Pampering Discarded Heroines Triggers My 10,000x Rebate System

The cold rain continued to patter against the wet asphalt of Sector 4.

Evren stood in the center of the narrow alley, his hands resting casually inside the pockets of his dark trench coat.

The six thugs slowly closed the circle around him, showing their metal pipes and electric shock daggers.

"You really don’t want to do this," Evren said in a calm voice. "Turn around and walk away while you still have working legs."

The scarred leader with the mechanical eye burst into loud, mocking laughter.

"Listen to this rich boy!" the leader sneered, pointing his iron pipe at Evren’s chest. "Thinks he can talk tough because he wears a fancy coat. Take him down!"

Behind Evren, two thugs moved with coordination.

One tossed a small metal cylinder onto the ground, and a high-frequency flash-stun grenade detonated with a blinding glare and an ear-splitting screech designed to disorient Awakeners.

At the same time, the second thug fired dual shock-tether cables straight into Evren’s back.

Ten thousand volts of bright blue electricity surged through the cables and crackled against Evren’s coat.

The thugs grinned, expecting him to collapse in convulsions.

But Evren’s S-Rank body engaged instantly.

His dense muscle fibers and reinforced cellular structure absorbed the high-voltage discharge as if it were a mild breeze. The electric current dissipated harmlessly across his skin without leaving a mark.

Evren’s eyes turned cold.

In a fraction of a second, Evren turned on his heel.

He reached out with his left hand, catching the two shock-tether cables and gave a sudden, powerful jerk. The two thugs were yanked off their feet like ragdolls, colliding violently mid-air before crashing face-first onto the wet asphalt.

CRACK!

Before the remaining four men could even register what had happened, Evren blurred across the alley.

A thug swung a heavy lead pipe at Evren’s temple with full force. Evren raised his right hand, catching the solid iron pipe cleanly in his palm. With a slight flex of his fingers, the solid iron groaned and crumpled into a twisted heap of metal.

The thug’s jaw dropped in pure horror. "What the..."

Evren drove an open palm directly into the man’s sternum. The force lifted the two-hundred-pound brute off the ground, sending him crashing through a stack of wooden crates.

The scarred leader lunged forward with an electric shock dagger, stabbing toward Evren’s ribs.

Evren stepped inside the guard, parried the wrist, and delivered a swift low kick into the leader’s shin.

The leader shrieked as his leg buckled, followed immediately by Evren’s backhand strike that sent him flying five yards through the air, slamming hard into a steel dumpster.

In under thirty seconds, all six thugs were sprawled across the muddy alley, groaning in agony with fractured bones and broken weapons.

Evren didn’t even draw a single weapon from his spatial ring.

He smoothly straightened his lapels, stepped over the moaning leader, and continued down the alley without looking back.

—

Five minutes later, Evren arrived at an abandoned industrial ironworks plant surrounded by rusted razor-wire fences.

At the entrance, two heavily armored bouncers with Black-Skull syndicate insignias stood beside reinforced titanium blast doors. Evren handed over a standard entrance token and a stack of cash. The bouncers grunted and stepped aside, sliding the blast doors open.

Evren entered a freight elevator that descended deep into the earth.

DING.

The metal doors rolled back, revealing Arena #9... The Iron Abyss.

The underground colosseum was massive, covering nearly a hundred and fifty meters under the city streets.

Thick clouds of cigar smoke drifted under flickering red neon lights. The metal stands were packed with hundreds of noisy spectators... black-market merchants, rogue Awakeners, debt collectors, and underworld crime lords... all screaming and waving their betting slips in the air.

In the middle of the arena was a large, blood-stained sand pit surrounded by a glowing, see-through barrier.

[WARNING: ARENA 80% MANA-SUPPRESSION BARRIER ACTIVE]

Evren walked calmly up the metal stairs to the elevated VIP gallery, leaning against the railing to observe the match below.

Inside the pit, the opening gladiator bout was reaching its bloody climax.

