The Black Market (1)
A Crow.
Erso.
Today was the day he had been chewed out to within an inch of his life and forced to write a formal letter of apology over the Dakeus fiasco.
“Dirty, petty bastards. Seriously.”
Thanks to that bastard Dakeus, the entire syndicate had nearly gone down in flames. But when you got right down to it, wasn't it the organization that signed the contract in the first place, not Erso? Wasn't it entirely the syndicate's fault?
Of course, raising that argument would only add several more pages to the stack of apology letters he had to write. In the end, Erso had resigned himself to accepting the fine and the suspension.
“Might as well get drunk.”
Since he was barred from taking assignments for the time being, there was nothing else for him to do anyway. A sudden surge of rage boiled up from the pit of his stomach.
“If it wasn't for that bastard… damn it all.”
That guy was unequivocally a monster of a veteran in this line of work! If it hadn't been for him, things never would have turned out like this! And to top it off, after dragging Erso through utter hell, the bastard had brushed him off with two measly daggers!
“Rotten piece of trash, honestly.”
“Are you referring to me?”
Erso’s heart froze.
It was no exaggeration. His heart truly felt as though it had turned to solid ice on the spot.
“You live in quite a spacious place.”
Erso’s neck creaked like a rusted hinge as he turned his head inch by inch. Right in the middle of his safe house—a sanctuary he had poured a fortune into securing…
There he was.
“H-H-How…?”
“Your security is lacking.”
Like hell it is!
His security was flawless. A triple-layered intruder detection perimeter, backed by magical tools that cast continuous illusions. The amount of money he had invested into this safe house alone was a staggering one hundred and fifty thousand Cel!
“You would do well to reinforce the ceiling. Entering from that direction would be marginally easier.”
“The… the ceiling?”
“Yes. Ah, though I came in through a different way.”
“……”
That guy.
Ziel, whose name the Crow still did not know, asked flatly, “Let me ask again. Were you referring to me just now?”
Erso’s heart was frozen solid, but his survival instincts kicked his brain into overdrive.
“O-Of course not! I was cursing my superior!”
“He must not be a very good superior.”
“You have no idea how venomous he is! He barely even pays me!”
“Is that so? Then I must be quite a decent sort. I pay rather well.”
Like hell you do! Erso screamed internally. You call two secondhand daggers good pay? Huh?! If they were legendary masterworks or enchanted with high magic, maybe! Or at least used by someone famous!
“B-By the way… how on earth did you get in here? No, wait… why are you looking for me…?”
It was enough to drive a man stark raving mad. Had the guy dusted him with tracking powder? Or had he planted some device inside his body while he was unconscious? No matter how much he racked his brain, neither made sense.
Before returning from a mission, every Crow was required to undergo rigorous decontamination and inspection at a designated syndicate facility specifically to ensure they were not being tracked. Erso had naturally completed every single check upon wrapping up the Dakeus job, and the results had come back completely clean.
This guy is an absolute monster.
His entire body trembled uncontrollably. The only other times he had shaken like this since becoming a Crow were the moment he first met this man and the day he watched his former boss die right before his eyes.
“I have come to hire you.”
Hire him?
“There is a place I must go.”
Erso attempted a meek, timid resistance. “I am currently… under suspension. Officially, I cannot accept any assignments.”
“A suspension?”
“Well… yes. That is how things turned out.”
“Then handling this through official channels is out of the question.”
“Official channels… yes, that, well, that's right.”
Is he actually going to back off?
“Then we shall proceed privately.”
“Ah.”
In other words: I'm doing whatever I want anyway.
What a rotten fate, Erso lamented. He had thought he could at least laze around in his safe house for a while, living the easy life.
“Where… exactly are you planning to go?”
“The black market.”
“…Pardon?”
Erso doubted his own ears.
“That… that’s the commission?”
“Yes. A commission.”
Confusion washed over him. In their line of work, the black market was a place one drifted in and out of whenever they pleased. Accompanying someone there was an assignment?
The black market…
Erso’s mind spun rapidly. What did this mean? This man was a professional among professionals. You could never take his words at face value. There had to be some deep, calculated strategy hidden underneath.
Wait… could it be?
Hold on. The man had paid him last time as well. Thinking about it rationally, why had he paid him at all? There was zero reason to. He had already planted the fear of death in Erso’s soul! Was it merely hush money? Unlikely. Two daggers were far too meager for that. If he truly wanted silence, he would have tossed a heavy pouch of coin.
Which means…
Going out of his way to pay a fee meant he saw value in Erso! Why it had been two daggers remained a mystery, but the critical point was that he had paid!
And if that's the case…
Now he had tracked him down a second time. Given this man’s terrifying skill, ordinary operatives in the underworld weren't even worthy of handing him a business card. Wherever he went, he was bound to be a towering figure…
“What are you thinking so hard about?”
“J-Just a moment, please.”
His thoughts clicked cleanly into place. Erso reached his conclusion.
A scouting offer!
His frozen heart began to pound with wild excitement.
And taking me along to the black market… that’s no simple stroll! He wants to test my eye for value and appraisal skills! Of course! How meticulously thorough!
