How Much Is This Worth? (1)
There was a place called the Market.
Market
No one knew exactly when, where, by whom, or in what form it had been created.
But there were three things everyone knew for sure.
First, transactions in the Market boasted remarkable stability, no matter what was being traded.
Second, the guardian constellation behind its creation and operation was none other than the one known as the Master of the Backroom.
And third, anyone who knew how to get in could pay a modest usage fee and use it freely without restrictions.
That was the info Kim Joo-hyuk had dug up after scouring the internet.
"This the place?"
In a remote corner of Goyang City, Gyeonggi Province, in front of a rundown cafe. Kim Joo-hyuk glanced at the cafe, then checked the post on his smartphone.
Kim Joo-hyuk reread the long post, then headed inside the cafe, recalling the location he'd seen before leaving Valhalla.
A musty smell hit him as soon as he stepped in.
That alone told him the place had been abandoned for ages. He moved toward the side door as instructed on the site.
"……."
An extremely weathered side door.
It looked like it might rip right off if he pushed too hard. Kim Joo-hyuk felt a flicker of doubt but opened it anyway.
And then.
"Huh……?"
He let out an involuntary sound at the sight inside.
First, a purple sky.
Then, massive buildings evoking a steampunk world, scattered everywhere.
Black smoke rising between them.
Kim Joo-hyuk stared, his expression odd for a moment, then realized the scene felt familiar.
Not the steampunk buildings themselves—he'd never seen them before.
The atmosphere.
Yeah, the atmosphere. The purple sky, the faintly hazy moon hanging there.
Uncannily, it mirrored the night skies he'd seen nearly every day 300 years ago.
How long did he stand there appreciating the view?
"First time here?"
A sudden voice made him turn to the man who'd spoken.
The guy wore a black leather suit that perfectly fit the vibe, smiling amiably.
Kim Joo-hyuk instantly pegged him as staff.
"Yeah, something like that."
"Have you reviewed the Market rules?"
Kim Joo-hyuk nodded and pulled out the cash he'd withdrawn before coming, handing it over.
That left him with exactly 30,000 won.
He'd blown all his prize money—whatever scholarship—from first place, but he didn't care. He kept talking.
"I know the basics, but not the details. Mind filling me in?"
"Ask away."
The man smiled lightly.
"……?"
Kim Joo-hyuk sensed a faint oddness but brushed it off.
"I wanna sell some gems. Where do I go?"
"Planning to auction them?"
Kim Joo-hyuk shook his head after a moment's thought.
"Nah, just want it quick."
"Then head to Zone 3 next to the auction house. Go straight from here, then at the five-way split, take the third path on the left."
"Can I sell fast there?"
"It's where jewelers, weapons dealers, and folks handling illicit goods and stolen stuff hang out. Depends on your haggling."
"……So, basically a bazaar?"
"Exactly."
"Who's the most trustworthy in Zone 3?"
"He won't pay top dollar, but for stolen goods or gems, they say 'Morris' gives fair prices."
"Thanks."
"No problem. For anything like this, just ask anyone in a leather suit like me. The fee covers self-policing, but also services like this."
The attendant handed him a white cat mask.
"What's this?"
"A little service from me. Not required, but masks are recommended here."
Kim Joo-hyuk nodded—it made sense—and put it on.
"Thanks."
He waved casually and headed toward the spot.
Fucking maze.
The thought flashed through his mind.
Truth be told, he could've just sold the gold bars and gems at a nearby pawnshop for ease.
But potential future headaches made him endure the hassle and come to the Market.
From what he'd read, Market trades guaranteed absolute security.
Bottom line: He was trading possible future annoyances for current ones.
Anyway, sell quick, then train if I've got time left.
He picked up the pace.
Morris had been fencing stolen goods for over 30 years—one of Zone 3's veteran merchants, by any measure.
Sure, Zone 3 teemed with merchants, but only a handful, including him, had lasted over three decades.
What about the rest?
A few retired, but most who'd started with him were dead.
Why?
Reasons varied, but it all boiled down to one thing for most.
They'd screwed over buyers or sellers.
The more experience and connections, the bolder merchants got, chasing bigger scores.
The Market's ironclad security for traders emboldened veterans to push for more profit.
At first, it worked fine.
Scams usually surfaced post-deal.
Even if spotted right before, the Market protected them—no violence allowed beyond designated acts, or you'd get ejected.
Safe inside the Market.
But no one could stay forever.
Market rules: Max 12 hours inside.
After leaving, 3-hour cooldown to return.
Three hours—short, sure.
But plenty if you're plotting murder.
That's why Morris had stuck to one self-imposed rule for 30 years.
Never screw the customer.
Not out of righteousness—to protect his own neck.
"……Where the hell did you get this?"
"Heard you don't ask that here."
Yet now, that rule wavered for the first time in 30 years.
Morris looked up from the ring in his hand to the man who'd just entered.
Face hidden by the standard Market mask.
But his voice pegged him at early 20s, tops.
Yet the item in Morris's hand was way too massive for some kid to fence.
A relic from the Era of Destruction……?
Era of Destruction.
Artifacts from 300 years ago, when the world nearly ended for good.
Am I seeing this wrong?
He double-checked with his mana eye, glancing at the man nervously. No mistake—it was real.
So.
"So, what's your best offer?"
Morris was speechless.