The unassuming shop wasn't far, but Raviel paused when he noticed another storefront first. Unlike the potion stalls with their bright colors, this one displayed equipment behind thick glass panes—daggers, light armor, and trinkets labeled with neat digital tags. A glowing sign above the door read:
D → C-Rank Equipment. Reliable. Affordable. Guaranteed.
Raviel exhaled slowly. Before the item, I'll need to cover myself. A white-haired, purple-eyed stranger walking around Velmont isn't exactly subtle.
He pushed the door open, a soft chime ringing above his head.
The inside was neat and utilitarian. Rows of gear lined the walls, most of it polished but well-used. Behind the counter stood a man in his late thirties, sleeves rolled up, a faint scar running across his jawline. He looked up from adjusting a wrist-guard and gave Raviel a polite nod.
"Afternoon. What're you looking for, kid?" the man asked casually, voice steady—like someone used to Awakened coming and going all day.
Raviel tugged at the edge of his hood, keeping his face shadowed. "A mask," he said quietly. "Full head coverage."
The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow but didn't question it. Instead, he gestured toward a rack near the counter and began pulling options down. "Got a few varieties. Some basic cloth ones—cheap, but won't hold up in a fight. Or if you've got the coin, C-grade pieces with enchantments. Here."
One by one, he set them down. A steel-gray mask with reinforced lining. A dark-blue leather piece with built-in filters. And finally—something that caught Raviel's eyes immediately.
A sleek, matte-black mask. Smooth design, no unnecessary detail. Its surface shimmered faintly with an enchantment rune.
"This one's C+ grade," the shopkeeper said, tapping it lightly. "Voice modulation included. Covers the entire head and hair. Expensive, but if you're planning to stay unnoticed, it's worth every zen."
Raviel didn't even hesitate. "This one."
The man gave a short whistle. "Eight thousand zen. Not cheap for a kid your age."
"I'll take it," Raviel said firmly, already raising his wrist.
The man shrugged, clearly not interested in pushing. "Your money, your choice."
Raviel tapped his Arctic against the shop's terminal. A soft chime confirmed the transaction, and the digits on his balance dropped: 149,985 → 141,985zen.
The shopkeeper slid the mask across the counter. "Take care of it. You look like you've got places to be."
Raviel adjusted the mask in his hands, feeling the faint hum of the enchantments. The smooth surface, the way it fit perfectly against his fingers—this was more than enough to conceal him.
With a small nod of thanks, he pulled his hood tighter and left the shop.
The sun had shifted slightly in the sky, casting long shadows across Hashphere's bustling streets. Potion vendors called out louder, guild recruiters pestered passersby, and the air buzzed with life. But Raviel ignored it all.
The mask now tucked safely under his arm, he turned his steps back toward his true destination—the quiet, overlooked shop waiting for him at the end of the street.
This time, there would be no detours.
Raviel adjusted the weight of the mask under his arm as he wove through the crowded streets of Hashphere. The air was filled with noise—hawkers, laughter, the faint hiss of steam vents as transport wagons rumbled past—but his mind was deathly quiet, turning inward, calculating.
This isn't just a purchase. It's an investment. A gamble.
The shop he was heading toward wasn't run by an ordinary merchant. No, the man he was about to meet was far more complicated—dangerous in one sense, vulnerable in another.
In the novel, this figure had been a hidden cornerstone of the protagonist's rise. Outwardly, he looked like nothing more than a shady dealer scraping profit in the cracks of society. But in truth, he was one of the Black Market's most deeply connected brokers. A man who could get his hands on anything—potions, weapons, information, artifacts—that official channels kept out of reach.
And yet, for all his connections, he was also a father.
Raviel's brows furrowed under the hood as the memory from the novel sharpened. The man's accounts—every single one—had been frozen when the Black Market purged its ranks of traitors and association moles. Even his covert holdings, the ones nobody should have known about, were locked. For weeks he struggled, his carefully maintained networks reduced to dust. And in those weeks, his daughter…
Raviel clenched his jaw.
She wasn't even his blood. She'd been a girl he found on a mission gone wrong, an innocent casualty he should've left behind. But he hadn't. He'd carried her back, raised her as his own, protected her with the ferocity of a man who'd sworn he'd never be a father.
By the time the protagonist crossed his path, her condition had worsened. The illness ate away at her slowly, robbing her hearing first, then threatening her life. The man had been desperate, cornered, nearly broken—until the protagonist and his companions stepped in. They had paid for her treatment, not asking for repayment, not bargaining for favors. Simply because it was the right thing to do.
And in return, the man had thrown open every door he had, every connection, every shadowed corridor of the black market. For them, he had become indispensable.
Raviel's steps slowed as he considered the weight of it. That's the point I'm about to catch him at. Before the protagonist. Before anyone else. When desperation hasn't broken him completely, but it's close. When he still has enough fight left to make deals.
He drew a deep breath, steadying himself.
This was an opportunity—one he couldn't afford to waste. But it wasn't without risk.
If I overplay my hand, he'll see me as another leech trying to use him. If I say too little, he won't trust me at all. If word gets out that I even met with him, association dogs will sniff my trail. And if I miscalculate entirely… he could sell me out just to buy a few more days of safety.
Raviel's violet eyes narrowed, sharp as glass. But if I succeed… I gain access to the same connections that carried the protagonist forward. The same pipeline of rare items, forbidden knowledge, and protection. Before anyone else touches it.
He tugged the hood lower over his face. His heart wasn't pounding; it was steady. This wasn't fear—it was cold anticipation.
Every step closer to that quiet, unassuming shop wasn't just distance closed. It was the slow tightening of a noose around his own neck. But he was willing to test its strength.
Because Raviel wasn't aiming to survive this world as an extra.
He was aiming to outmaneuver the very destiny who had once owned his path.
And to do that, he had to start here—
with a desperate father,
a dying girl,
and a gamble that could shape his entire future.