“Your heart rate is rising,” Ziel noted flatly. “Are you plotting something?”
“N-No! Ha-ha! Not at all! I’m just… feeling a bit excited!”
It had finally arrived—the chance to turn his entire life around! In this underworld, scouting offers were a dime a dozen. But once an operative reached the level of a Red Shadow Crow, such offers dried up completely, because there was rarely any reason to leave. Yet an invitation from an expert of this caliber was an entirely different story.
Then this is an initiation test!
Massive syndicates like Red Shadow or the recently obliterated Black Sky weren't the only games in town. There were elite, small-scale cells as well—specialized outfits composed of a handful of supreme talents who took on only the most extraordinary missions. Judging by this man’s peerless lethality, he undoubtedly led such a compact, devastating organization. Or he was preparing to build one from the ground up!
Gulp.
Erso swallowed hard, saliva sliding down his parched throat. He had dreamed of something like this for years. He had considered retirement, sure, but wasn't a man entitled to a bit of grand romance at least once in his life? Combat might not be his forte, but when it came to espionage and intelligence gathering, he was second to none.
A talent like me is easily first-class material.
“I will do whatever is required. Let us go.”
Erso burned with sudden, fierce motivation. The heart that had grown sluggish and complacent after years of routine inside Red Shadow was hammering with vigor for the first time in an age.
“The compensation this time is a single dagger,” Ziel said. “One that I used personally.”
“A single dagger, half a dagger, a broken hilt—it doesn’t matter! As many as you like!”
Ziel gave a small nod at the Crow’s dramatically altered demeanor. He must really like them.
Ziel couldn't part with his remaining silver coins because he had immediate uses for them, which was why he had offered a dagger instead. He had heard rumors that items once used by the legendary Phantom fetched exorbitant prices on the black market. Since he was the Phantom, he figured a dagger he had carried held considerable value. At any rate, he was glad the man was pleased.
“The black market isn't far from here,” Erso offered eagerly. “Allow me to guide you. In fact, they're auctioning off relics of the Phantom today, so it should make for quite an entertaining spectacle!”
“Is that so?”
“Practically everyone in the industry will be gathered there today. Relics used by the Phantom himself! Aren't you thrilled?”
Items he had used? Nothing came to mind. When he slipped out of the Organization's secret base, he had packed everything of value himself. Even his Dikelen silver coins had been salvaged then.
“Are you thrilled?” Ziel asked.
“Extremely!”
“I see.”
He wasn't sure what was being sold, but he would find out once they arrived. More important than any auction was curing Yurio’s congenital ailment.
He is my student.
Ziel was no longer an assassin.
“Let's be off! Ah, but… there is one thing I wanted to ask.”
“What is it?”
“Well, I wasn't quite sure how I should address you.”
A title. A passage from a book Ziel had read crossed his mind: a form of address is both the beginning and the definition of a relationship.
“What title would make you comfortable?”
Rather than dictating terms, it was better to let the other person choose a style of address they preferred.
“Hmm… how does ‘Senior’ sound?”
“Senior?”
“You seem to have been active in the field far longer than I have, and your skills are vastly superior…”
“Very well. You may call me that.”
“Thank you, Senior!”
And so, ‘Senior’ became Ziel’s new title. Even if, strictly speaking by years of service, he was hardly anyone's elder.
* * *
The underworld's black market operated under two absolute rules.
First: the location changed every single time.
Second: only authorized individuals were permitted entry.
Both existed purely for security. However, the second rule required a bit of elaboration today.
“It seems today's theme is poison,” Erso explained as they navigated the backstreets. “Apparently, one must ingest the designated antidote before entering to remain safe. A toxic mist covers the entire venue.”
It was a black market one could not enter without verified ‘immunity.’ Anyone trying to slip in without the antidote would collapse almost instantly—a brutal, foolproof method for weeding out intruders.
“The last market was…”
“A password,” Ziel answered.
“Correct.”
Ziel’s body, tempered through endless assassin training, was thoroughly acclimated to lethal toxins, meaning the mist posed zero threat to him. Even so, having Erso as an escort was essential to avoid unnecessary suspicion.
“We’re here.”
Because the entrance shifted constantly, today’s gateway was an ordinary inn in the capital. More specifically, an underground tunnel connected to a room on the first floor.
I have been to this place before, Ziel recognized.
Several inns throughout the capital doubled as underworld conduits. They served as safe houses for assassins or intermediate supply depots. Today, one served as the entrance to the black market.
Of course, it was far from the only entrance.
Click.
Entering an unremarkable guest room, Erso felt along the floorboards and pulled a hidden catch, exposing a dark downward shaft. After climbing down a ladder and walking a short distance along the stone passage, they arrived at the guarded checkpoint.
A burly man blocked the way, and Erso immediately produced his credentials.
“A Crow of Red Shadow. You know me.”
The guard squinted. “I thought you were wearing a skin mask.”
“Excuse me?”
“You look uglier than usual.”
“Rotten bastard.”
Erso thrust his emblem forward. After verifying the insignia, the guard shifted his gaze toward Ziel.
