Saile sat in the dark corner of a dirty, abandoned warehouse.
The air smelled of rotting wood and dust.
The Gold-Rank Executor’s holy aura had faded from the sky hours ago, but the city of Valerius was still completely locked down. Heavily armored Church guards marched up and down the dirt streets outside, searching every single building for the Heretic.
Saile needed to move, but he had a massive problem.
He held his stolen steel sword in his hands. The weapon had served him well against the Heretic Cultists, but it was just regular steel.
He closed his eyes and pushed a tiny, careful drop of his EX-Rank dark mana into the hilt.
Crack.
A nasty spiderweb of deep fractures instantly spread up the shiny metal blade.
The steel groaned loudly, unable to handle the extreme pressure of the dark magic.
Saile quickly pulled his energy back into his chest, but the damage was already done.
The sword was totally ruined.
If he swung it in a real fight against the Executor, it would shatter into a million useless pieces on the very first hit.
"I told you," Naicul laughed coldly inside his mind. "Mundane steel cannot hold the power of a God. You need a real weapon, boy. If you run into that Gold-Rank Executor with a broken toy, he will cut your head off before you can even blink."
"I know," Saile thought back with a heavy sigh. "But I cannot just walk into a normal blacksmith shop right now. The Church is watching everything. I need to find the criminal underground."
"Then you better put on a mask," Naicul replied.
Saile reached into his bag and pulled out a dark, heavy stealth cloak.
He had bought it secretly from a shady merchant right after getting his Silver Rank tag.
He threw the thick fabric over his shoulders, pulling the hood low over his eyes. It was perfect for hiding his face and masking his body heat.
He had to be a total ghost tonight.
Saile slipped out the back window of the warehouse.
The cool night air hit his face.
He stuck to the deep shadows, climbing a stack of wooden crates to reach the rooftops. He moved silently, using his Level 22 agility to jump over wide gaps between the stone buildings.
Down below, he saw groups of silver-armored guards holding bright torches, scanning the alleys.
He kept his breathing slow and steady, avoiding their sight entirely.
After thirty minutes of careful jumping, he reached the entrance to the Black Market.
It was hidden behind a heavy iron door deep inside a flooded, dirty sewer tunnel.
The smell of raw sewage was terrible.
Two massive, ugly thugs stood blocking the iron door. They wore thick leather armor and held heavy wooden clubs wrapped in spiked iron.
They looked like Level 20 bruisers, hired strictly to keep the city guards out.
Saile did not want to cause a loud scene.
He dropped down from the roof, landing lightly on his feet in the wet muck.
"Hey! No one goes in here without an invite, kid!" the first thug yelled angrily.
He swung his spiked club in a wide, deadly arc aimed right at Saile’s ribs.
Saile did not panic.
He dropped into a low crouch, dodging smoothly right under the heavy, swinging weapon.
He planted his hands on the wet sewer floor and whipped his right leg around in a rapid, forceful spin sweep.
Smack!
His boot hit the thug’s thick ankles.
The physical force knocked the giant man completely off his feet, sending him crashing hard into the dirty water.
"You little rat!" the second thug roared in pure anger.
He thrust his spiked club straight forward, aiming to crush Saile’s face.
Saile planted his back foot and launched into a high, graceful backflip.
He sailed perfectly over the thrusting club.
While hanging upside down in the air, he lashed out with his heel.
He executed a flawless aerial twist kick, landing a brutal strike right on the side of the man’s jaw.
The physical force of his Level 22 strength sent the heavy thug crashing hard into the solid stone wall.
Both guards slumped to the wet floor, totally unconscious.
Saile did not even draw a drop of blood.
"Your obsession with leaving people alive is going to get us in trouble," Naicul grumbled inside his head.
"They are just guarding a door," Saile replied simply.
He pushed the heavy iron doors open and stepped inside.
The Black Market auction was absolutely packed.
The large underground cellar smelled heavily of cheap red wine, nervous sweat, and burning pipe smoke.
Wealthy, corrupt merchants wearing bright silk coats sat comfortably in velvet chairs in the front row. Dangerous criminals, thieves, and scarred mercenaries stood quietly in the dark shadows near the back walls.
Saile pulled his stealth cloak tighter around his face, walking quietly to the back of the crowded room.
On a raised wooden stage, an auctioneer in a flashy purple suit was showing off glowing magical items.
Beautiful A-Rank swords, shiny silver shields, and rare red healing potions sold for huge, heavy bags of gold coins.
The crowd cheered loudly and threw their money onto the stage.
Saile ignored the flashy items completely.
None of those clean, holy weapons could handle his dark EX-Rank mana anyway.
They would just shatter like his stolen steel sword.
He needed something different.
Something ancient.
