Chapter 107 Another Identity
By the time Asher and the others finished talking, the fight in the ring had already reached its conclusion.
In just a few minutes, the towering bulk of Rocky was sprawled across the canvas, his face a mess of bruises, utterly unconscious.
The referee counted ten with a sharp flick of his fingers, then seized the hand of the young woman beside him. "I declare the blue corner the winner!"
It was, without question, the biggest upset in the history of The Deep's underground fight nights.
Dorian, who had casually thrown down a hundred thousand on a long-shot bet, had just cleaned up—millions in profit in one go.
Most others, however, were bleeding money. The crowd erupted in chaos.
Half a year of effort, wiped out overnight. Those who had staked everything on Rocky were losing their minds.
"Fuck! You serious?!"
"Rocky, you useless piece of trash!"
"I put every damn penny I had on you! Pay me back!"
"Get the hell out of the fight scene, Rocky!"
The shouting was pure venting. Anyone with a shred of sense could see Rocky had fought hard. He wasn't weak—his opponent was simply on another level entirely.
The girl had crushed him in every conceivable way. Tonight, no matter who stepped into that ring, the result would have been the same.
She was frighteningly strong.
Not everyone in the crowd was screaming. Some sat frozen, breathing deep, their eyes locked on the victor with a mix of awe and disbelief.
Like Asher, they already knew who she was.
Memories of her time in Novaria's underground circuit surfaced—back then, she had been a force of nature. Some even suspected she had gone easy tonight, letting Rocky last a few minutes before dismantling him.
Amelia didn't care about the crowd's reaction.
The moment the fight ended, her eyes swept the room, searching for Pearl—or the boy who usually shadowed him.
Pearl's letter had been clear: if she wanted to see him, she had to fight in his place. Win, and he would consider meeting her.
And yet…
Not a trace of him.
Pearl had played her again, tricked her into fighting so he could make money off her win.
Amelia's jaw tightened.
Years had passed, and he was still the same—lying, greedy, loyal only to his own pocket.
If he wouldn't come to her, she would find him herself.
He had arranged for her to fight here, which meant he was somewhere in The Deep tonight.
The fight organizer hurried over, eager to know if Amelia was signed to any venue and whether she would consider becoming a resident fighter for The Deep.
But before he could finish his pitch, she was gone—her figure blurring, vanishing in the blink of an eye.
And she wasn't the only one to disappear. Zander, Asher, and Dorian slipped away as well.
As Zander had said earlier, they hadn't come for the fight or the spectacle.
They were here to find someone.
The three of them shared more than membership in the K.A. Club.
They were part of the Highridge Covenant—a secretive underground network with members scattered across the globe.
Membership required rigorous vetting, true identities kept under lock and key. Missions were accepted at the discretion of each operative, but they all shared one guiding principle: punishment for the wicked.
There's an old saying—only the ruthless can deal with the ruthless.
Highridge Covenant targets were always predators: drug lords, counterfeit medicine traffickers, organ smugglers, loan sharks who terrorized debtors…
Legality was irrelevant. Morality, negotiable. The goal was simple—end the crime, punish the criminal.
Zander had only just returned to the country, without notifying the Martinez family.
Two weeks earlier, he had traveled abroad for a competition, where he and Asher had taken on two assignments. That had kept them away longer than expected.
Before boarding his flight home, a new mission had dropped—target location: River City. They took it.
Dorian had traveled in from Border Ridge City.
Their target tonight was Alvin—a human trafficker moving women through the black market.
His crew had been prowling River City, hunting for young, beautiful women, drugging or deceiving them before abducting them.
Once in Alvin's hands, the victims were sold at obscene prices, sent either to remote mountains or overseas. Escape was nearly impossible, and police rarely found leads.
Intel from Highridge Covenant said Alvin would be at The Deep's underground fight, watching from a VIP suite.
Which suite, they didn't know.
The moment the fight ended, the three masked up, changed into service uniforms, and moved upstairs.
The second, third, and fourth floors were all VIP territory. They split up—Zander to the second, Dorian to the third, Asher to the fourth.
Alvin's photo was burned into their minds: a middle-aged, balding man with greasy skin and a mouth full of gold teeth.
Pushing a cart of drinks, Zander made his way down the second floor corridor, opening doors one by one.
No Alvin.
Until the last suite.
The door wasn't fully closed. Peering through the gap, Zander's pupils narrowed.
Alvin was inside. But instead of lounging in comfort, the fat man was trembling, pinned against the wall by none other than Amelia—the same masked fighter who had just flattened Rocky.
Her half-face mask left only the curve of her cheek visible. One hand clamped down on Alvin's shoulder, holding him immobile. Her eyes were sharp, dangerous.
"I'll ask you one last time," she said, voice low and edged with impatience. "When Ning left, did he say where he was going? Do you know anything else about him?"
Alvin's gaze flicked to her school uniform, recognition dawning. This was the girl who had just destroyed Rocky.
He shivered under her stare. "I told you, I don't know. I only know he does business in the black market. We're not even friends! We just ran into each other today, so I invited him to watch the fight with me. Don't get the wrong idea!"
Amelia drew in a slow breath.
He wasn't lying. He really didn't know Pearl well.
"Do you have his contact?" she pressed.
"I do, but… in our line of work, numbers change all the time, who knows—"
He stopped abruptly, realizing he'd said too much.
Her eyes narrowed. "Your line of work? You mean you're in the black market too. What do you sell?"
Black market goods were always illegal.
Her gaze cut into him, and Alvin's heartbeat spiked.
Before she could push further, his eyes darted to a point over her shoulder. Suddenly, his face lit up with feigned surprise. "Pearl?"
Pearl?
Amelia turned instinctively.
In that split second of distraction, Alvin shoved her hard and yanked a small black canister from his pocket.
He sprayed in her direction with a sharp hiss.
A cloud of white vapor billowed instantly.
"Careful!" a voice shouted from behind her.
Then came the muffled thud of a silenced shot.
The canister clattered to the floor, rolling away. Alvin screamed in pain—the bullet had hit the arm holding the spray.
Before Amelia could react, she was pulled into a firm grip, her rescuer's voice cold and urgent. "That gas will knock you out in seconds. Don't breathe."