David walked leisurely through the winding alleys of the third-level district, his steps light and unhurried despite the dual purposes burning in his mind.
The morning haze had lifted somewhat, allowing harsh sunlight to beat down on the cracked pavement, turning the air thick and stifling. Vendors shouted their wares from makeshift stalls—dented cookware, threadbare clothing, skewers of questionable beast meat sizzling over charcoal braziers.
The smells assaulted him: acrid smoke, unwashed bodies, the faint metallic tang of blood from a nearby butcher's block. People bustled around, their faces etched with the weary wariness of those who knew survival was a daily gamble.
His transformed appearance drew more attention than he anticipated. Whispers trailed him like shadows.
Women paused in their chores, eyes lingering on his taller, refined frame—the coiled muscles under jade-like skin, the sharp dark-gray gaze framed by platinum blonde hair that fell in effortless waves.
A few murmured appreciatively, a rare flicker of interest in this grim world. Men glanced warily, sensing the subtle shift in his presence: no longer the overlooked slum boy, but someone who carried himself with quiet, dangerous confidence.
But in the third level, curiosity was fleeting. Survival demanded inward focus. Strangers were threats or opportunities—nothing more. Eyes flicked, assessed, then moved on.
David's thoughts churned.
The graveyard test had succeeded beyond expectation—Death Energy Consumption was real, efficient, and discreet.
No corruption, just pure refinement from lingering essences. His body hummed with vitality, fully healed and stronger.
But the ability's dark nature weighed on him. Anna would see it as a forbidden path, worry he was sliding into violence-fueled cultivation. He'd keep it secret, master it alone, use it to protect her without adding to her burdens.
The black market entrance appeared ahead—a nondescript archway hidden between two crumbling buildings, flanked by shadows that seemed deeper than they should.
Enforcers lurked there, their presence a silent warning. The market itself delved underground—a labyrinth of tunnels and chambers where laws bent and deals were sealed in whispers. Entry demanded a "toll"—coin for the compliant, pain for the defiant.
David approached calmly.
A burly man stepped forward, blocking the path. Massive and scarred, muscles bulging under a patched vest, a heavy axe slung over one shoulder. His small, piggy eyes scrutinized David head to toe—lingering on the refined features, the confident stance.
"New here?" the man grunted, voice rough as gravel. "Toll's fifty coins. Pay up, pretty boy, or piss off."
David stared back, unflinching. Fifty coins was extortion—enough for days of food. He had none to waste, and paying would mark him weak, an easy target for future shakedowns.
"I'm in a good mood," David said evenly, his voice carrying a quiet edge. "Step aside."
The man's face split into a yellow-toothed grin, amusement turning to malice.
"Big mouth on a slum rat. Let's teach you manners."
Without warning, he lashed out—a powerful kick aimed at David's gut, fast and heavy enough to crumple most men.
Time slowed.
David's reflexes—sharpened by Qi Refining and the physique—flared to life. He dodged fluidly, body twisting aside as if the kick cut through thick syrup. The boot whistled past, stirring only air.
In the same motion, David channeled energy into his fist—a surge of refined qi bolstered by the physique's vitality. His punch rocketed forward, slamming into the man's gut with pinpoint force.
The impact echoed like a hammer on anvil.
The burly guard's eyes bulged. Air exploded from his lungs in a guttural gag. He doubled over, knees buckling, dropping to the ground as he clutched his stomach, wheezing desperately.
David didn't pause. He stepped past the fallen enforcer, entering the archway without a backward glance. The other guards—two lean figures in the shadows—watched silently, hands on weapons but making no move. In the black market, strength commanded respect. The toll was waived.
But David missed the figure in the crowd: a guard from William's patrol, lingering at a nearby stall pretending to browse herbs. The man's eyes widened in shock as he witnessed the exchange.
