Chapter 79
Chapter 79
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 79
Chapter Title: Pursuit (2)
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The black market is a place that always reeks of its unique damp, musty odor every time you visit.
A place teeming with all sorts of bizarre and grotesque characters that no sensible, refined person would ever set foot in.
But even in a place like that.
A cheerful young man with orange hair grinning on his face as he's dragged along by several burly men is definitely worth a glance.
Covered in dust and bleeding profusely, it's clear he's been on the receiving end of a brutal beating.
⋯⋯And yet, if he's giggling all the way while being hauled off—like he's heading home—that draws even more eyes.
But from Carlyle's perspective, there was good reason for his smile.
‘Nothing ever changes here, no matter how many times I come.’
Truth be told, landing a full ten years ahead of his usual regression point always brought a sense of unfamiliarity.
Even in what should be the exact same spot, it felt somehow off.
Funny thing is, despite it being the same place and the same faces he always ran into, it never felt like the familiar scenery from before—it was like dropping into an entirely different world.
But this place? It's unchanged.
Not even a fraction different from the scene Carlyle remembered...
-!
And just like that, mid-smile, a boot slammed into Carlyle's face.
Blood sprays everywhere.
“Stay still. I'll kill you.”
Brutal violence if there ever was any, but the people around didn't bat an eye.
Part of it was because this was a gathering of folks whose lives were full of such nasty business.
By default, all violence is strictly forbidden inside the black market. Allow it, and the place would turn into hell in seconds flat—hence the unspoken rule.
So, unleashing violence openly in front of everyone like that? It signals one thing.
That they've got backers so terrifying they can ignore rules like that.
Everyone here feels it: best not to get tangled up.
“Yup, sorry.”
“⋯⋯.”
⋯⋯The one getting dragged—Carlyle himself—was just grinning nonchalantly, going along with it.
Like he couldn't feel a thing.
One of the guys hauling him spat on the roadside, face screaming he'd seen every flavor of lunatic there was.
[⋯⋯You'd be wise to value your body more.]
‘If it craps out early and ends this sooner, isn't this the better option?’
At the very least.
It was the only way Carlyle could think of to make quick contact with the Pale Moon.
[That's why⋯⋯ Sigh.]
While the Holy Sword fell silent.
The spot they dragged Carlyle into was a dusty, dim, rundown tavern.
From his vantage, he almost wanted to clap.
Wow, hasn't changed a single bit.
As he mulled over that nostalgia, a woman who'd been dozing with her head bobbing behind the counter rubbed her eyes and glanced their way.
Her eyepatch-covered face was scarred to hell, and the dagger on her leather belt was crusted with dried blood.
She radiated 'dangerous as fuck' vibes, plain as day.
Yawning hugely, she eyed Carlyle as he got tossed onto the tavern floor and spoke through the yawn.
“What's this beggar scum up to?”
“⋯⋯He knew the 'Moon's' passphrase. And he's not on the roster.”
“⋯⋯.”
A spark lit in the woman's eyes.
No trace of the sleepyhead from seconds ago—she yanked the dagger from her belt.
“⋯⋯Really?”
She smirked, then kicked the sprawled Carlyle without mercy.
She pinned the coughing, tumbling Carlyle underfoot and shoved the blade to his nape with a grin.
“Hey, mister. Where'd you pick that up?”
“⋯⋯.”
“Too late for the silent treatment now. If you know our passphrase that well, you're no ordinary schmuck. Let's keep this civil.”
The dagger nicked the outer edge of Carlyle's neck.
Right over the vein. One good push, and he's gone.
Facing that down, Carlyle opened his mouth.
“Ah, sorry. Wasn't dodging the answer. Just couldn't see.”
⋯⋯Still wearing that smile.
Bright and cheery.
Even the woman watching let out a baffled chuckle.
“⋯⋯You're off your rocker, that's for sure. What do you mean, couldn't see?”
“Your face. Need to know who I'm talking to.”
“What kinda bullshit—”
“—‘Fox’ for the outer code means ‘Wolf’ for the inner, right? You two are tight, after all?”
“⋯⋯.”
The woman's face went rigid.
That easygoing vibe? Shattered in a heartbeat by one sentence.
