The Rat from the Sewers
“ Kraaack!”
A raven took flight at the scream of the mage whose leg had been pierced through. In the forest where silence should have reigned at night, Partes from the Magic Tower couldn’t believe his eyes even as he saw the black thing rising from the ground.
“You filthy bastards… You’ve even laid hands on demon curses?!”
“Such harsh words. Isn’t magic and curses separated by just a sheet of paper?”
“How dare you equate noble magic with lowly curses—urk!”
This time, Partes couldn’t finish his sentence as his left hand was pierced. “Hey.”
The owner of the shadow crouched down, grabbed the head slammed into the ground, and yanked it back.
“With all that noble magic you possess, getting wiped out by a mere demon curse? Doesn’t that strike you as ridiculous too?”
Partes rolled his eyes, scanning his surroundings. Aside from himself, not a single soul still breathed. Just as the man said—total annihilation. Even though they were the most outstanding among his peers, they’d been taken down by one lone enemy.
“Wh-what the hell is the reason for this?!”
“Reason?”
“Guhk!”
Row slammed the head back into the dirt.
“The weak perish. That’s the law of nature. Does erasing those unfit to etch their names in history need a reason?”
“What kind of nonsense….”
“Only those blessed by providence survive. In the end, you’re fated to be fertilizer, so I’m personally turning you into it.”
Partes let out ragged breaths at the incomprehensible sophistry.
“Do you think you’ll get away with this?! In the end, you’ll meet a gruesome fate too!”
“A gruesome fate, huh.” Row leaned in close to the tilted-back face once more. The mage’s pupils shook on the brink of death. Madness. An endless, fathomless abyss of it.
“Music to my ears. I hope that’s exactly what happens.”
Pfook—
A massive shadow surged up. A black horn that precisely bored a hole through his dantian. With that, the night forest reclaimed its silence.
“…Boring.”
Row dusted off his hands as he stood, yawning once before rummaging through the belongings of the lifeless mages. Guys returning from errands outside the Magic Tower always carried useful intel. But all that spilled onto the ground were herbs, research materials, and magic-related books. Just as he thought it was a bust, his hand paused while checking the last mage’s bosom.
There we go.
A paper tucked deep inside. These were usually something precious to their owner.
Rustle—
He pulled out a twice-folded sheet. As Row unfolded and read it, a smile crept across his lips.
“These kids these days have no fear.”
It was an announcement that students from the magic school would visit the Magic Tower for a tour. Details on escorts, routes, and villages were meticulously noted.
Wheek—
Row whistled to summon a raven, then placed a finger on a parchment taken from the mages’ luggage. As he scrawled with his index finger, black ink seeped into the parchment along the trail, as if by magic. Soon, the writing vanished without a trace in the order it was inscribed, like it had never been there.
A report only executives could verify. The sole communication method of the night ravens that moved only via couriers.
“Here, take it.”
The completed report was clamped in the talons of the raven perched on his shoulder. The bird circled the air once before speeding southeast.
“Well then.”
Row tore the paper meant for the Magic Tower into shreds and scattered it on the ground, hoping for just one thing.
“Please let something fun happen.”
That the promising illusions he’d marked would emerge from Snowrobe.
*
Lunchtime under the blazing sun. Unlike the peaceful grounds above, Maness headed to Snowrobe’s darkest, shadiest spot.
Southeast from the central education buildings clustered around the shopping district entrance. Right after crossing the red-brick bridge, a narrow path led toward the clock tower’s peak.
It was where the Black Market lay, the site of tacit student trades.
Not long after entering the alley, a sentry eyed him warily from the opposite end.
“First-year?”
The black-robed student checked Maness’s blue necktie and clicked his tongue.
“Kid, looks like you took a wrong turn. This ain’t a place for punks like you.”
“If guys like me don’t come, who will?”
The guy was clearly a senior, but Maness shot back in kind—not out of annoyance, but Black Market rules.
“Spouting that cheeky informal crap, so you didn’t wander in clueless.”
“Just like you said. I’m here to trade.”
“What bugs me more is how a fresh chick like you sniffed out the Black Market already.”
Even knowing it was the Black Market didn’t ease the sentry’s guard.
“After rolling in a world where info is life, I’ve reached the realm where it comes to me on its own.”
“Bullshit….”
The sentry glared at the cocky junior overstepping his place. Piecing together the rumors from his looks, he let out an exaggerated, gravelly laugh.
