Leran Market
The continent's two largest markets were Cratel and this one: the Leran Market of the Zen Kingdom.
Both places shared the commonality of trade, but there was a decisive difference—the goods they sold.
If the slave city of Cratel was the biggest hub for buying and selling people, the Zen Kingdom dealt in every manner of object under the sun.
"Swallow turnips dug up from eastern ruins!"
"Come on over, cheap prices! Take a look! Roots of the new basilisk, basilisk hides for sale!"
Merchants inside the market raised their voices in fierce competition, hawking their wares.
"It's been a while."
Adel murmured softly to himself, a nostalgic note in his voice as he took in the bustling market. It was a far cry from the grim atmosphere of the slave city. Mercenaries and adventurers sold their hunted prey without a hint of discomfort.
[You seem to be in a good mood.]
"Yeah. Spot on. It's one of my favorite places."
One quickly learns as they navigate the world that few spots truly value one's efforts at a fair price. In that sense, markets were equitable.
"Even the Ulan tribe, conquerors of the desert, follow Garon's blessing, just like every kingdom on the continent serves some god or another. But the Zen Kingdom is unique."
They didn't favor any particular god, nor did they bar or reject those bearing blessings from rival deities. If there was a commission, you paid and handed it off; mercenaries handled it and collected their pay. It could seem chaotic at a glance, but the Zen Kingdom was undeniably different from Ruinxen or Cratel.
"The reason that's possible is because every mercenary and adventurer passing through respects one single person."
[Who?]
"This place's master. The king of the Zen Kingdom and leader of the Blood Moon Company."
Lugal Shazan.
Adel nodded with a faint, peculiar smile at Kalderet's words.
[Someone you're connected to, I take it? It's the first time I've heard such warmth in your voice when speaking of another.]
"Yeah. One of the rare few I've acknowledged, like you said."
His epithet was the Storm King. Alongside White Ghost Haien Temir, Ivory Tower's Julian Pader, and Spirit Formation's Hanna Kran, he was one of the continent's mightiest eight—the Eight Lords.
"A hero anyone would have to respect."
[Intriguing. No wonder you seem to favor him more than your own father.]
Adel cracked a wry smile at Kalderet's remark.
"True enough. In my past life, I had two fathers—one I can't even remember the face of, the other who met a wretched end."
Adel slowly made his way deeper into the street.
"Kicked out of the tribe, I needed money just to eat. The silver lining was awakening my archery talent before leaving the desert."
[I see. So you hunted beasts like them and sold here.]
"No."
[Then?]
"I hunted people instead. Not as an adventurer, but as a mercenary. I went to battlefields and earned coin with bounties."
Adel's eyes darkened.
"I scraped by day to day on the price of my life and others'."
He didn't deny the blood-soaked path he'd walked.
"That's when I met Lugal. He's rough and gruff, but a good man. It's why even the rowdiest mercenaries turn into lambs here."
[To think I'd live to hear you praise someone. Now I'm curious about him too.]
"If you're on this street, you'll see him eventually. He stands out."
[Oh?]
"Well, before that, there's somewhere I need to go."
[Where to?]
"Supplies for tackling Cove. If Sea Wave Island's already headed there, their main force is probably gone. Breaking through Cove's mists with the leftovers? Honestly impossible."
[Hm. You know a way?]
"Somewhat."
[Vague answer.]
"Can't be helped. No one conquered Cove even in my past life. Nobody knows what it's really like."
As Adel said, none of the three Forbidden Zones—including the Forgotten Ones' Temple—had been fully cleared before his death. Especially after Haien Temir, the sole challenger of the Forbidden Zones, met his sudden end.
"Only Hanna Kran of the Spirit Formation kept eyeing Cove."
Though never conquered, the Forbidden Zones captivated every hero. The reason? The rifts within.
[As you know by now, the primordial rifts birthed the gods. And those rifts still linger here.]
Those were the Forbidden Zones.
[Rifts are the source of divine power—coveted by any who wield blessings. We gods sealed their power and implanted it there.]
Adel nodded. A divine treasure holding a god-sealed rift's power—nothing like Sennew's Rift Heart.
The only known divine treasure among the three great Forbidden Zones. The scales of Cove, which Hanna Kran coveted, were the relic of Lao Sa, the ancient god of souls.
'Word has it Cove's relic can summon the origin spirits of the spirit realm.'
A tempting prize for a spirit sorceress like Hanna Kran. Spirit gods rivaled ancient gods in might.
