Hyneum Jade Demon Finger

Dang Gyu-young set off at once, me in tow. We drifted along with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the flow of the downtown crowd, and I threw out a question.

"Senior, so where are we going, exactly?"

"You made me that list of banned items, remember?"

"I did."

"One just went up a moment ago. They're holding it at Exchange E, so that's where we're headed."

"Oh."

The item the Thief Club had promised to secure for me had come onto the market. Out of all the banned skills in existence, I had filtered down to only a tiny handful that met my criteria, so I had even considered the possibility that nothing suitable would show up at this Black Market at all. Seeing it listed like this, my luck didn't seem to be bad.

When we were nearly at the exchange, we quietly veered off toward a nearby contact point.

A soft-serve ice cream cart.

A familiar Thief Club member greeted us with a familiarly sly smile.

"Welcome, welcome."

"What flavor? Half and half again?"

"Half and half, obviously."

"Then me too."

When Dang Gyu-young and I both went half chocolate, half vanilla, the member scooped the two-tone swirl into the cones with practiced ease. On the preliminary scouting trip his work had been a shapeless mess — Dang Gyu-young had said as much — but he must have put in some practice since, because it was near perfect now.

"Here you go. Enjoy, you two."

The member wrapped the two cones in napkins and handed them over. The napkin was the real item — at once a Black Market ticket and a signpost. The arrow pattern woven into it pointed to our next destination: Exchange E.

Dang Gyu-young took a few small licks of her ice cream, then asked, "By the way, couldn't you manage without ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that thing?"

"Taking the easy way suits me fine."

If I flexed my veteran instincts, I could no doubt punch through the formation arrays or the Throughwalk maze without a signpost. But there was nothing to gain from it now — why bother with the extra effort? Following the signpost and strolling along comfortably was the better play.

Strolling leisurely beside Dang Gyu-young, ice cream in hand, we arrived at Exchange E. To all appearances it was a mart selling every manner of daily necessity, business in full swing, students milling about inside. We went in as well and, feigning a casual browse, worked our way deeper, following the napkin's guidance — until we came to a door with a sign on it, which we pushed through without a moment's hesitation.

The students passing nearby showed not the slightest curiosity about what we were doing.

Because there's a formation.

The arrays the graduate seniors had installed throughout the mart were warping sight itself with great cunning. To anyone without a napkin, everything would look perfectly natural. They probably hadn't even noticed us vanish.

The napkin's arrow pointed to a half-room where cleaning supplies were stacked. I squeezed inside; the arrow indicated a blank stretch of wall, and the moment I stepped into it, [Throughwalk] triggered on its own and carried us into the next room.

A room furnished like an office. We kept passing through wall after wall, emerged into a corridor, climbed a staircase, passed through another wall. After who knows how many office-like rooms, we stepped into one that already had a visitor.

A man had been sitting composedly in a chair, and he offered a greeting.

"You've come? What brings President Dang here in person?"

"Hello, Senior." And Dang Gyu-young bowed her head politely.

A graduate mentor senior. Judging by the sword propped at his side and his martial robes, he gave off a strong air of the martial world. Before long he drew from his robes a single old, faded martial manual, on which was written in rough, unrefined lettering:

"I hear this is what you've been looking for."

"That's the skill book, all right."

"..."

The man's gaze left Dang Gyu-young for a moment and came to rest on me. And quickly his eyes took on an odd glint — the look of a man who had figured something out. That I was a first-year. And that the one buying and using the skill book was not Dang Gyu-young, but me. Otherwise there would have been no reason to bring me along this far.

That a first-year would go out of his way to acquire and master a manual of demonic arts like this seemed to stir no small curiosity in him — but in trading banned items, the first unwritten rule is that the fewer questions exchanged, the better. He knew that as well as anyone, and before long he withdrew his gaze from me.

"Pay the fee."

"Yes, Senior."

Thanks to passing the graduates' test without a signpost on the preliminary visit, that fee would be covered on their end. The transaction was wrapped up with remarkable cool and speed, and the man rose from his seat. Then, taking the two of us in at once, he curved his lips into an unreadable smile.

"Put it to good use. I'll be wishing you success with the Black Market."

"Thank you. Safe travels."

After watching the man vanish through the wall, Dang Gyu-young passed me the manual.

"Here. So what kind of skill is this? I can tell it's a demonic art from the name alone, but still."

"Showing you will be faster than telling you."

I used the skill book without hesitation. The old booklet dissolved into motes of light and seeped into my body, and a notification printed itself at the edge of my vision.

Like Inferno Fist, it was C-rank the moment I learned it. And in sheer performance it fell short not at all — a tremendously powerful skill.

With my fist clenched, I straightened my index finger as though pointing at someone. And as I drew up my mana and focused it —

- Ssssssss— My index finger froze solid from the very tip. Like a statuette carved from jade, it took on a luminous blue glow, and white vapor rose off ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it like dry ice — proof of just how fierce the cold was.