A hulking Level 40 berserker in dented iron armor was locked in combat with a fierce Level 42 Abyssal Shadow-Boar. The massive beast, covered in sharp tusks and spikes, charged across the sand like a runaway train.

The berserker braced his feet, timed his swing, and brought a spiked war-hammer crashing down onto the boar’s skull.

BOOM!

The ground shook as the beast collapsed in a cloud of dust, dead on impact.

The crowd erupted in deafening cheers, throwing coins and crumpled betting tickets into the pit. Arena handlers rushed out with high-pressure mana hoses, dragging the beast’s carcass away and spraying down the blood-stained sand.

Suddenly, a series of deep iron horns blared through the sound system.

The chaotic noise in the colosseum instantly died down.

From an elevated podium suspended above the arena pit, a heavily built man with a cybernetic jaw and a gold-trimmed leather trench coat stepped behind the microphone.

It was Ringmaster Iron-Jaw Balthazar, the ruthless leader of the Black-Skull Debt Syndicate.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and distinguished lords of the underworld!" Balthazar’s booming voice echoed across the cavernous room. "You’ve enjoyed the opening blood sport... but now, it is time for the main event of the evening!"

Balthazar grinned, raising his hand toward the high ceiling.

"Tonight, we present an asset so rare, she needs no introduction. Former Guild Captain of the Nightfall Raiders... the legendary S-Rank Shadowblade Assassin... Zephyra Nightshade!"

Heavy industrial chains rattled as a reinforced iron birdcage was lowered from the ceiling, touching down in the center of the sand pit.

Inside the cage sat a young woman bound in runic chains.

Her long black hair fell in tangled strands around her pale, bruised face. She wore shredded black tactical leather, and her slender frame shivered slightly in the cold, damp air of the arena.

Spiderwebbing across her collarbones and arms were glowing, dark purple veins... the agonizing signature of Abyssal Shadow Necrosis, slowly poisoning her paralyzed mana conduits.

Clamped tightly around her slender neck was a thick titanium suppression collar, its red remote detonator light blinking rhythmically.

The crowd of underworld bosses leaned over the railings with greed in the eyes.

Zephyra did not cry, nor did she beg for mercy.

She raised her head slowly, her dark, violet-flecked eyes burning with defiance as she glared at the hundreds of criminals ogling her like property.

"Her mana conduits may be damaged," Balthazar called out with a cruel chuckle, "but her S-Rank bone structure and muscle memory remain intact! With our syndicate’s unhackable master slave-collar, she will obey your every command... as a lethal bodyguard, a training dummy, or a prize for your collection."

Balthazar slammed his fist against the podium railing.

"The starting bid begins at one million dollars!"

A chorus of voices erupted instantly from the lower galleries.

"One point two million!" a mercenary captain shouted.

"One point five million!" an illegal alchemist called out, eyeing her rare mana core.

"One point six!"

"One point nine million!"

"Two million dollars!"

Bids flew back and forth across the arena in rapid succession.

"Two point five million!"

"Two point nine million!"

Evren stood in the shadows of the upper VIP terrace, watching quietly with his arms crossed. He kept his breathing steady, waiting for the room to filter out the small-time bidders.

Suddenly, a wealthy underworld crime boss in a velvet coat stood up from a private box near the front railing, raising his hand with an arrogant smirk.

"Five million dollars in cash!" the boss barked loudly.

The entire arena fell silent.

Five million dollars in pure liquid cash was an enormous sum in Sector 4. The other bidders exchanged hesitant looks and lowered their paddles, unwilling to risk a bidding war against a major syndicate boss.

The velvet-coated boss chuckled smugly, puffing on a thick cigar as he looked down at Zephyra in the cage.

Balthazar grinned widely, raising his golden auction hammer.

"Five million dollars from Box Three!" Balthazar called out, surveying the silent room. "Going once..."

The crowd held its breath.

"Five million dollars, going twice..." Balthazar raised the hammer higher.

From the shadows of the upper VIP gallery, a calm, deep voice carried effortlessly across the entire colosseum: "Twenty million dollars."

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