The bandit gangs who'd arrived early had already set up stalls stretching for kilometers through the makeshift market grounds.
Weapon shops crammed with a dazzling array of firearms, blacksmith stalls with boilers belching black smoke, serum shops thick with the pungent smell of alchemical reagents, steam-equipment stalls — and, more than anything else, countless vendors hawking their wares off nothing more than a ragged sheet of burlap on the ground.
The streets teemed with people, most of them decked out like adventurers, firearms and blades strapped to their sides. These were members of every major bandit gang, and even from a distance you could feel the killer's edge radiating off them.
The weather was decent today, the toxic haze thinner than usual, so a few men had gone without their gas masks, showing off gruesome tattoos and hard, dangerous eyes. Worn leather trousers, sweat-stained linen shirts, smoky eye makeup, nose rings, matted little dreadlocks, dyed mohawks, mechanical arms with exposed clockwork gearing — the whole scene steeped, layer upon layer, in heavy-metal dark-punk aesthetic.
...
"Step right up — precision firearms, three-hundred-meter range, high-accuracy scopes, smokeless powder... wholesale, thirteen thousand liras, minimum order one hundred units."
"Fire-element enchanted blade, the famed Crimson Serpent Scimitar of Basil, an heirloom of House Lafayette — yours for just five million liras!"
"Bulk sale, one ton of serum materials, fresh off a raid, still warm — flat price, thirty thousand gold crowns..."
"Prime war-slaves for sale — merchant daughters, ladies of good breeding, a marquis's own lady knight — come take a look..."
"Imperial-standard steam-mechanical exoskeleton, current-issue for the Royal Guard, limited stock, get it while it lasts..."
"..."
The hawking never let up the whole way through. A crowd of men who clearly weren't legitimate merchants manned stall after stall, calling out their wares.
Goods worth staggering sums sat piled carelessly on the ground, the whole scene as chaotic and disorganized as a flea market.
Numb-faced female slaves, dressed in barely enough cloth to cover the essentials, stood chained in rows on display platforms like livestock, while a crowd of leering buyers below pointed and murmured amongst themselves...
Every so often, scattered gunfire cracked through the air — arms dealers in the black market demonstrating their firearms and steam gear to prospective buyers.
On an open-air fighting pit, two bare-chested, muscular men grappled in a brutal, no-holds-barred duel, while a crowd of gamblers below howled with excitement...
And of course, the liveliest spots of all were the pleasure taverns and gambling dens, where seductive women called out to passersby from the doorways.
The opportunistic merchants secretly in league with the bandits were never going to pass up an opportunity like this — they'd stocked up on fine liquor and lovely women well in advance, waiting to bleed every last gold coin out of the bandits' pockets.
These men who lived by the blade, after all, were the ones most willing to spend freely on indulgence.
...
This was, in every sense, a chaotic, lawless, blood-soaked black market fair.
But as Ryan took it all in, a certain feeling inside him grew harder and harder to suppress.
A full year transmigrated into this world, spent perpetually skirting the edge of death — and this was the closest he'd ever felt to "freedom."
This particular black market gathering, the largest in nearly a decade, had likely drawn well over a hundred thousand people.
This was, without question, the best opportunity to escape. He had to seize it.
Of course, a certain old man was thinking exactly the same thing.
"Come on, there's nothing worth seeing on the main street. At a gathering like this, the truly good stuff only changes hands through private, closed circles..."
"Yes, Teacher."
"..."
Pisces led Ryan around for a while, putting on a show of browsing, gradually steering them into increasingly out-of-the-way corners, until they arrived at a quiet tavern called the Hyacinth.
At a black market fair like this, taverns without escorts to entertain guests rarely drew the lecherous, drink-loving bandit crowd — but they were exactly the sort of place the more high-minded serum masters preferred to meet.
This was an upscale establishment, tucked away somewhere out of the way — well suited to handling discreet business.
Things like, say, murder and theft.
...
*Clack.* The swinging saloon-style double doors pushed open from outside, the wind chime hanging above them ringing out crisply.
Inside, the décor leaned heavily into a Western-saloon aesthetic, though the room was crisscrossed with black steam-boiler piping and valve fixtures.
Perhaps because it was still early, the tavern was empty of customers when the two of them walked in. Behind the bar, a mustached bartender idly polished the same tall glass over and over, looking thoroughly bored.
Pisces, as a two-star serum master, apparently carried some name recognition here — the bartender greeted him warmly the moment he walked in.
"Hey there, Mr. Pisces, my old friend — good to see you again!"
"Mm."
Pisces gave a curt, indifferent nod, then asked, "Tom, has Joseph from the Flower Snake Gang come through yet?"
The bartender shrugged. "Haven't seen him, Mr. Pisces. But the fair hasn't officially opened yet — I imagine Mr. Joseph's still on his way..."
"Hm."
Pisces raised an eyebrow. Without the slightest hesitation, he flicked a gold crown from his fingers, and it landed squarely on the bar counter. "The usual — get us a quiet, spacious room."
That alone was worth a full ten thousand liras.
The bartender scooped up the coin, beaming. "Right away... Having a distinguished serum master grace my humble little establishment is an honor, sir."
Listening to the exchange, nothing about it seemed suspicious.
Ryan said nothing the entire time, though out of the corner of his eye he took in every detail of the tavern. He was watching for an opening, all while staying alert for any sudden move from Pisces.
*Creak, creak, creak...*
The wooden staircase gave off a faint, brittle sound underfoot.
Ryan followed Pisces up the stairs cautiously, and it was only then that he noticed an unassuming pair of guests tucked away in a corner not far off.
*Huh... I didn't notice there were other customers a moment ago...*
He glanced over.
The guests were a man and a woman.
The man was a burly, thick-bearded brute, built like a bear — likely a Fighter-type Transcendent.
The woman had a slender, graceful figure, flaxen wavy hair spilling over her shoulders, though a half-face gas mask covering everything but her eyes kept her features hidden from view.
The two seemed to be discussing something clandestine — even straining to listen, Ryan couldn't make out a single word of it.
*These two... a bit suspicious.*
Ryan mulled it over silently. In this room, right now, everyone was a potential enemy.
After that single glance, he casually looked away, following Pisces upstairs without missing a beat — entirely unaware that even as he studied the pair, his every movement had likewise fallen under their notice.
...
The sudden arrival of two outsiders in the tavern drew a flicker of wariness across both faces in the corner. But once they'd taken the measure of the newcomers' strength, that wariness vanished just as quickly.
Transcendents at this level posed no threat to them whatsoever. However you looked at it, they were just two customers who happened to wander in.
Once Ryan and Pisces had disappeared upstairs, the thick-bearded man finally spoke, turning to the woman across from him. "Your Highness, let's get back to discussing our arrangement... terms are negotiable, but I need to see some good faith from you first..."
The woman in the half-mask answered with an icy, distant composure. "Mr. Basil, you should understand — my coming here alone to meet with you is already more than enough good faith on my part."
"Heh heh..."
The big man shrugged, grinning, making no effort to hide his admiration. "Your Highness Yumir really is the boldest noble I've ever met — far better than those spineless hypocrites. Well then, I don't trust the Ormar royal family, but I've decided to trust you. We can talk terms..."
The woman nodded, her expression calm and unreadable.
No one would have guessed that these two unremarkable patrons tucked into a corner of the tavern were, in fact, two of the most famous names in the entire Ormar Empire — one, the leader of the White Wolf Bandit Gang, White Wolf Basil Gustav; the other, the Ormar imperial family's Grand Princess, herself a top-tier Transcendent known as the Frost Sword Maiden, Yumir Sprugrin.