The entrance to the Midnight Market wasn’t a grand magical gate. It was the rusted service door of an abandoned meatpacking plant on the very edge of Sector 4.
As they walked down the dark, concrete stairs, Donald closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. His [Lesser Mana Perception] hit him like a physical wall. The air down here wasn’t just thick; it was boiling. He could feel dozens of distinct mana signatures, some cold and sharp like ice, others heavy and suffocating like toxic smoke. These were not the weak, unawakened thugs of the Slums. The people down here were real killers.
"Keep your head up, but don’t stare at anyone," Evelyn whispered, stepping close to him.
To sell their disguise in the crowded underground bazaar, she smoothly looped her arm through his. She didn’t just hold his elbow; she pulled herself flush against his side. The incredibly soft, heavy weight of her chest pressed firmly against his new, muscular bicep.
Donald instantly stopped breathing. His spine locked up as stiff as a board.
"E-Evelyn," he choked out, keeping his voice to a strained whisper. "What are you doing?"
"Blending in," she murmured, a wicked, amused glint in her blue eyes as she leaned up slightly, her lips brushing dangerously close to his ear. "Down here, a woman walking alone is a target. A woman walking with a heavily armed, muscular bodyguard who looks like he eats glass for breakfast? That’s just good business. So stand tall, muscle boy, and try not to pass out. I can feel your heart beating through your jacket."
Donald swallowed dryly, his face burning. He forced himself to exhale and relax his shoulders. The sensation of her pressed against him was distracting, but as they stepped out into the main cavern of the market, the sheer scale of the place forced him to focus.
The Midnight Market was a sprawling underground city built from shipping containers and stolen Guild tents. The air smelled strongly of ozone, exotic monster blood, and heavy incense. Vendors wearing dark cloaks and metal masks shouted prices for illegal potions, unregistered skill books, and glowing, freshly harvested monster cores.
"We only have two hundred and fifty credits," Donald whispered out of the corner of his mouth, trying to ignore the warmth of Evelyn’s body against his arm. "B-Rank armor and a Vanguard sword will cost thousands."
"I know," Evelyn replied smoothly. "We aren’t here to buy prime gear. We are here to find a desperate seller. Follow my lead."
She guided him through the bustling crowd, stopping at a dimly lit stall tucked away in a damp corner. The stall was run by a thin, nervous-looking man with mechanical, silver eyes. His tables were covered in rusted armor plates and dark, nasty-looking weapons.
"I need a Vanguard longsword," Evelyn said, her voice dropping its playful tone, replaced by the cold, authoritative bark of an A-Rank veteran. "Something that can handle dense mana. And don’t show me garbage."
The cyborg merchant looked Evelyn up and down, then glanced at Donald, who was doing his best to look menacing in his dark trench coat, his heavy Pile Bunker hidden under the tarp over his shoulder.
"I have a surplus Silver-Steel broadsword," the merchant hissed, pulling a shiny, heavy blade from under the table. "B-Rank durability. Clean mana channels. Five thousand credits."
Evelyn scoffed loudly, crossing her arms. "Five thousand for a factory-pressed piece of tin? The edge is already micro-fractured. I wouldn’t pay five hundred for it."
While Evelyn argued to distract the merchant, Donald let his eyes wander over the tables. He subtly activated his [Valuation Eye].
A sea of gray text flooded his vision. Almost everything here was overpriced junk. But then, tucked away in an umbrella stand filled with broken spears, a deep purple glow caught his attention.
It was a sword wrapped entirely in dirty, blood-stained bandages. Only the pommel was visible—a piece of dark, tarnished metal shaped like a roaring wolf.
Donald focused on it.
[Target: ’Bloodhound’s Fang’ (Cursed Longsword)]
[Original Value: B-Rank (High Tier)]
[Current State: D-Rank (Mana channels completely clogged by a Blood-Rot Curse. Drains the user’s vitality upon use.)]