“No way, you’re that guy? The maniac who’s been stirring shit since day one.”
“You know it.”
“Anyone else, maybe not—but a Pictri Trading Company vet? That’s different. Not that I like it.”
As he finished, a faint sensation pierced Maness’s body. Mana flow. Thanks to his training, his sixth sense had sharpened; he caught the guy casting a spell.
“Hold up. You know the Black Market but left your invite where?”
Invite. Required for first-timers. An entry pass infused with detectable special mana.
“Need one of those?”
“Obviously. Even if it’s on academy grounds, we don’t let just any dog or cat in….”
“Those aiming for the infinite heights must know the infinite depths too.”
The sentry couldn’t argue. It was code only selectees from the student overseers—aka managers—knew.
“Guess some bigwig’s taken a shine to you.”
“I am kinda famous.”
The sentry snorted derisively with a fake chuckle.
“Not even funny. If we hadn’t met here, I’d have smashed that pretty face flat.”
The words were rough, but no malice. That was the Black Market—had to be.
“Another sentry at the entrance inside. Grab a robe from him and enter.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t pull that same crap you do with classmates. You could end up buried alive.”
Maness waved lazily at the grim warning and passed. The sentry stared at the maniac’s back. Rumors said he wasn’t ordinary, but up close, he was something else. Maybe build ties for post-grad Pictri connections? Humming idly, his thoughts halted.
“But… do first-years even have anything to trade?”
The point system was new. Weighing possibilities, he shook his head.
“Not my problem.”
*
“Wear this to enter.”
The Black Market entrance was at the base of a small hill. Descend the dug-out stairs, and you reached the vast underground bazaar.
No one knew why, but seniors obsessed with shady deals had built it over years.
Donning the dark blue robe for first-years, Maness entered. Relying on spaced lamps, he descended the echoey stairs carefully.
Five or six minutes down, he pushed open the true gate.
Creeeak—
A spectacle unfolded through the widening gap. Sellers of goods. Sellers of info. Sellers of manpower.
In a space too vast for students to have made, people moved to their purposes. Faint smoke fitting the vibe shrouded it all—harmless magical fog for atmosphere.
- What, a blue one already?
- Gatekeeper must’ve slipped. How’d a newbie find this place.
Interest flickered toward the new blue robe, then faded. These folks came with purpose—no time to waste.
Maness liked it. A place judging only trades, ignoring origins. True equality, leagues beyond Snowrobe’s student pretenses.
Not the time.
First visit, so he shook off the distraction and headed to his target: the secret trade rooms inside. No blabbing about partners or deals, no matter what.
“Looking for someone.”
Soon, he connected with a black-robed figure pacing the row of small rooms. Like the outer sentry, black meant guide.
“Oho, a blue one. What urgent business drags a newbie here?”
“Seeking a manpower seller on standby. Preferably with thief guild experience.”
Her face shifted in surprise under the robe, but she snapped back.
“Lucky timing—one fits. Says he worked the Rat Feast pre-enrollment. Good?”
“Perfect.”
Standby traders shared teaser info. Rat Feast was a notorious outside thief guild.
Wondered if Snowrobe let such pasts in, but he brushed it off. This was Snowrobe.
“Room 6. Right door from here. Knock twice, pause, three times.”
“Thanks.”
With instructions, Maness hurried. Short lunch—talk would be long; had to wrap it.
Knock knock. Knock-knock-knock.
At Room 6, he knocked as instructed. Knock knock. Knock-knock-knock. Confirmed the reply, entered.
Like a confessional. Wall between spaces, small hole in the center for talk.
“Welcome, bluebird.”
The voice confirmed his robe color through the hole, greeting uniquely. Liking the nonchalance on blue.
“What brings you to a sewer rat?”
“Hard to find someone as discreet and unafraid of dirty work as a sewer rat.”
Hearing laughter opposite, Maness cut to the chase.
“Want you to steal something from the Magical Lifeforms Lab. Pay’s 2,000 points.”
A long silence. Wall or not, Maness pictured the face. What he’d said was insane.
“Hahaha, oh man. You’re a real sly fox.”
The man sounded casual, but his voice trembled faintly.
“Steal from a lab? Black Market ain’t for games, kid.”
“Think I’m joking?”
More silence. Finally, he whispered into the hole, voice low.
“Hey.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re actually nuts, right?”
The answer was set.
“If you don’t want the points, no big deal.”