed against my skin, biting into it painfully.

Wherever we were, it wasn't anywhere familiar.

We were inside a colossal tent. The canvas stretched high above us, supported by thick iron beams. Lanterns dangled from the rafters, casting a flickering light over three massive stages, each one designed in a style more bizarre than the last.

Meanwhile, we stood on a small platform in one corner of the tent.

Orin lay next to me, stirring weakly, her wrists also tied behind her back.

Muradin and Darwyn were awake too, and just as confused. Muradin was struggling to free himself from the bindings on his hands, while Darwyn glanced around warily, probably calculating an escape route.

Just ahead of us stood Brody and Millie, but they weren't alone.

Three strangers flanked them, each one exuding danger in their own way.

"Good. They're awake," said Brody with a calm, low voice.

"You bastard! You set us up!" Muradin roared, thrashing in place. He tried to stand but failed, the handcuffs binding our hands were tethered to the stage itself. There was no moving far.

Brody and Millie barely spared us a glance. Their expressions were unreadable. Cold.

"Alright, your job here is done. Get us another one," one of the strangers growled at them, his voice like gravel grinding against steel. He waved them away with an impatient flick of the hand.

Without a word, Brody and Millie turned and left.

The man who'd spoken looked to be in his late twenties, thick-chested and broad-shouldered, wearing a stained leather apron bristling with tools that clinked slightly as he moved. A pair of copper-rimmed goggles rested perpetually on his forehead, pushing back a tangled mop of black hair streaked with soot.

"Rolo, tell me I'm not hallucinating," he said, squinting at us. "Not one, but two druids?"

He chuckled, scratching his jaw. "Heh. Looks like we've hit the jackpot."

The smallest of the trio, barely older than a teen, wiry and quick-eyed, chimed in with a mischievous grin. "Oh, absolutely. And an elf. They might fetch us a real fortune."

Muradin's voice exploded again. "Hey! Who the hell are you?! Give us back our stuff, you thieving rats!"

"You mean this?" Rolo replied with a mocking smile, holding up two familiar pouches and giving them a playful shake. "Oh, and thanks for the armor, by the way. One rare piece, that one."

Muradin's face darkened.

Unlike the rest of us, who were still wearing our gear, Muradin had been stripped of his prized possession, Korrogoth's Bulwark Armor. His favorite. Gone.

Thankfully, Orin and I still had our Soulbound inventories.

Hidden. Intact. Undiscovered... for now.

Darwyn nudged Muradin with his elbow, a silent warning not to escalate things further. But of course, Muradin was nothing if not stubborn.

"Let us go," he barked, still yanking at his bindings. "Come on, fight us like real men!"

"This one's loud," Rolo sneered, rolling his eyes. "Janko, educate him."

Without a word, the big guy stepped forward and drove a savage kick into Muradin's gut. The dwarf let out a choked gasp and doubled over, pain etched across his face. Janko smirked, clearly pleased with himself.

"Oh, and don't bother trying to break free from those bindings," Rolo added casually. "You'll just waste your breath."

"What do you want from us?" Darwyn asked flatly, eyes cold. "You had the chance to kill us. You didn't. That means something."

He looked calm on the surface, but I could tell he was furious. And afraid.

Then the third man stepped forward.

He stood taller than the others, close to two meters, and carried himself with a flamboyant grace that demanded attention. His frame was lean and angular, his skin pale, and his shock-white hair was slicked back into a sharp topknot. A perfectly waxed handlebar mustache curled at the edges of his mouth, and a golden monocle glinted in one eye. He wore a crimson tailcoat stitched with glowing impish runes, like a noble from some twisted circus.

Darwyn's face contorted with anger and disgust the instant he laid eyes on him.

He raised his arms theatrically and smirked. "Well, well, this one isn't as dumb as he looks," he said, voice dripping with mockery. "Lucky you. We, the Impus Brothers, aren't killers. We're performers! And you, my dear guests, are about to be the stars of our next show."

"What are you talking about?" Darwyn asked again, warier this time.

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough," the tall man replied with a devilish grin.

I had the sense they were about to wrap things up, and do whatever it was they brought us here for.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

So I stalled.

"So you've turned the Forgotten Verge into… this," I said coolly, stalling for time as I took in details and tried to piece together a strategy. "How creative."

The small one, Rolo, snorted. "Tch. Showing off that you know the name of this place?" he said, arrogance dripping from every syllable. His clever eyes sparkled as he adjusted the sleek emerald vest he wore over a crisp black shirt and silk pants. A deck of ivory betting cards peeked from the pocket over his heart.

"Interesting…" the tall man murmured, suddenly curious. "How much do you really know about this place?"

Good. They took the bait.

"This is a hidden dimensional pocket," I replied. "A blank space someone can shape using enough Mana Stones and imagination. You must've spent a fortune making this."

Janko let out a low whistle. "Druids really are something else."

As I explained, Forgotten Verge was a concealed zone tucked into the second floor of the Tower, an empty, flexible space that responded to the creator's will. With enough resources, it could be molded into anything: a fortress, a maze… or in this case, a twisted circus tent. There were limits, of course.

