The lizard spoke again, its voice steady and unhurried.
"…Even so," it said, "you could have bought the core. And the Yin items. Instead of those… useless things."
The fox's step faltered for half a breath.
Its jaw clenched.
"…Useless?" it repeated, teeth grinding faintly.
Its tails snapped once in irritation.
"They aren't—"
The lizard continued, unbothered.
"…A ring. And a pot furnace."
The fox stopped.
Fully this time.
The illusioned man's expression hardened, ears twitching sharply beneath the glamour.
"…First," the fox said tightly, "it's *not* a pot."
It turned its head, eyes narrowing.
"And second, that ring—"
It cut itself off, inhaled slowly, then exhaled through its nose.
"…Listen carefully," it said, its tone now controlled—dangerous in its calm.
"The 'ring' is a **damaged spatial ring** with an unstable interior fold. To anyone else, it's trash. To someone who understands formations?"
A thin smile touched its lips.
"It's raw material."
It resumed walking.
"And that furnace," it continued, "is a **pill furnace**, cracked along the heat veins. It can't refine pills anymore."
A pause.
"But it *can* withstand continuous elemental input."
The fox glanced upward slightly, toward the lizard.
"Earth. Ice. Water."
Its tails swayed.
"Things *you* can control."
They moved in silence for a moment.
"Yin essence and demon cores," the fox went on, "are *consumables*. You use them once, and they're gone. Useful, yes—but obvious. Traceable. Everyone knows exactly what they're for."
It tapped its temple lightly.
"What I bought are **tools**. Things that let us *process*, *store*, and *change* materials."
Another pause.
The fox let out a low, quiet chuckle as they stepped out of the narrower alley and back into the wider veins of the night market.
Lanterns hung overhead like drifting stars. Voices overlapped—music, laughter, bargaining, footsteps—life.
"…You don't need to worry," the fox said softly.
It didn't slow.
Didn't hide.
Didn't turn invisible.
"We don't need to *buy* anything," it continued, tails swaying lazily behind the illusioned form. "Not when the goods are already on their way to us."
The lizard remained still atop its head, listening.
The fox's eyes slid across the crowd—not searching, just *aware*.
"Greedy people hate losing profit," it went on. "Especially when they think someone walked away with more than they deserved. Tools sold too cheaply. Information not shared. Opportunity slipping through their fingers."
A faint smile curved its lips.
"So they follow," the fox said. "Quietly. Patiently. Telling themselves it's just curiosity."
They passed a group of cultivators laughing over wine. A pair of merchants arguing prices. A masked performer breathing fire.
None of them noticed.
"And the best part?" the fox added. "They think *they* chose this."
It tilted its head slightly, voice lowering so only the lizard could hear.
"They bring the cores. The Yin. The essence. The stones."
A pause.
"…And they save us the trouble of searching."
The fox's steps remained casual as they moved deeper into the night market, lantern light washing over them.
Predator and passenger.
Walking openly.
The fox wandered the night market for a while longer.
It doubled back.
Paused at stalls.
Stopped to "examine" trinkets it had no intention of buying.
Let itself be jostled by crowds, then slipped through them again.
Every movement was sloppy on purpose.
Like someone trying—and failing—to shake a tail.
"…See?" the fox murmured softly to the lizard. "You don't run from hunters. You let them believe you're careless."
Then, without warning, it turned into a narrow alley between two wine shops.
The sound of the market dulled.
One step.
Then—
The fox walked straight **into the wall**.
Stone rippled like water.
The illusion swallowed them whole.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing.
Then they emerged on the other side.
Silence.
Cool night air.
No lanterns. No music. No crowd.
They stood just outside the bounds of the night market, in the quieter residential edge of **Rivermarch**—low tiled roofs, darkened windows, narrow streets lit only by moonlight and the occasional spirit-lamp burning low.
The fox didn't stop moving.
Not yet.
Its ears remained upright, tails low and loose, steps light against the stone as it turned away from the market wall and headed deeper toward the outer roads of Rivermarch.
"…We're not done," it said quietly.
"Not even close."
The lizard stayed crouched, silent.
"As long as we're still inside Rivermarch," the fox continued, "the **night market rules** still apply."
Its voice flattened, stripped of humor.
"No open slaughter. No large-scale soul techniques. No messy disappearances."
A pause.
"Too many eyes," it added. "Too many protections woven into the city itself."
They passed shuttered homes, the occasional spirit-lamp flickering as they went by.
"So we don't do this here," the fox said. "Not if we want everyone who followed us to commit."
It turned onto a broader road, one that sloped gently upward toward the outer gates.
"We leave town," it continued. "Let them think we're cautious. Nervous. Trying to escape."
Its tails swayed slowly.
"That's when they'll show themselves."
A soft, dangerous calm settled into its voice.
"Because once we cross the boundary formations…"
"…the rules stop protecting *us*."
The fox glanced upward slightly, toward the lizard.
"And they'll think," it finished, "that's when the hunt begins."
They kept walking.
Toward the outskirts.
Toward the dark.
Toward the place where restraint no longer applied.
And behind them—
Shadows shifted.
Footsteps adjusted.
Because the fish had already bitten.
They just didn't know yet how far the hook went.
The fox didn't slow.
Not at the gate.
Not at the ward markers.
Not even when the faint pressure of Rivermarch's boundary formation brushed against its qi.
It simply **moved**.
One moment it was beneath the shadow of the town wall—
The next, it was *over* it.
A silent leap, tails snapping once for balance, clearing stone and sigils alike. The lizard clung easily, weight centered, unmoving.
On the far side, the world changed.
The air lost its artificial warmth.
The ground grew uneven.
The smell of stone gave way to damp earth, pine resin, moss, and the distant rot of fallen leaves.
The fox landed without a sound.
Didn't stop.
Didn't look back.
It padded forward, slipping between trees as moonlight fractured through the branches overhead. The forest swallowed them quickly, shadows closing in as the town's lights faded behind.
Only then did the fox speak again.
"…Now," it said softly.
Its tails spread slightly, sensing.
"No walls. No rules."
They moved deeper into the woods, leaves crunching faintly beneath paw and claw, the path ahead unmarked and wild.
Somewhere behind them, beyond the trees—
Footsteps would follow.
Not because they had to.
But because they believed they should.
And in the dark of the forest, far from Rivermarch's protection, the fox's quiet patience hardened into something sharp.
The hunt had crossed the line.
And now—
It was real.