Now, which path leads to the edge of this underground society?
For a place supposedly filled with crime and secrecy, it's surprisingly well-organized—there are even signs. I half-expected someone to mug me before I got the information I needed, but no, here I am, strolling through like it's just another marketplace.
I should probably pick up the pace though; luck has a short lifespan in places like this.
One step. Two steps. Three steps—
There it is. A massive arc gate, its iron frame covered in glowing runes spelling out "Exit to the Edge." Subtle, right?
As I approached, a faint wind brushed past, carrying with it a sweet, strong scent of flowers. Odd. The underworld stinks of metal, sweat, and damp stone—yet from here, it smelled like spring.
Even before reaching the gate, I could feel the air shift. The noise of the market dimmed, replaced by a kind of stillness that made my footsteps sound louder than usual.
"So this is where the notable item publisher lives…" I muttered.
For someone so famous, she sure chose a poetic hiding place.
I carefully reached for the gate and pushed it open—heavier than I expected. The hinges groaned, echoing faintly through the quiet air.
"Coming in," I called out, half expecting a voice to answer.Nothing. Just the soft whisper of the wind.
Beyond the gate stretched a field of grass that shimmered faintly green, as if each blade held its own drop of light. A narrow stone pathway cut through the glow, leading deeper into the unknown.
It looked peaceful. Too peaceful.
"Great," I muttered under my breath. "Perfect place to get stabbed by an unseen spellcaster."
Each step forward felt slower, heavier. The path twisted slightly ahead, vanishing behind small hills blanketed with that glowing grass. I couldn't see what lay beyond—no sound, no movement, nothing to indicate life.
That was the problem.
"I mean no harm," I called out, forcing my voice to be calm. "I'm only here on business. I heard you're a notable item publisher."No answer. The field breathed around me — quiet, patient, and wrong. I waited. I listened. Still nothing.
I tried again, louder. "You hiding woman — is this your famous publisher? Doubt she's that good. How about I—"Before I could finish the sentence, a sharp zzt cracked from my left.
I was screwed.
Something slammed into my ankle. My legs went weak. I dropped to the ground, the grass hissing beneath me. Panic hit; I needed to get up now before whatever was out here finished the job.
A thick vine had wrapped around my ankles, humming with electricity. Before the next pulse could fry whatever remained of my dignity, I yanked a sword out of the canvas — one of the nicer, heat-treated things I'd pulled in the past — and hacked the vine clean. The vine recoiled, hissing like a beast that'd burned its tongue.
A gust of wind answered, and more vines whipped toward me from the right.
Well, this is great. Not exactly the gentle farm visit I had in mind.
I didn't have time for poetry. I flung an open petrol can into the path and produced a compact flame gun from the portal — non-living, still legal by my rules — and lit it. Fire bloomed, the vines shrieking as they ignited. I rolled back, the blast throwing dirt into my face. Not graceful, but effective.
"Not bad," a voice cracked from behind the nearest tree. Dry. Amused. Definitely not friendly.
"Is that how you treat visitors?" I shouted back, breath ragged.
No reply. Instead, the ground shuddered. Stone pillars erupted from the earth in a jagged arc — long shafts of rock angling toward me like a spear trap sprung by a bored god.
Running became the only option. I sprinted, dodging shifting columns of stone. My boots slipped on that damned glowing grass as I twisted and turned, feeling the air slice where the pillars had been. Adrenaline made my hands steady enough to reach the canvas again.
I dropped a few grenades — compact, crude, but spectacularly noisy — into the path where the next set of pillars was forming. They detonated in a thunderous bloom of dust and stone, scattering rubble and forcing the enemy to pause. The pillars cracked and collapsed in a slow, grinding heap.
I skidded to a stop behind a mound, chest heaving. My palms were black with soot. My heart hammered. I'd survived — for the moment.
Why does every time I try to avoid the plot, the plot decides to chase me down with magical vines and falling architecture?
"It's no use hiding." The voice came again — low, amused, and everywhere at once.
Great. Now it was personally offended.
A wall of vines dropped from the sky like a green waterfall — hundreds of them, writhing, snapping like whips. I lobbed another grenade into the mats of plant-matter. Boom. A good number of them went up in smoke, but the rest kept coming.
There was no time to stall. I had to reach her. Fast.
I opened the portal wider than before and dragged out a motorcycle — a ridiculous, loud hunk of metal that absolutely did not belong in this glowing meadow. I swung my leg over, kicked it to life, and shot down the stone path. Vines lashed at my wheels. Stone pillars erupted and tried to gouge me out of the saddle. Speedometer climbed: 40… 50… 120 km/h. Narrow path, glowing grass, and a man who really should've stayed home.