And the worst part? The entrance to this place wasn't fixed. It changed with every Tower cycle.

"So you set a trap and lured us in," I continued. "The entrance must've been right near our firecamp."

"Bingo!" said the tall man with a grin. "I like this one. Hey, Rolo, looks like you've got some competition."

"You're giving him too much credit, Ludo," Rolo scoffed. "Knowing a few details doesn't make him clever. If he were smart, they wouldn't have walked into our trap in the first place."

"Big words for someone who had to rely on drugging us," Muradin growled. "You think you're clever? Try fighting fair!"

"You still haven't learned your lesson, have you?" Janko sneered before driving another brutal kick into Muradin's ribs. "You're as dumb as you look."

I winced as Muradin hit the floor again, groaning in pain.

"The drink wasn't the cause, was it?" I said, steering their attention back. "We were already caught the moment we decided to camp there."

Orin's silver locket, the Murmurmoth Pendant, gave her resistance against mental debuffs. And my Ooborosk's Mantle reduced the duration of negative status effects.

Yet all of us had blacked out and awakened at nearly the same time, which meant this wasn't a debuff or poison.

It was a trap.

A special one that activated if we remained within a certain area for too long. The drink was just a clever way to keep us sitting around the campfire.

"Wow. Congratulations," Rolo drawled, rolling his eyes with theatrical sarcasm. "You've successfully pointed out the obvious."

"Enough with the chit-chat," Janko grunted. "Let's get this over with. I need sleep."

"Very well," Ludo said, snapping his fingers.

A flash of purple light shimmered in the air. In an instant, a floating creature appeared before us, glowing amethyst and holding a massive scroll with dainty little claws.

My stomach sank. I recognized that skill.

So this was their main objective all along.

"Because we're such generous souls," Ludo said with a sly grin, "we'll give you a chance."

He gestured broadly, mustache twitching in amusement. "Beat us, and you're free to go."

"So we fight you?" Darwyn asked, voice steady.

"In simple terms, yes," Ludo replied, twirling the end of his mustache. "All it takes is a hand on the contract."

The Imp floated forward and unrolled the parchment in front of us with exaggerated ceremony.

Darwyn skimmed it quickly, then scowled. "This isn't fair."

"It's not a request," Ludo said smoothly, stroking the creature's head. "It's an order. And if you refuse… the Imp will convince you."

The creature smiled, if you could call it that, revealing a mouth full of tiny, razor-like fangs.

In other words, we didn't have a choice.

The terms of the contract were straightforward. We had to fight them one-on-one.

If one of us won, the winner walked free.

But if lost… the contract would bind the loser as a slave, forever forced to obey every command they gave, without exception.

It was unmistakably the infamous skill Pact of Subjugation, a cheat-tier ability that let the user craft magical contracts with stakes tied to a wager. This time, the wager was combat.

Judging by how prepared they were, this wasn't their first time using it.

"Wait," Orin said quietly, finally finding her voice. "There are four of us. Only three of you."

Rolo gave her a toothy grin. "Lucky you. One of you gets to relax and enjoy the show from the sidelines."

But that wasn't the truth.

The contract stated that the fate of the one who didn't fight depended on the outcome of the three battles. The only way for them to go free was to win all three, without exception.

Janko stomped over to Darwyn and unlocked his cuffs with a sharp, careless jerk.

"Hurry up and put your hand on the contract," he growled, clamping one of his massive hand around Orin's neck. "And don't try anything stupid."

Darwyn glanced at me, and I gave him a subtle nod.

We had no choice right now. All we could do was play along, for now.

Darwyn stepped forward, took the scroll from the Imp, and placed his hand on the parchment.

The Imp flashed a wide, toothy grin, then snatched the contract back with a satisfied flutter.

Janko released Orin and moved to unshackle her next.

That's when Darwyn made his move.

In a flash, he activated his Sticky Bomb.

BOOM!

The explosion echoed through the tent, followed by a cry of pain. Smoke burst outward in a brief, blinding flash.

Darwyn went flying, slammed hard into the floor. His arm and the front of his torso were scorched and torn, the remnants of his own attack clinging to him like burned cloth.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk… someone didn't read the fine print," Ludo sighed, twirling his mustache with theatrical flair. "You cannot do any harm to us unless it's during the official match. Oh, and no escaping either. That part's important."

"Don't try to outsmart us," Rolo added with a smirk. "We've seen every trick in the book."

Darwyn, still writhing in pain, said nothing. He just lay there in silence, unable to respond.

Janko, now done removing Orin's cuffs, shoved her forward roughly.

She stumbled, pale and visibly shaken, then reluctantly placed her hand on the contract the Imp floated in front of her.

And just like that…

One by one, each of us stepped forward.

One by one, we laid our hands on the scroll.

And one by one, we were bound, tied into an unfair contract with rigged rules and stacked odds.

A cruel game.

But we were in it now.

And we'd have to win, or lose everything.

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