Makes sense.
What Carlyle had just dropped was an 'alias' known only among the executives.
Intel that only a tiny fraction of Pale Moon members possessed.
“Who the hell are you?”
Dead serious now, unlike before.
That reaction made Carlyle's grin bloom wider.
That's it. Right on track.
Perfect for the Pale Moon contact speedrun he pulled every single loop.
“The weirdo blabbing your top secrets.”
“⋯⋯.”
“Procedure says ship me to the ‘hideout’ for torture, yeah? Gotta dig out how I know this shit.”
“⋯⋯.”
“You're doing it anyway. Higher-ups'll lose their shit if you don't. So let's hustle.”
“⋯⋯.”
The woman shot Carlyle a look like he'd lost his damn mind, then glared at his escorts.
The men shook their heads, vibes screaming over it.
“⋯⋯Total psycho.”
“⋯⋯Yeah, looks it.”
[For sure.]
⋯⋯Beats Carlyle why the Holy Sword's piling on.
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Waking from blackout again, the first thing Carlyle registers is the bone-deep chill crawling over his skin.
That creepy underground cold.
From the feel, they'd stripped him to his undies, sacked his head.
‘⋯⋯Day or so?’
Muscle stiffness pegged it at about that long out cold in transit.
Straight to Pale Moon HQ, looks like.
Spot-on timing. Just hold out half a day of torture till the ‘plan’ hits.
Compared to a dropkick from pissed-off Gray over bad seasoning? Like a flower garden stroll.
[⋯⋯.]
‘⋯⋯.’
[⋯⋯Was it really that bad?]
‘You calling that pain?’
Even dumping every growth avenue on Gray, Carlyle kept up bare-minimum training each loop to survive her random-ass violence.
Hero lady calls him nuts every time, but she's the one dishing out the life-on-the-line moments...
Mid-thought, light stabbed his eyes like needles.
Someone ripped the sack off.
Before him: table ringed by chairs, every sitter in an animal mask.
“Apologies for the rude welcome.”
From the center chair, the owl-masked figure spoke up.
Staff gripped in both hands, head bowed politely—classy vibe.
“Heard you were a rare guest. Wanted to roll out the proper welcome, but can't show my face right now. Bear with it.”
As those words landed.
Carlyle blinked, scanning the room.
Blank-faced, he eyed each mask one by one.
Owl stifled a chuckle at the sight.
“Situation's a lot to take in, huh. I'll walk you through it slo—”
“⋯⋯No, you fucking lunatics.”
But.
Staring them down, Carlyle looked straight-up horrified.
“Why are you all here?”
“⋯⋯?”
The raw panic in his voice had them all cocking heads.
⋯⋯Hard to pin down.
Scared shitless, sure.
But whatever had this guy spooked wasn't his mystery kidnappers—it was something ‘else’.
That vibe.
“What's that supposed mean?”
That casual contrast to his frenzy left Carlyle gaping as he spoke.
“You're not supposed to be here... you'd all die!”
“⋯⋯What?”
“Normally, leave one torture guy and the rest of you stick to your jobs! Why's everyone crammed in here for trash like me?!”
“⋯⋯.”
Hey, if some punk's spilling your ultra-secret group's dirt, wouldn't curiosity drag you to gawk?
Everyone there clocked that thought, but Carlyle meant every word.
Totally off the rails. Should only be throwaways here, even if they get swept up.
Just one murder-fetish psycho for private time.
Beat that guy black-and-blue, snag the target item somehow, golden...
‘No.’
⋯⋯No.
No⋯⋯!
These folks? Prime future informants.
This goes south, they're all dead.
Blown to bits, no traces...
“⋯⋯You think you can take us out like that? Guess we look like pushovers—”
“Not me.”
Mid-sentence.
Carlyle's ‘gut interior’ flashed blue.
The alchemical brew he'd downed pre-kidnap.
Hunters' secret tracking potion.
⋯⋯Meaning ‘someone’ now knows he's here.
Someone raging over news of his snatch.
“They're coming.”
Carlyle said, shivering.
“The monster.”
Next instant.
-⋯⋯.
Bit by bit.
The whole underground started shaking.
Like something was ‘approaching’ from way off.
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