I barrelled toward the tree where the voice had come from. As I approached, I saw a figure dart from behind the trunk — a flash of motion like someone trying to disappear. Not fast enough.
I cut the throttle, hopped the bike up a small rise, and managed to skid through the air. For a second I was airborne, ridiculous and airborne, and then I brought the zap gun up and fired.
The beam hit her square in the chest. Pain exploded across my arms from the recoil; the bike slammed into the grass with a metallic screech. I tumbled forward, rolling, skin burning where sparks had kissed me. My breath rasped and my hands shook.
But she didn't fall.
The ground was still crackling from the last explosion, smoke rising in thin ribbons. The air stank of burnt vines and dusted stone. My ears were ringing, and I was half sure I'd lost a few brain cells from the impact earlier.
I coughed, waving away the smoke as I pushed myself off the ground. My coat was half-singed, my hands aching, and the grass beneath me looked like it had seen better days.
"Damn," I muttered. "This is not how you start a business meeting."
The vines that had been trying to impale me earlier slowly receded, slithering back into the earth like obedient pets. A few petals fell from the sky — burned, blackened — and for a second, everything was silent again.
Then she appeared.
From behind the great tree, she stepped forward — the so-called "item publisher." Her steps were quiet, measured, as if she hadn't just turned the place into a battlefield.
Black silk hair framed her face, long enough to brush her waist. Under the dim glow of floating lanterns, her emerald eyes caught the light — cold, intelligent, sharp enough to cut through my excuses. Her skin was pale, almost porcelain white, untouched by the dirt and smoke around us. She looked to be in her early twenties, though the calmness in her gaze spoke of someone who had seen far too much to be that young.
She crossed her arms, expression unreadable. "You're still alive," she said simply.
"Barely," I replied, brushing soot from my sleeve. "Is this how you greet every guest? Because if so, your customer service could use a little work."
Her lips twitched — not quite a smile. "Only those who trespass."
"I did say I meant no harm."
"And I don't take people at their word." She walked closer, her boots making soft sounds on the grass. The faint scent of flowers mixed with the burnt air, oddly fitting her serene but dangerous presence.
When she finally stopped a few feet away, she looked down at me — or rather, through me. "You fought well for someone who claims to be a merchant."
"Self-defense policy," I said, forcing a grin. "Now, can we skip the part where you turn me into fertilizer and move to the part where we talk business?"
That earned me the faintest smirk. "Very well," she said. "Let's talk."
If the battle had gone on any longer, I probably would've been fertilizer by now.First impressions, I swear—they always end up trying to kill me.
And to you readers? Yeah, I can already hear you laughing. Real funny, isn't it?
The woman stood a few paces away, the burnt field between us still smoldering faintly. She looked perfectly composed, as if she hadn't just thrown nature itself at me five minutes ago.
"So what's your reason for coming here?" she asked, her tone calm but sharp. "I'm sure the outer world has item publishers far more convenient than someone buried under this place."
Her emerald eyes locked onto mine, and I swear she could probably read through me like a price tag.
"Simple," I said, dusting off my cloak. "The items I'm trying to sell would fit better in the underground marketplace than out there. Less paperwork, more profit."
"You seem too young for this," she said, tilting her head slightly. "Even younger than me—and I don't often see kids hustling in this part of the city."
"I get that a lot," I replied. "But I had to start early."
Her gaze lingered for a second before she continued, "And yet, you still risked your life entering a place you don't belong. Why?"
I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "Because I need the money."
"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess—tuition fee?"
I blinked. "You really are good."
"I've met a few desperate ones before," she said, crossing her arms. "So, you're entering the Empire's Academy."
"Correct."
"That's funny," she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Why would a merchant bother with an academy filled with nobles and mages?"
I looked at her, the weight of my words heavier than I wanted to admit. "Because it's not about ambition or status. It's about survival."
Her expression softened just slightly—curiosity, maybe respect. Or maybe she was already calculating whether I was worth her time.
"Survival, huh?" she murmured. "Then maybe we're not that different after all."
"I can promise you," I said, straightening up, "my item will flourish. I'm just that good of a provider."
She crossed her arms, one elegant brow rising. "I can see that—with your strange equipment and even that roaring beast of yours."
Roaring beast? Oh. She means the motorcycle."Well, that 'beast' is just a means of transport," I said. "Something I could sell… but won't."
