Nev reached the lower quarter just as the city's noise grew thin. The streets narrowed into crooked paths where sunlight struggled to enter, and every corner felt like it remembered old secrets. He kept his hood low and walked with quiet steps. The black market was not a place where people survived by luck. They survived by knowing when to look, when to listen, and when to pretend they had seen nothing at all.
The entrance hid behind abandoned warehouses. A green lantern hung from a rusty chain, glowing faintly. A guard with a scar running across his jaw stood beside it with the expression of a man who had long forgotten boredom.
"Name," he asked.
"Ren," Nev answered without hesitation.
The guard nodded and moved aside. No verification. No suspicion. In this place, truth mattered far less than confidence.
The inside of the black market opened like a shadowed maze. Torches burned with blue flames that cast sharp shapes on the stone walls. Stalls were arranged in irregular rows, each run by people who trusted nothing but coin. Some sold weapons, some potions, others strange items preserved in jars. Buyers spoke in hurried whispers or tried to hide desperation behind forced smiles. Nev blended into the crowd and let his senses sharpen.
The threads around him brightened softly, showing small vibrations along the walls, the torches, and occasionally around people who carried tools infused with faint energy. He did not stare at them directly; he let them drift at the edge of his vision, appearing only when he needed them.
A stall selling monster parts caught his attention. Glass jars held claws and fangs, and an old man with a crooked back cleaned a tusk with a rag.
"Looking for something specific?" the man asked.
"A monster core," Nev replied.
The man grunted. "Low rank?"
"Yes."
"Everyone starts with low rank. Safe enough. Not very exciting."
He reached under the table and placed a small crystal on the cloth. The threads around it pulsed steadily, warm and controlled. A reliable core. Nev paid nine silver and pocketed it.
Next, he searched for recovery potions. The Blood-Recovery Elixir was expensive, but training without it would slow his progress. A potion stall smelled like herbs and metal. The vendor, a woman with sharp eyes, observed every hand that moved too close.
"I need something for healing," Nev said.
She picked up a small vial filled with a deep red liquid. "Blood-Recovery Elixir. Helps wounds heal faster. Not cheap."
"How much?"
"Fifteen silver."
Nev paid without complaint. Training demanded the best he could acquire.
He continued forward, searching for information about the cult. The threads guided him subtly until they brightened at a weapon stall that looked like forgotten scrap. Swords and daggers lay scattered across a faded cloth. The vendor barely looked awake, rubbing his eyes with a dirty sleeve.
Nev almost walked past, but something vibrated sharply in his senses.
A sword.
It did not glow or shine. It simply hummed with the rhythm of discipline. Threads ran through it with patterns carved by battle, not decoration. Someone skilled had used this weapon for many years.
Nev reached toward it, but a hand slapped the table.
"That is ours," a man said.
Nev looked up to see three cloaked figures. Their voices were too loud, and their movements too stiff. Their gloves hid faint stitched markings that Nev recognized immediately. The same shape he had seen in the underground room of another world.
Cult members.Again.
The vendor nodded nervously. "They already paid. I am wrapping it."
Nev lifted the sword anyway. The vendor paled. The cult members bristled.
Nev swung the blade lightly. The air split cleanly. "Strange. The balance feels off."
The cult members blinked. "Off?"
"Yes," Nev said calmly. "Feels cracked near the hilt."
There was no crack. But they leaned closer, squinting like men trying to see stars in daylight.
"I think I notice it," one muttered.
"Maybe the blade is damaged."
Nev lowered his voice as if sharing a valuable secret. "If you carry this sword, experienced Holders will laugh at you."
The men stiffened. Their pride was large, and their intelligence was small.
"We cannot be mocked," one whispered.
Nev nodded with a sad, understanding expression. "I agree. Which is why I will take it. I like repairing damaged blades."
The vendor nearly dropped a dagger. "Ren, you are ruining my stall."
The cult members pushed the sword toward Nev with relief. "Take it. Let him face embarrassment instead."
Nev placed five silver on the table and walked away with his new sword. The vendor stared at the money as if he had been robbed and paid at the same time.
Nev allowed himself a quiet moment of satisfaction. A good sword, full of history and clean energy. A weapon he could rely on.
But peace in the black market was never more than a breath long.
A shout echoed behind him.
"You what?"
Nev slowed. Not enough to draw suspicion. Just enough to listen.
The three cult men stood frozen while a taller man approached them. He was dressed in darker, cleaner clothing and carried himself with a confidence that tightened the air around him. His gaze cut through the crowd like a blade.
Ryan.Not a simple member.An executive of the cult-guild.
One of the leaders of the group Nev vowed to destroy someday.
The three men bowed quickly. "Sir Ryan, someone tricked us—"
Ryan raised one hand. They fell silent immediately.
"Explain," he said.
The explanation was messy, full of stutters and poor excuses. Ryan listened without blinking, and the more he heard, the colder his eyes became.
"So," Ryan said finally, "a stranger told you the sword was cracked, and all three of you handed it to him like frightened children."
The men trembled.
Ryan stared at them, then laughed softly. It was not humor. It was contempt. "You let a nobody walk in and fool you. Three of you. One of him."
"Sir, we—"
"Silence."
He flicked one man on the forehead. The man stumbled back as if struck by a hammer. "You idiot. That sword was blessed with master technique. The guild wanted it for a reason. And you let it vanish."
He looked around the market once more.
"Whoever scammed me is bold," Ryan said. "Bold people can be found. Bold people make mistakes." He stepped back. "Find him. Bring me his name."
The cult members scattered in panic.
Nev walked calmly toward the exit. His heartbeat stayed steady. He had expected consequences. The cult was not a loose threat; it stretched across worlds, and here it remained strong.
He stepped back into the daylight and made his way home.
The mansion felt warm. Safe. Quiet. But he knew safety was temporary.
He locked his door and placed everything on the table. The monster core glowed softly through cloth. The elixir waited in its vial. The sword lay across his lap as he sat on the floor.
Nev inhaled deeply.
Training began now.
He held the monster core with both hands. He guided the energy slowly into his chest. Threads responded, pulling the warmth into his veins. His muscles tightened. His senses sharpened. His heartbeat turned steady, as if preparing for war.
Next he drank the Blood-Recovery Elixir. The liquid burned through him, repairing old strain from his earlier lessons with Rian. His body felt lighter afterward, not fragile like before.
He took the sword and practiced basic swings. At first slow. Then faster. The blade's rhythm whispered faint memories of the previous owner. Footwork patterns. Grip angles. Timing. Nev felt each echo and adjusted his stance gradually. He was learning something real, something useful, something that belonged to him alone.
Hours passed. Sweat soaked his shirt. His breaths came harder. But his body felt stronger, more controlled.
Eventually he stopped and wiped his forehead.
He sat quietly with the sword resting across his knees.
The world was silent.
Then the threads in the air quivered.
Someone was outside.
Not a servant. Not a passerby. Someone who walked with trained precision. Someone who paused by the mansion gate as if they already knew whom they sought.
Nev slowly tightened his grip on the sword.
Ryan had spoken earlier.
Bold people can be found.
Perhaps someone was already searching.
Nev listened to the faint vibration in the distance and whispered to himself, "Not yet. Not today."
But deep inside, he knew this would not be the last time someone came looking.