“Who’s behind you?”
“My companion.”
The guard studied Ziel intently before giving a short nod. “Well, guaranteed by a 1st-Class Crow of Red Shadow, it should be fine. But you know what happens if you cause trouble, right?”
“I know, I know. Just let us through already. I hear today’s merchandise is extraordinary?”
“Over fifty people have passed through this gate alone today. If the Imperial Court wanted to strike, today would be their golden ticket. Everyone's gathered here; they could wipe out the whole lot in one fell swoop.”
“Quite a crowd, then.”
“Too bad for the court, though—plenty of high-and-mighty nobles came down today as well. Word got out that personal belongings of the Phantom are going on the block, so everyone’s itching for a look.”
It seemed high nobles had snuck in among the rabble. It made sense. The rumors had spread like wildfire across the underworld, and the Phantom was an untouchable living legend. Furthermore, he was someone the world would never lay eyes on again.
“Here are the antidotes.”
The guard tapped two pills onto the counter. “You back there, swallow yours too.”
Both men popped the pills into their mouths. Ziel, however, merely tucked the pill beneath his tongue rather than swallowing. Naturally, the guard noticed nothing.
“Open wide. Say ‘ah.’ Hmm. Both down the hatch.”
“Can we go now?”
“Watch yourself in there. Someone might attack you just for having that face. Next time, wear a skin mask, will you? Your friend here managed to look handsome without one.”
“Rotten bastard.”
In truth, Ziel was wearing a skin mask; the guard simply lacked the skill to perceive the masterwork weave. Stepping through the archway, Ziel subtly retrieved the hidden antidote from his mouth and slipped it into his pocket.
“We’ve finally arrived.”
Stepping into the black market, a familiar subterranean panorama opened before them. A faint purple haze of poison drifted across the air, but even without the antidote, it had no effect on Ziel whatsoever.
Nothing has changed.
Unlike standard bazaars, there was no loud hawking. Merchants quietly laid out their wares on cloth mats, leaving prospective buyers to browse in silence. However, the crowd was significantly larger than Ziel remembered, clearly drawn by the auction Erso had mentioned.
The scents are heavy.
Ziel quickly noted the presence of unusual clientele scattered throughout the cavernous hall. Though everyone wore deep cowls and concealing robes, they could not fully mask the expensive perfumes favored by aristocrats, nor could the knights disguise the distinct metallic scent of sword-maintenance oil.
“Senior, is there something specific you are looking for?”
“Compounding ingredients. Over there.”
Ziel steered toward a stall displaying rare medicinal herbs and preserved flora. Most items here were dangerous byproducts obtained during hazardous missions or botanical specimens banned from imperial trade, offered under the table.
“Five roots of Edelin and a Velberg's Wing,” Ziel said. “How much for all of it?”
“Five roots of Edelin come to four thousand Cel each, so twenty thousand Cel total.”
“The equivalent of twenty thousand chicken skewers.”
“What did you say?”
“Never mind. Do you have a Velberg's Wing?”
“Don't have that. It'll probably turn up at the auction today, though. Better try your luck there. Supply has dried up lately.”
“Is that so.”
Ziel paid for the five roots of Edelin. As expected, a Velberg's Wing was difficult to secure through ordinary vendors. Still, learning it was scheduled for the auction was good news. If all else failed, he had been considering raiding a noble vault he had scouted previously.
“When does the auction begin?”
“Looks like it's starting over there right now.”
The auction was the crown jewel of the black market. While one could occasionally strike gold at the floor stalls, items of true rarity were invariably channeled to the main stage.
“Here, take your paddles. You're number sixty.”
Ziel and Erso received numbers sixty and sixty-one and took their seats side by side in the tiered rows.
“Now then! Before we begin today's auction, I am certain everyone here has heard the rumors!”
The auctioneer took the stage, his booming voice resonating off the cavern walls.
“Today, at long last, the belongings of that man whom we all know—yes, his personal relics—have arrived at our auction block!”
Erso’s voice trembled with awe. “S-Senior! It’s starting! It’s finally starting!”
He was vibrating with excitement, and he was far from alone. Operatives, brokers, and concealed nobles across the entire venue were pressing forward toward the platform.
“A legend of the industry! A hero in all our hearts! Yes, indeed—these are the relics of the Phantom!”
Ziel alone sat with arms crossed, watching the spectacle with impassive eyes.
“Though the Phantom has tragically departed from our midst, his legendary deeds remain etched forever in our—”
The Phantom was sitting right here.
Arms crossed, disguised beneath a skin mask.
“Now, without further ado, let us introduce our very first lot! The very ‘assassination sword’ wielded by the Phantom himself! We shall open the bidding at a modest one million Cel…”
Before the auctioneer could even finish his sentence, a paddle shot up from the front row.
“Three million Cel!”
The Phantom.
At the mere mention of that name, the room erupted into a bidding frenzy. Yet Ziel merely stared at the blade on the velvet cushion with an unreadable expression.
It’s a fake.
It seemed someone was running quite the lucrative business using his old name.