The Black Market of Sector 4, affectionately known as "The Gutter," didn't have an entrance. It had a stain. You simply walked down the darkest alleyway in the slums until the smell of sewage was replaced by the smell of ozone, dried blood, and exotic spices.
Elian pulled his hood tight. The Gutter was a no-pvp zone—in theory. In practice, if you looked weak and carried something shiny, you'd get stabbed in the kidneys, and the guards would claim they were on a coffee break.
The alley opened up into a subterranean cavern, illuminated by illegally tapped mana-lines that buzzed overhead in erratic purple webs. Stalls were jammed into every crevice of the rock walls.
"Wyvern scales! Fresh!"
"Potions! 50% chance of no side effects!"
"Slaves! Combat-ready!"
Elian kept his head down, moving with the flow of the crowd. He wasn't here to browse. He had a destination.
He stopped in front of a shop carved directly into a stalagmite. The sign above the door was a rotting piece of wood that read: Silas's Emporium of Curious Goods.
Elian pushed the heavy bead curtain aside and stepped in.
The shop smelled of old paper and rust. Shelves were piled high with junk—dented helmets, broken wands, and stacks of unidentified monster parts. behind the counter sat Silas, a man who looked like he had been assembled from leftover spare parts. He had a mechanical eye that whirred loudly and a skin condition that made him look like peeling parchment.
"We're closed," Silas grunted, not looking up from a magazine featuring a scantily clad elf.
"I have goods, Silas," Elian said, leaning against the counter. "Top shelf."
Silas's mechanical eye zipped up, focusing on Elian. He sneered. "Vance. The Vulture. What did you find this time? A rat with two tails? I'll give you five credits."
Elian didn't take the bait. He reached into his pack and placed the venom sac on the counter. The blue organ pulsed softly in the dim light.
Silas froze. He leaned in, his organic eye widening. "A Corpse-Stalker sac? Intact?"
"Freshly harvested," Elian said calmly. "No punctures. The membrane is perfect."
Silas licked his lips. "It's... decent. I'll give you eighty credits."
Eighty credits. That was enough for food for a month. The old Elian would have snatched the money and run.
But the Ghost in his head scoffed.
Insulting. The market rate is 300. But wait... access Market Trends: Year 1, Month 4.
The headache spiked, a sharp needle behind Elian's eyes. He gritted his teeth, riding the wave of pain as the information downloaded.
Fact: The 'Iron Blood' Guild is attempting a raid on the Spider Queen tomorrow. They are stockpiling Antidotes. Supply is zero. Demand is infinite.
Elian leaned forward, resting his elbows on the glass. "Eighty? That's funny, Silas. Because I heard the 'Iron Blood' Guild is buying these up. Something about a raid tomorrow?"
Silas stiffened. The whirring of his eye stopped.
"And," Elian continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I heard their suppliers ran dry this morning. If I take this to the Guild Hall right now, I bet the Vice-Captain would pay... what? Six hundred?"
Silas narrowed his eyes. "You're bluffing. You're a gutter-rat. You don't know Guild politics."
"Try me." Elian reached for the sac.
"Wait!" Silas slammed a hand down on the counter. He looked at the door, then back at Elian. The sweat on his forehead confirmed the memory was accurate. "Fine. Four hundred. That's my final offer. I have to make a profit too, you leech."
Elian smiled. "Four-fifty. And you throw in that skill book using up space in the bargain bin."
Silas blinked. "The bargain bin? It's full of F-rank trash."
"Then you won't miss one."
Silas grumbled, opening his register. He counted out a stack of plastic credit chips. "Done. Take the money and get out before I change my mind."
[Transaction Complete.]
[+450 Credits.]
Elian pocketed the chips. He felt a thrill of power. He hadn't just sold an item; he had won an engagement.
He walked over to the "Bargain Bin"—a literal wooden crate filled with dusty, water-damaged books. These were skill books that failed to sell. Useless utility spells, weak cantrips, or skills with ridiculous mana costs.
Elian rifled through them.
Cooking Mastery.
Create Water (1 Cup).
Sense North.
"Garbage," Elian muttered. "Garbage. Garbage."
Stop.
Kaelen's voice arrested his hand. Elian froze, his fingers hovering over a thin, grey book. The cover was blank, save for a faded symbol of a spiderweb.
[Skill Book: Mana Thread]
[Rank: F]
[Description: Allows the user to create a thin thread of mana. The thread has low tensile strength and disappears after 10 seconds. Usage: Sewing, minor repairs.]
"Sewing?" Elian whispered. "You want me to take up knitting, Hero?"
Memory Fragment Unlocking...
Subject: The 'Weaver' Class.
Fact: Mana Thread is the base skill for the Puppet Master tree. It is not weak; it is misunderstood. The thread has zero mass. It can be attached to objects. It transmits vibration.
Technique #44: The Tripwire.
Technique #89: The Remote Trigger.
Elian hesitated, then grabbed the book. To the world, this was a skill for fixing socks. To a man with the creativity of a scavenger and the tactical database of a hero, it was a tool.
He walked back to the counter and slapped the book down. "I'll take this one."
Silas snorted. "Mana Thread? Suit yourself. Don't come crying when you get killed by a goblin because you tried to stitch it to death."
Elian learned the skill instantly. The book dissolved into particles of light that rushed into his chest.
[Skill Learned: Mana Thread (Level 1)]
[Cost: 5 Mana per meter.]
"One more thing," Elian said, looking at the wall of weapons behind Silas.
