Chapter 61: Market

~Back to the present~

Rael stepped out of the Merchant Guild with his features already shifted under Conceal. Max was still lingering near the steps, eyes fixed on the entrance, waiting for the easy mark who had never reappeared. Rael walked past him at arm’s length. The guide never glanced twice.

Rael was a man of his word even when it gained him nothing, Rael let ten silver coins slip from his fingers as if by accident. They clinked against the flagstones. Max’s head snapped toward the sound. He waited half a heartbeat, confirmed no one was watching, then scooped the coins up with a quick, greedy motion and tucked them away. A satisfied grin spread across his face. Lucky day—extra silver and the newbie would still walk into the net later. Rael watched the small theft from the corner of his eye and kept walking. The proof was enough to say that there was greed in his eyes.

He angled toward the massive city walls. The streets grew thicker with every kind of awakener the Second Realm produced. Mages in long layered robes moved in small clusters, the hems of their garments marked with faint elemental embroidery. Towering figures who stood nearly twice Rael’s height strode past, shoulders broad enough to fill a doorway—barbarian-class fighters whose very presence parted the crowd. One man walked with a half-dozen eagles circling above him in lazy spirals; a beast tamer, most likely. Clothing and gear that would have looked like costume or cosplay on Titan were ordinary here. Every buckle, every reinforced seam, every crystal inlaid in a bracer could be the thin difference between walking home and dying in the dirt outside the walls.

Most of the foot traffic flowed in one clear direction. Rael followed. After several minutes the street opened into the market center—a wide, crowded bazaar that felt alive in a way the cleaner noble avenues never did. Stalls jostled against one another under patched canvas awnings. Voices rose in a constant layered roar: haggling, laughter, shouted prices, the sharp cry of a vendor calling attention to fresh stock. The air itself was thick with competing smells. Smoke from open grills carried the rich, gamey scent of roasting beast meat—thick cuts of horned-boar haunch turning over blue mana flames, skewers of lesser-drake flesh hissing as fat dripped into the fire, stews of mixed monster parts bubbling in iron pots. Makeshift "hotels"—little more than open-sided tents with a few benches—served the meat on wooden trenchers to anyone with coin. The smell was heavy, primal, and strangely appetizing after the clean sterility of the guild halls.

Further in, the bazaar offered everything an awakener might need and a fair number of things no one needed. Crates of dried rations sat beside baskets of glowing fruit. Potion vendors shook cloudy vials to demonstrate their clarity. A woman sold maps that claimed to mark safe routes through the nearby hunting zones; whether the maps were accurate was another matter. Prices here ran lower than in the established shops, but the risk ran higher. A careless buyer could walk away with a bargain or with a purse cut cleanly from his belt.

Rael had grown up in a house where anything he wanted simply appeared. Bargaining had never been required. The noisy, grasping energy of the market felt foreign, almost aggressive. He moved with the flow of bodies until a different sound cut through the din—the steady, ringing strike of a hammer on metal. The rhythm was precise and oddly calming. He turned toward it.

The stall was wider than most, its front table crowded with finished work: swords, axes, hammers, a few wands, and several sets of armor. Behind the counter stood a boy who looked barely into his teens. Rael knew better than to trust appearances inside the Dream Realm; age and power rarely matched the face that carried them.

"I can help you with anything," the boy said.

Rael pulled his attention from the back of the stall, where the hammer still rang at intervals. "I’m looking for light armor."

The boy nodded, ducked behind a hanging cloth, and called into the workshop. "Uncle—light armor."

A deep, gravel-edged voice answered. "Wait."

A minute later the boy returned with four different sets and laid them out on the table. All of them showed cleaner work than Rael had expected to find in a street stall this far from the noble district. He ran his fingers over the materials, testing weight and flex. Years of seeing Blackthorn family gear had taught him the difference between competent craft and careless scrap. These pieces leaned toward the former.

His hand settled on a set of matte-black armor.

[Nightfall Armor]

[Rank: Uncommon]

A lightweight black armor designed for agility and stealth. Its flexible construction provides decent protection without restricting movement, making it ideal for scouts, assassins, and agile fighters.

"How much?"

"One gold," the boy said.

Rael knew the price sat a little high, but he had never learned the art of talking a seller down. He paid without argument. While he put the Nightfall Armor, Rael’s eyes moved across the rest of the stall. More pieces lay further back on the table and hung from pegs along the side canvas—gauntlets etched with faint runes, a pair of boots that left a soft shimmer when the light caught them, a dark-metal bracer that pulsed with a slow inner glow. One sword in particular drew the eye: the blade carried a thin blue sheen and the tag beside it marked it Rare. The price written underneath made his newly exchanged gold feel suddenly modest. Even the better Uncommon pieces sat well above what he was willing to spend today.

He had the means, but not the intention. Rare and high-end Uncommon gear would drain the bulk of his coins for gains he could not yet fully use. Better to move light, learn the land outside the walls, and return with clearer needs—and clearer strength—before chasing expensive artifacts. For now simple tools would do.

He added a common-rank bow and a serviceable short sword to the purchase. Both were plain, well-balanced, and honest in their limits. A proper wand could wait; the ones on display either lacked the focus he wanted or carried price tags that belonged to a later stage of the journey. He stored everything in his ring, gave the boy a short nod, and stepped back into the moving current of the bazaar.

The noise closed around him again—the hammer still ringing somewhere behind the stall, vendors calling prices, the rich smell of roasting beast meat drifting from the open grills and makeshift hotels. Crowds pressed and parted. Somewhere ahead the massive walls of Ashfall rose against the twin-sun sky. Outside them the real work would begin.

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