Dang Gyu-young peered at it with fascinated eyes, then asked, "Wow, it's pretty. Can I touch it?"

"Just graze it. Very, very lightly."

Dang Gyu-young gingerly brought her fingertip to my index finger — then snatched her hand back as though she'd touched a hot stove.

- Krrrk, krrrk— Even though she had pulled away at once, frost bloomed from her fingertip and the chill kept spreading. Dang Gyu-young instantly flared her mana to drive the cold out, then shook out her hand.

"That is cold."

"That's why 'Hyneum' is in the name."

Hyneum Jade Demon Finger. A finger-technique martial art that pierces with the finger to inflict damage. So why did the word "Demon" appear in the name? Because of this technique's savage effect.

Hyneum Jade Demon Finger zeroed in on the opponent's blood channels — their mana circuits — freezing the flow of mana and severing it outright. Take one hit, and half your skills were sealed or their power drastically reduced. What was more, the intense cold infiltrated through those circuits, crippling movement as well — and in the end, it led to death.

At the explanation, Dang Gyu-young gave a small shiver, as if a chill had crawled over her. "It really is a demonic art, all right. So what's the penalty?"

And the reason this skill had been designated banned surely wasn't its savage effect alone — the penalty attached to using it must have played just as large a part.

"You have to mind your control of the cold, and fitting for a demonic art, it doesn't come free of demonic qi either."

That was what I said, but the cold was no great problem. I had S-rank [Elemental Resistance]. As with Inferno Fist, I could cast it up to B-rank with barely any elemental penalty at all. The real problem was the demonic qi.

When I drew up my list of desired banned items, I had deliberately narrowed it to demonic arts light on demonic qi — but a demonic art is still a demonic art. The more often I used it, the more the qi would accumulate and gnaw at me, so I couldn't spam it; it was for crucial moments only. Not that I could imagine many situations that would call for spamming a skill this powerful anyway.

"Honestly, you only ever learn the vicious stuff. Who are you planning to put on ice this time?"

"Anything that stands in the way of world peace has to be cleared away."

If I froze every last one of those eyesores solid, wouldn't peace finally come?

Dang Gyu-young shook her head slowly. "Yes, yes, of course you would. Now let's get out of here."

"Yep."

Just as on the way in, the napkin's signpost guided us to the exit. Over a few walls, down a staircase, over a few more walls — and when I opened the door waiting at the end, we were behind the Exchange E building. Looking down at the napkin, I watched the intricate inscription etched into it grow fainter and fainter before evaporating away entirely. It had served its purpose — and it was a pre-installed measure to leave no evidence behind. I tossed the napkin, signpost no more, into a trash can, looped around the building, and stepped back into the downtown crowds.

Walking with the flow of people, I asked Dang Gyu-young, "How far along is the Black Market now?"

"Effectively? It's just getting started."

In the morning only Exchanges A and B had opened, feeling ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠out the waters and taking customers carefully; the number of open exchanges had been widened one by one since. And now, with evening fallen, even the final Exchange F had gone live — the Black Market had properly raised its curtain.

"Then what's our role?"

"Nothing in particular, right now. We wander around near the exchanges killing time, and the second Da-bin calls, we move."

Chae Da-bin, the control tower. Through the crystal balls installed around the exchanges, she kept unblinking watch over the downtown district. The moment a problem arose, she would alert the members nearby to respond. And so far, nothing worth the name had happened.

"So in the end, we're the reserve force."

"That's about the size of it."

"Then whether I tag along with that lazybones or with you, Senior — wouldn't it be all the same?"

"Nope? Very, very different."

When I asked with a look what could possibly be so different about it, Dang Gyu-young answered with utter confidence.

"If you go, I get bored."

"..."

"Oh, come on — honestly, you're the same! You want to go over there?"

"Honestly... it is more comfortable wandering around with you, Senior."

"See? Hehehe." Dang Gyu-young laughed, thoroughly pleased.

And so, while Chae Da-bin and the rest of the Thief Club members worked hard managing the Black Market, the two of us roamed the downtown district, diligently burning time.

"Bead ice cream?"

"We just had ice cream."

"Have some more. We'll split it."

"Let's do that."

Dang Gyu-young was showing a distinct attachment to the bead ice cream, so we shared one.

"You been to the Game Center yet?"

"I have. Today, too."

"Hey, come with me sometime."

"Next time."

I peeled her interest away from the Game Center. If we started in on the mini-games, we wouldn't be able to move right away when Chae Da-bin made contact.

Just as we were busily killing time, a familiar voice came from behind.

"Greetings, Senior."

Dang Gyu-young and I turned our heads at the same moment, and Gwak Seung-jae bowed politely. Beside him stood Han So-mi, waving both hands in bright, airy circles, and Song Cheon-hye, her interested gaze flicking back and forth between the two of us. The three had apparently been patrolling the downtown district, spotted us, and stopped for a moment.

Dang Gyu-young took it in at a glance and returned the greeting with an air of perfect indifference.

"Seung-jae, hey."

[171] The Support Ate it All