"You have credits now," Silas said, his greedy smile returning. "Interested in a Steel Longsword? Or perhaps a Fire-Enchanted Mace?"
"No," Elian said. "I want that rusted shortsword in the corner. The one with the black mold on the handle."
Silas looked confused. He turned and saw the weapon Elian was pointing at. It was a piece of junk, likely looted from a skeleton in the sewers. "That? That's not even sharpened. It's cursed, Vance. Everyone who buys it gets sick."
"How much?"
"Fifty credits. No refunds."
"Deal."
Elian paid. Silas handed him the weapon carefully, using a rag to avoid touching the handle.
Elian held it. It was heavy, unbalanced, and the blade was pitted with rust.
[Identified: Rot-Iron Blade]
[Grade: Common (Cursed)]
[Effect: Inflicts 'Tetanus' on hit. Reduces healing received by 50%.]
[Side Effect: User slowly loses stamina while holding it.]
Most people saw the stamina drain and threw it away. Kaelen saw the "Healing Reduction."
Monsters in the "Beginner's Tomb" had high regeneration. Specifically, the boss. This trash weapon was a hard counter to a boss Elian hadn't even met yet.
"Pleasure doing business, Silas."
Elian turned to leave.
"Hey, Vance," Silas called out.
Elian paused at the door.
"Watch your back," the merchant said, his voice unusually serious. "People saw you come in here with loot. People saw you leave with credits. The Gutter is hungry tonight."
Elian nodded once and stepped out into the dark.
The alleyway seemed longer on the way out. The shadows stretched, twisting in the flickering light of the mana-lamps.
Elian walked with a steady pace, but his senses were dialed to eleven.
Hostile detected, the memory warned. Six o'clock. Twenty meters back. Stealth skill active.
Elian didn't turn around. "Who is it?"
Analysis based on footfall cadence: Human male. Heavy build. Limp in right leg. Likely Level 4 or 5.
Elian's heart rate spiked. Level 5 was more than double his level. A fair fight was impossible.
"So we don't fight fair," Elian whispered.
He turned a corner, ducking into a narrow side passage that led to the ventilation shafts. It was a dead end, cluttered with piles of wet cardboard and broken crates.
Elian stopped. He turned around to face the empty alley entrance.
"You can come out," Elian called out, his voice trembling slightly. He let the tremble happen. It made him sound weak. "I don't have any money left!"
A figure shimmered into existence at the mouth of the alley. It was a man wearing a leather duster and a mask made of a skull. A rogue from the Viper Gang.
"You have gear," the rogue rasped, drawing two jagged daggers. "And you have a mouth that got my cousin Griggs in trouble."
"Griggs sent you?" Elian backed up until his back hit the wall. "Look, it was a misunderstanding!"
"The Vipers don't like rats who talk," the rogue stepped forward. "Level 2. Pathetic. Drop the sword and I'll make it quick."
The rogue lunged. He was fast—much faster than the Corpse-Stalker.
Elian raised his hand.
Now.
He didn't swing his sword. He cast Mana Thread.
A nearly invisible line of blue energy shot from his fingertips, not at the rogue, but past him. It attached to a heavy stack of metal pipes leaning against the wall above the alley entrance.
The rogue sneered, closing the distance. "Missed."
Elian yanked his hand back.
The Mana Thread tightened. The stack of pipes, disturbed by the sudden force, lost their balance.
Clang-CLATTER-BOOM.
The avalanche of metal rained down directly on the rogue's head.
It wasn't a skill attack. It wasn't a combat maneuver. It was physics.
The rogue didn't even have time to look up. A heavy iron pipe slammed into his shoulder with a sickening crunch, sending him sprawling into the mud. Another pipe clipped his head, shattering his concentration and his stealth.
"GAAH!" The rogue screamed, thrashing under the debris.
Elian didn't wait to see if he was dead. He didn't monologue.
He sprinted.
He vaulted over the rogue's writhing body, his boots splashing in the puddle of blood and rainwater. As he passed, he saw the rogue trying to stand, dazed and concussed.
Elian swung the Rot-Iron Blade. A clumsy, desperate swing.
The rusty blade slashed across the rogue's exposed calf.
[Effect Applied: Tetanus]
[Agility Reduced.]
The rogue screamed again, his leg seizing up.
Elian didn't look back. He ran until his lungs burned, weaving through the labyrinth of the Undercity until he reached the public crowds of the main street.
He collapsed onto a bench near a noodle stall, gasping for air. People walked by, ignoring the panting scavenger.
[Combat Encounter Survived.]
[Experience Gained: Low.]
Elian looked at his trembling hands. He had just outplayed a Level 5 rogue using a sewing skill and a pile of junk.
A slow smile spread across his face. It wasn't the cynical smile of a Vulture anymore. It was the hungry smile of a player who had just realized the game was broken, and he was the only one holding the manual.
He checked his inventory.
Venom Sac: Sold.
Credits: 400 remaining.
Weapon: Rot-Iron Blade.
Skill: Mana Thread.
"Okay, Kaelen," Elian thought, wiping the sweat from his brow. "We survived the shopping trip. Now... where is this dungeon?"
Sector 1. beneath the Plaza of Heroes. The entrance is hidden behind a hologram of yourself.
Elian paused. "A hologram of me?"
No. A hologram of Kaelen Lightbringer. The irony is intentional.
Elian laughed. Of course it was.
"Tomorrow," he whispered. "Tomorrow we raid the tomb.