Big Toro—the burly enforcer—was no mortal thug. He was a Qi Refining cultivator, mid-stages, known for bullying newcomers with his enhanced strength. In the guard's knowledge, David Wilson was a mortal failure—stuck outside cultivation for years, mocked as trash who couldn't breakthrough.
Yet here he was, dodging a cultivator's strike like it was child's play and felling Toro with one punch.
Recognition hit. The guard's face paled. He melted into the crowd, rushing toward the watch post, heart pounding.
"Captain William's gonna want to hear this…"
David descended the dim stairs into the black market, the air cooling and thickening with scents of incense, herbs, and forged metal. The underground bazaar unfolded—a world apart from the surface.
Tunnels branched into chambers lit by glowing array stones embedded in walls. Stalls were draped in dark cloth for privacy, merchants whispering deals to hooded figures. Silence dominated; raised voices invited blades.
The entrance halls showcased luxury—high-end pills in ornate jade bottles promising breakthroughs, armor forged from Tier Three beast parts gleaming with inscribed arrays, weapons humming with embedded energy. Prices were astronomical: thousands of coins, far beyond third-level reach.
David walked through briskly, ignoring appraising glances from robed merchants and veiled cultivators who sensed his subtle aura but dismissed him as unremarkable.
Deeper in, the market shifted to the affordable—rickety tables laden with practical wares. Pills in crude vials for minor healing or stamina, armor patched from multiple low-tier beasts, weapons of basic Grade 1 quality. Specifications scratched on wooden plaques: durability ratings, energy conduction levels, minor enhancements like sharpness or weight reduction.
David headed straight for the weapon section, eyes scanning systematically. Short swords, daggers, axes—but he sought a long blade, balanced for reach and power in his new hands.
Options narrowed quickly:
A straight longsword forged from Tier Two iron infused with beast essence—good conduction, basic sharpness array. Price: 1250 coins.
A curved saber with reinforced spine—flexible for slashing, minor durability rune. 1180 coins.
A simple but sturdy broadsword—low-tier array for weight balance. 1090 coins.
All hovered above 1000 coins, some pushing 1300.
David's stomach tightened. Tier One Stage 9 beast materials averaged 200 coins per full body—cores around 100, hides/bones/claws splitting the rest. A single hunt might yield one or two beasts if lucky, netting 400-500 coins after taxes and risks. To afford even the cheapest Grade 1 blade meant weeks of dangerous outings, camping in the wilderness, facing tides that could wipe them out.
He released a long sigh, muttering under his breath.
"Looks like we'll have to spend an entire week or two outside the walls to afford even one of these, huh."
Noon approached—the shift in light through ventilation shafts told him. He glanced at a promising longsword one last time—plain hilt, sturdy blade, perfect for a starting cultivator—then turned away reluctantly.
Time to head home. Report to Anna. Plan grueling hunts.
As he ascended the stairs and emerged into the alleys—Big Toro gone, likely dragged off by his fellows—David felt watchful eyes again. He dismissed it as market paranoia.
Unseen, William's guard burst into the watch post, breathless and wide-eyed.
"Captain! That slum rat—David Wilson! He's… he's a cultivator now! Took down Big Toro at the market entrance—one punch! Toro's Qi Refining mid-stages, and the kid dodged like a ghost!"
William, lounging at his desk, straightened slowly. His eyes narrowed, a cruel smile creeping across his face.
"The failure… broke through? And humiliated one of Toro's crew?"
The guard nodded frantically. "Yes, sir! Mortal trash one day, cultivator the next. Something's off."
William's fingers drummed the desk, mind racing. Anna's son—weak, mouthy, powerless. Now this?
"Interesting," he murmured, smile widening. "Very interesting. Gather the boys. It's time we paid a visit to that rundown shack. See what other surprises the little rat has."
David walked home, oblivious for now.
=============
If you enjoy this story, please support it with Power Stones, comments, and reviews.
Your support keeps me motivated to release more chapters. Thank you!