"And why is that?" she asked, a curious glint in her emerald eyes.
"Because," I replied, half-smiling under the oni mask, "as you saw, it's not exactly rider-friendly. The moment I let go, I was soaring like a bird. Not ideal for business, don't you think?"
She chuckled softly, the sound surprisingly melodic. "Amusing indeed."
"Yes, really," I said, feigning a sigh. "Quite the amusement when you're the one flying through the air."
Her gaze sharpened again. "Then tell me, masked merchant—what item do you wish for me to sell?"
"A gemstone."
She blinked once. "A gemstone? You do realize the underground is flooded with those. And the nobles above would bid far higher for jewelry than anyone here."
I grinned beneath the mask, leaning forward slightly. "That's where you're wrong."
"Oh?" she said, interest flickering like a spark. "You've piqued my curiosity now."
"The gemstone I'm talking about," I said, pulling a small cloth from my pocket, "isn't one your miners dig up or your jewelers polish."
I unwrapped the cloth slowly, revealing a faint glimmer that pulsed like a heartbeat beneath the surface.
"This," I said, letting the glow reflect in her emerald eyes, "is something that can power an entire workshop—or destroy one—depending on who uses it."
Her emerald eyes narrowed, glinting with curiosity as I revealed the small, clear gem resting in my palm.
"...What is that?" she asked, voice calm but tinged with disbelief.
"A gemstone," I replied.
"I can see that," she said, stepping closer. "But I've never seen one like it. It's... too pure. No veins, no mana lines, not even a trace of resonance. How can something like that exist?"
I turned the gem slightly, letting the faint light of the hovering lanterns scatter through it like frozen lightning. "That's the point—it shouldn't exist. Yet here it is."
Her gaze deepened, suspicion and fascination dancing together. "You're telling me this came from the surface world?"
"No," I said, tucking the gem back into its small case. "It came from somewhere else entirely. A place where the sky burns white and the ground bleeds black."
She blinked, pausing as if to gauge whether I was serious. "You speak like a madman or a storyteller."
"Both," I said. "But what I hold is real. It's called a diamond. A stone harder than any metal, clearer than any crystal, and unlike your mana stones—it never fades."
"Diamond…" she repeated, letting the word linger on her tongue as if tasting it for the first time. "So this… diamond never breaks, never dulls, never changes?"
"Exactly," I said with a small smirk. "It doesn't belong here, but maybe it should."
A silence hung between us—thick, heavy, and charged. The lights around us flickered, reflecting faintly in her emerald eyes.
Finally, she crossed her arms. "You bring a relic of an unknown world… and expect me to just publish it?"
"Not expect," I replied. "I'm giving you the chance to be the first."
Her lips curved faintly, almost a smirk. "You're either a fool or a visionary, merchant. But I'll admit… that stone of yours doesn't seem like it will falter anytime soon."
"Then why not test it?" I said said
Her brows arched, a spark of challenge in those emerald eyes.
"Oh? Confident, aren't we?" she said, stepping closer. The faint hum of mana stirred in the air as she reached for the diamond. "Then let's see what your little trinket is really made of."
I placed the gem on a nearby stone table — its surface scorched and cracked from past experiments. The diamond gleamed unnaturally, reflecting every flicker of light as though mocking the dim glow of the underground lanterns.
She extended her hand, and a swirl of green mana gathered at her fingertips. The air vibrated faintly as she muttered a chant under her breath — soft, precise, and dangerous.
"Try not to blink," she said.
A narrow beam of condensed magic shot from her hand, hitting the gem dead center. The table beneath it cracked instantly from the impact — but the diamond didn't even flinch. Not a scratch. Not a single mark.
The publisher froze, her confident smirk faltering. "...Impossible," she whispered. "Even pure crystalized mana stones fracture under this level of force."
I folded my arms. "Told you it doesn't belong here."
She clenched her fist, releasing another surge — this time the earth around the gem split, dirt and stone scattering outward like shards of glass. And still, the diamond sat there, catching her mana like it was light rain.
Her expression hardened — part awe, part disbelief. "No resonance, no absorption, no reaction… It's not of mana, not of magic, not even of life."
"Exactly," I said, grinning beneath the mask. "It's not alive. It's perfect."
For a long moment, she stared at it in silence — then finally exhaled. "If this is real, merchant… you might have just brought me something that could rewrite alchemy itself."
"Then I take it you're interested?"
Her lips curved into a sly smile. "Interested? No. Obsessed."