[Requires 20 Mana Points and ’Soothing Hands’ to purify the corrupted channels.]
[Combat Value: Extremely High (Bleed Effect).]
Donald’s heart did a familiar, excited jump. Another broken masterpiece.
He stepped forward, breaking away from Evelyn’s side. He reached into the umbrella stand and pulled out the bandage-wrapped sword. It was heavy, perfectly balanced, but Donald’s [Lesser Mana Perception] could feel the sickening, rotten magic leaking from it.
"How much for this piece of trash?" Donald asked, his voice surprisingly deep and steady.
The merchant stopped arguing with Evelyn and looked at the sword. He let out a nasty, mocking laugh. "That? That’s a cursed blade, kid. The last guy who tried to swing it had his own blood sucked out through his pores. I keep it around as a joke. You want to kill yourself? Give me a hundred credits."
Evelyn quickly grabbed Donald’s arm, her fingers digging into his coat. "Donald, no," she hissed in his ear. "I can feel the rot on that thing from here. It’s heavily cursed. If I push my mana through it, the curse will travel up my arms and infect my newly healed core."
Donald looked at her. He gave her a very small, confident wink.
Evelyn froze. She remembered the rusted, jammed Pile Bunker. She remembered him calling it a "lucky guess."
"I’ll take it," Donald said to the merchant. He tossed a hundred-credit chip onto the table.
The merchant snatched the chip, cackling. "No refunds for corpses, kid!"
Donald didn’t reply. He tucked the wrapped sword under his arm and nodded to Evelyn. They quickly walked away from the stall, losing themselves in the crowded, noisy market.
They found a quiet, secluded alleyway behind a pile of empty wooden crates. The shadows were thick here, hiding them from the main thoroughfare.
"Okay, kid," Evelyn said, crossing her arms. She looked skeptical, but there was a spark of hope in her eyes. "Tell me you have another magic trick up your sleeve. Because right now, you just bought me a suicide weapon."
"I don’t know if it will work," Donald lied, setting the sword down on a crate. "But my healing magic... it doesn’t just fix flesh. It feels like it pushes out bad energy."
He didn’t explain further. He unwrapped the dirty bandages, revealing a long, single-edged blade made of dark crimson metal. It was beautiful, but ugly, black veins of cursed magic pulsed along the steel.
Donald placed both of his hands flat against the cold metal blade.
He called up his mana. He needed to spend 20 points, which was a huge chunk of his total 37, but he pushed it without hesitation. His hands flared with the bright green light of his [Soothing Hands] skill.
But instead of the soft, gentle warmth he used on Evelyn, Donald forced the green magic down into the sword violently.
The blade instantly reacted. The black veins on the steel hissed like water hitting a hot frying pan. A foul, red smoke poured out of the metal, smelling like old blood. The sword vibrated violently, trying to fight back, but Donald’s SSS+ mana was too pure, too dense.
[Purifying Blood-Rot Curse... 50%... 80%... 100%.]
[Curse broken. Mana channels cleared.]
With a final, sharp crack of energy, the foul smoke vanished. The green light faded from Donald’s hands.
The sword lying on the crate was completely transformed. The dark crimson metal now gleamed under the dim alley lights. The edge was impossibly sharp, and a faint, clean red aura hummed around it.
Evelyn slowly reached out and picked it up by the wolf-head hilt.
The moment her hand touched it, the sword resonated with her Vanguard aura. It hummed happily, practically begging to be swung.
Evelyn swung it in a tight, experimental arc. The blade sliced right through the heavy wooden crate they were using as a table, splitting it perfectly in half with zero resistance.
Evelyn stared at the clean cut, then looked up at Donald. Her chest was heaving with excitement. The predatory, confident A-Rank fighter was fully back behind her eyes.
"Donald," she breathed, stepping close to him. She didn’t press her chest against him this time, but the intense, burning look in her blue eyes was ten times more overwhelming. "You really are the most valuable thing in this entire rotten city."