"Patience," Naicul whispered in his head. "Trash always floats to the top. Wait for something useful."
After an hour of watching boring rings and magical boots, the auctioneer looked tired.
He wiped sweat from his forehead and signaled to his assistants.
Two large men carried a long, dirty wooden box onto the stage.
They opened the lid and pulled out a weapon.
The entire crowd immediately burst into loud, mocking laughter.
It was a long, rusted, pitch-black blade.
It looked exactly like a piece of burnt scrap metal pulled from a fire.
There was no glowing magic, no shiny jewels on the hilt, and no sharp edge.
It was just a heavy, ugly, corroded slab of dark iron.
"What is that garbage?" a rich merchant yelled angrily from the front row. "Get that F-Rank trash off the stage!"
"I found a better sword in a mud pit last week!" another man laughed cruelly.
The auctioneer smiled nervously, holding his hands up to calm the angry crowd.
"Please, gentlemen! It is a strange artifact pulled straight from the bottom of the Dead Sea! It has massive historical value. We will start the bidding at just five gold coins!"
In Saile’s mind, Naicul completely stopped talking.
The ancient God went perfectly, totally silent.
Then, a massive wave of pure, heavy emotion crashed into Saile’s chest.
It was not anger.
It was total, undeniable shock.
"Saile," Naicul whispered.
His ancient voice was actually shaking.
"Buy it. Buy it right now."
"Why?" Saile asked in his head, staring at the stage. "It looks like a broken piece of junk. I cannot fight an Executor with that."
"That is no piece of junk," Naicul said.
His voice grew loud, desperate, and full of raw pride.
"That is my sword."
Saile’s eyes widened.
"It is a broken fragment of my ancient divine weapon. It has been lost for a thousand years."
Naicul’s voice became almost frantic.
"Buy it!"
Saile looked closely at the rusted black metal on the stage.
"Five gold coins?" a confused, fat merchant asked, scratching his double chin with a fat finger. "I will give you three coins for it. I can use it as a dirty doorstop for my barn."
The crowd laughed loudly again.
The auctioneer sighed heavily, lifting his wooden hammer in defeat.
"Three gold coins. Going once..."
Saile stepped forward out of the dark shadows.
He threw his stealth cloak back just enough to free his arms.
"I bid nine Weapon Fragments," Saile announced loudly.
His voice was cold and completely flat, cutting right through the laughter in the room like a sharp knife.
The entire underground cellar went completely quiet.
Every single person turned around to look at the boy in the cloak.
The fat merchant blinked in total confusion.
The auctioneer’s eyes went as wide as dinner plates.
Weapon Fragments were incredibly rare.
They only dropped from high-level boss monsters.
A single Weapon Fragment was worth more than a hundred gold coins to a skilled city blacksmith.
Bidding nine of them for a rusted, F-Rank piece of garbage was absolute insanity.
Saile reached directly into his System inventory.
He pulled out the nine heavy, jagged pieces of dark metal he had farmed from the Abyssal Hound and the forest monsters.
He walked right up to the wooden stage and slammed the fragments heavily onto the table.
Clang!
The heavy metallic sound broke the dead silence.
The auctioneer stared at the glowing, high-tier fragments.
His hands actually started to shake.
He looked from the shiny fragments to Saile, then back to the fragments.
"N-Nine Weapon Fragments?" the auctioneer stuttered weakly, sweating bullets.
He looked nervously at the fat merchant.
"Do we have a higher bid?"
The fat merchant shook his head wildly, backing away in pure fear.
No one in their right mind would outbid that for a rusty piece of iron.
"Sold!" the auctioneer yelled happily, quickly grabbing the nine fragments before Saile could change his mind.
"The rusted blade goes to the young man in the cloak!"
Saile did not smile.
He reached out and grabbed the hilt of the corroded pitch-black blade.
The moment his skin touched the cold iron, a massive spark of dark lightning shot straight up his arm.
It did not hurt him.
It felt exactly like coming home.
The heavy, ugly sword practically hummed with ancient, terrifying power in his firm grip.
It instantly recognized Naicul’s soul hiding inside the boy’s chest.
"We found it," Naicul whispered.
A dark, wicked thrill bled directly into his tone.
"Once we forge this with the System, no holy sword in the world will be able to break it."
Saile wrapped the dark blade tightly in a piece of clean cloth and tied it securely to his back.
He turned around and walked straight toward the heavy iron doors.
The dangerous criminals and wealthy merchants scrambled wildly out of his way, completely terrified of the crazy kid who carried boss-tier loot in his dirty pockets.
He stepped back out into the cold night air of the sewer tunnel, pulling his stealth cloak firmly over his face.
He had secured the divine weapon.
Now, he just had to survive long enough to unlock its true power.