The dungeon market sat at the edge of the transit district, where polished mana rails gave way to cracked stone and layered dust.
It was loud.
Not chaotic—but alive.
Voices overlapped in sharp bursts. Metal clanged against metal. Mana flared briefly and died as demonstration arts were cut short by warding fields. The air smelled of oil, iron, treated leather, and something faintly acidic—residual mana corrosion.
Eren stepped into it without slowing.
This wasn't the Veridian city proper. No nobles walked here unless accompanied. No servants hovered nearby. Everyone present had come for one reason.
Survival.
Stalls lined the street in tight rows, their goods displayed openly: swords suspended in anti-rust fields, armor pieces etched with shallow runes, vials of glowing liquid sealed behind thick glass. Some merchants shouted. Others watched silently, eyes sharp, weighing customers the way hunters weighed prey.
Eren ignored the noise and focused.
He had a list.
Not written.
Memorized.
First—a weapon.
His old sword had been functional, but unranked. Reliable for training. Not for a dungeon.
He stopped in front of a modest shop tucked between two louder stalls. No flashy banners. No glowing projections. Just a wooden sign etched cleanly:
FIELD-GRADE EQUIPMENT
Inside, the space was narrow but orderly. Weapons lined the walls by rank, separated clearly. No illusions. No exaggeration.
A man stood behind the counter, polishing a blade. Broad shoulders. Scarred hands. Mana signature steady but restrained.
A retired adventurer.
Good.
Eren approached the D-rank section.
There weren't many options.
He reached for a straight-bladed sword with a darkened steel finish. No ornamentation. The balance felt right the moment he lifted it—centered, responsive.
D-rank.
Not exceptional.
But honest.
"Good eye," the shop owner said without looking up. "That one's reinforced along the spine. Won't shatter on first contact with corrupted bone."
Eren tested the grip again. "Price?"
"High for your build," the man replied calmly. Then finally looked up.
His eyes paused.
Not at Eren's clothes.
At his mana.
"…F-rank," the shop owner said. Not judgmental. Observational. "Dungeon-bound?"
"Yes."
The man studied him for a moment longer, then shrugged. "Sword won't carry you. But it won't betray you either."
He named the price.
It hurt—but not enough to argue.
Eren paid without hesitation.
The sword was wrapped and handed over carefully, like something that deserved respect.
"Don't overcommit your mana," the shop owner added. "D-rank steel still cracks if you force it."
"I won't," Eren said.
And he meant it.
Next—support tools.
He moved to a stall selling consumables. The vendor—a sharp-eyed woman with reinforced gloves—watched him closely as he browsed.
Mana explosives first.
He selected two.
Low-yield. Single-trigger. Designed for disruption, not devastation. Enough to create an opening. Not enough to collapse a tunnel.
"You know those cost more than your sword, right?" the vendor said.
"I know," Eren replied.
She smiled faintly. "Smart choice anyway. Most die because they save their tools."
He didn't respond.
He added them to his pack.
A dagger came next.
Short. Narrow. Treated edge to resist decay. For emergencies.
Then utility items.
Binding rope with mana resistance
Two healing salves (low-grade, slow)
A mana recovery vial—barely effective, but better than nothing
By the time he stepped away, his funds were nearly gone.
He didn't regret it.
He adjusted the strap of his pack and exhaled quietly.
"…If transport wasn't free," he muttered, "this would've ended here."
In The Ashen Crown , the government's free mana train system existed to encourage dungeon clearing and territorial stability. Reading it then, it had felt like background logic.
Now, it was the difference between opportunity and impossibility.
Without it, a low-rank like him would never reach a dungeon quickly enough to act alone.
The system favored the powerful—but not completely.
He paused briefly near the edge of the market.
Adventurers passed him—some confident, some nervous, some already exhausted before entering danger. Parties formed and dissolved within minutes.
Eren stood alone.
As he always had.
But this time, it felt… intentional.
He tightened his grip on the sword.
Not excitement.
Not fear.
Readiness.
He turned away from the market and toward the road leading out of the district.
The dungeon waited.