Derimiel, Ahrie, and a handful of guards slipped on cloaks and masks before stepping through the black market’s gate. Their own men—already disguised as gatekeepers—gave them a quick nod.
Derimiel leaned close, voice low.
"Secure an escape route."
"Got it," one of them answered without hesitation.
They moved deeper inside.
The black market was buzzing—rows of makeshift stalls crammed with things you’d never find in a legal shop. The air stank of sweat, cheap wine, and iron. People haggled under their breath, others whispered, some shouted over prices.
"This here," a vendor rasped, holding up a vial of greenish liquid, "is lethal poison, distilled from the Doom Shroom. It makes a man choke on his own lungs before death."
A masked noble lingered, staring at the vial. His hand twitched, but after a moment he scoffed and walked away.
A few stalls down, another seller waved a gleaming knife.
"Behold! A blade once used by the greatest chef in the Greenveil kingdom."
The buyer examined it, running his thumb along the edge.
"Fifteen thousand bronze coins," the seller said proudly.
The buyer narrowed his eyes. "This is fake."
"What?! Fake?!" the seller snapped, slamming the table.
Arguments broke out. Another stall had two men shoving each other over a bloodstained robe. Somewhere behind them, a caged beast snarled.
Chaos simmering at every stall.
Derimiel and the others threaded through the crowd, scanning every stall.
A small, muscular girl with chains at her neck, arms full of stuff—ran into Derimiel. Stuff flew everywhere—trinkets, cloth, jars.
She freezes. "Sorry! I’m so—" the kid stammered, scrambling to scoop everything up.
Derimiel crouches, hands reaching to help. "You okay, kid—"
"This defect!" a masked man sneered.
The man booted the kid hard. She flies back. Goods scatter again.
Ahrie whistles low, amused.
Derimiel’s face goes tight. He rises slowly, calm on the surface. His hand hovers where he could strike.
The man puffs up, smug. "You see—this toy ain’t trained." He sneers, shoves a coin toward Derimiel. "Compensation. Don’t take it to heart."
Derimiel forces a smile, voice soft. "It’s fine, brother. You punished it."
The masked man laughs. "Good man. If we ever cross paths again, I’m buying you dinner." He drags the girl off like garbage.
Derimiel watched them go. His jaw clenched. Read complete versıon only at 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡⁂𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢⁂𝘯𝘦𝘵
Ahrie gives him a thumbs up, grinning. "Nice restraint, man. Way to hold out."
Derimiel breathes out, steady. "I was about to hit him." He meets Ahrie’s eyes. "But our people come first."
Ahrie’s grin wavers, then nods.
The market keeps moving—ugly, loud, and hungry. Derimiel’s stare follows the masked man until he disappears into the crowd.
"Well then... let’s start the chaos," Derimiel muttered.
They split up, each slipping into the current of the crowd.
Ahrie drifted off on his own, eyes darting from stall to stall. Knives, poisons, cages—everything caught his attention.
His grin faded the more he turned corners."Shit... where the hell am I?" he muttered, scratching his head.
The stalls thinned. Lights dimmed. He ended up in some crooked back alley.
A bald man leaned against the wall, half-hidden in the shadows. "Pssst... hey."
Ahrie squinted. "...Sup?"
"You look like you’re searching for something," the bald man said, voice greasy. "A creature, maybe? We’ve got stock you won’t find out there at a very good price."
Ahrie tilted his head, grin tugging at his lips. Curiosity always won with him.
"...Yeah? What you got?"
The bald man tilted his chin deeper into the alley. "Follow me. You’ll see."
And, of course, Ahrie followed.
After a few minutes of walking, Ahrie dragged his feet, yawning.
"Oi. Are we there yet?"
"We’re almost there, sir... kekeke..." the bald man croaked.
Finally, they stopped. A sorry excuse for a hideout: one crooked tent, a campfire burning too bright, and three more bald men huddled around the flames.
"Boss, I brought a nobleman, just like you asked," the first bald man said proudly.
Ahrie pouted, crossing his arms. "...Nobleman? The fuck you talking about?"
"HA-HA-HA-HAUUUK—cough—cough! Great work..." wheezed the bald man who looked like their boss.
"Hey, young man..." the boss wheezed, pointing a crooked finger.
"Give us all your money."
The four bald men grinned in unison.
Ahrie dragged a hand down his face, then suddenly cackled like a villain.
The four baldies froze, tilting their heads in perfect sync.
"Pardon?" they echoed.
Ahrie raised his brows. "Wait, hold up. Is this your main job? You guys are scarily professional at this."
Their chests puffed up with pride.
"Yes! This is what we do full time," one boasted.
"We already robbed a few victims today," another bragged.
"Waoooow..." Ahrie clapped slowly, eyes gleaming. "So that means you guys have money."
"Well... yeah..." one of them admitted.
"Hand it over." Ahrie’s grin widened.
"Eh?!" all four of them gasped at once.
Meanwhile, outside the black market...
Amariel handed Daiki a couple of small seeds.
"What’s this?" Daiki asked.
"This smooth, shiny one—throw it on the ground, it makes smoke. Good for cover," Amariel explained.
"And this rough one? Toss it and boom—it explodes."
Daiki smirked as he pocketed them. "Glad you didn’t give these to Ahrie. That lunatic would use them just for fun."
Amariel giggled. "Exactly."
A guard tapped their shoulders. "It’s time."
Daiki and Amariel exchanged a nod, then moved in.
"Achuuu!" Ahrie sneezed. He rubbed his nose. "Who’s talking behind my back...? Was it you, Baldy Number Three?"
"N-no, sir!" the man whimpered.
All four bald men knelt in a row, hands raised high, their faces covered in bruises.
Ahrie sat cross-legged in front of them, happily counting the coins he’d shaken out of them.
"Eaaasyyy money," he muttered. "Man... should I do this more often?"
The three bald lackeys glared at the fourth—the idiot who brought this lunatic to their camp. In their heads: Why the hell would you drag him here...?
A chain of explosions ripped through the black market. The ground shook, flames and smoke curling into the air.
Ahrie’s eyes lit up like a child seeing fireworks.
"Hehehe... let’s go, Goons! Time for some fun!" He sprinted straight toward the chaos.
The four bald men exchanged one long, miserable look... then sighed and chased after him.
Inside, Derimiel and his men clashed with the black market guards.
Meanwhile, Daiki, Amariel, and the others broke off, searching desperately for the captured Floriae.
Ahrie stormed into the battlefield with the 4 baldies trailing behind.
He spotted a lone enemy guard tangled in the chaos.
Without hesitation, Ahrie grabbed him by the back and dragged him across the dirt.
He tossed the guard right at the baldies’ feet.
"The hell—?!" the guard gasped.
Ahrie pounced, pinning him down, fists slamming.
The baldies froze. They looked at the struggling guard... then at each other.
Ahrie turned his wild eyes on them, still grinning through the punches.
Their hesitation cracked. One crouched down. Then another.
Soon all four joined in, raining sloppy punches.
Ahrie nodded, laughing. "Uh huh... uh huh! That’s it!"
He jumped up, wiping blood from his knuckles.
"Imma get some more!"
The 4 baldies sat there, trembling, sweat running down their bruised faces.
Their sanity cracked.
"Heheh... heheh... HEHEH—"