Over the years, the Spirit Formation researched ways to conquer Cove. They learned that only spirits could navigate the mists encircling it.
'But Hanna Kran's like my father. She made it inside, but no further.'
She'd theorized a spell to dismantle the mists. But theory and practice differed.
Rumors spread of the Spirit Formation tackling a Forbidden Zone, drawing the continent's eyes, but they ultimately failed.
'The issue was mana.'
Sennew of the Black Magic Palace had said as much. Spirits were needed to pierce the labyrinthine mists, true—but spirits alone weren't enough.
'A spirit can only guide one sorcerer at most.'
To shield a large force, spirit power needed amplification. And that required mana.
'Feed spirits a set amount of mana, and their power expands.'
A theory discovered years later by Hanna Kran's disciple, Lisen. The Spirit Formation tried again with it—and failed once more.
Few sorcerers handled both spirits and mana; it took two: a sorcerer and a mage. But perfect synergy was near impossible. And top mages were in the rival Ivory Tower, unlikely to aid them.
'A shame. The theory was flawless. Just no one capable at the time.'
Save one. Himself.
'No matter how thick Cove's mists, Sea Wave Island won't have wrecked outright. Otherwise, I wouldn't have seen their ships in my past life. Their guild's just lost, unable to find the path.'
If Pausa had brought any ordinary spirit sorcerer instead, even this rescue would've failed.
'They must've suffered in the past life, but you're lucky this time, Pausa. I'll deliver you safely to your brother.'
Adel pushed through the crowd along the market path without hesitation.
"Excuse me."
The place he sought was a secluded alley deeper in from the noisy market streets. Heat wafted from around the corner of the building.
He stopped at a forge with no sign. The surroundings were near ruins, the crumbling structure more wretched than Ruinxen's beggar alleys.
'It's been a while.'
An out-of-the-way spot few visited, yet Adel scanned it fondly.
Creeeak—
He pushed open a half-broken door that barely functioned. Inside was a mess fit for an extension of the street—dust blanketing everything, trash scattered worse than outside.
Tang— Tang— Tang—
But the clear ring of hammer strikes cut through the disarray.
"Who's there?"
The inner door swung open, blasting Adel with face-searing heat. A massive furnace blazed incongruously in the dilapidated building.
Thud— Thud—
Each step of the emerging man shook the ground. Hooded, face shielded by a huge visor, his form was obscured—but the massive hammer slung over one shoulder and bundle of five or six swords in the other marked him as extraordinary. His height and bulk dwarfed Adel's two- or threefold; no ordinary human.
"I've got something to entrust."
"Whatever it is, wrong place. I don't take commissions. Need something? Hit the market. Lucky day—plenty of good stuff when it's open."
He replied nonchalantly, setting the sword bundle in a corner to sort.
His rough hands gloved, but scales occasionally peeked from his sleeves.
Blacksmith Crul. He hadn't introduced himself, but Adel knew the name well.
"Just take a look."
"Told you, no commissions."
"Then why keep forging weapons? To keep your edge sharp?"
"What do you know, brat."
He scowled irritably, lifting the visor to reveal a red-scaled red dragonkin face—not human.
[No way...]
Garon let out a low gasp upon seeing it.
[Red dragonkin?]
Clunk.
Adel unfastened his gauntlet and approached.
"This is what I want to leave."
The man's eyes wavered at the sight. Red scales rose on his hand's back.
"Has to be you. No one else."
"You... how?"
"I'm from the desert. Garon's contractor, eighth son of White Ghost Haien."
Adel declared it plainly.
"Haien? Ulan tribe... I see. After centuries, someone's finally crossed the desert's grace."
He nodded.
"With that, you know the gauntlet's secret. It was the red dragonkin tribe's treasure originally."
"Of course."
He gripped the hammer he'd set down, facing Adel.
"That so? Then you know what it means."
Shadow loomed over Adel's head.
"Your hunter scum stole our tribe's treasure!!"
The hammer hovered right above his crown.
"You dare come here?! Get out if you don't wanna die!!!"
Claaaang—!!
For the first time in ages, the forge rang not with hammer strikes, but the crisp clash of steel.
"Your arm's still strong—guess you ain't ready to die yet, Meister Crul."
"...What?"
"Wasn't me who stole it—it was the tribe. So hear me out."
"What nonsense..."
"A 200,000 gold commission."
"...?!"
At his reaction, Adel grinned nostalgically.
"Up for it?"