Rosacer found a small inn in the later area of the town.
The looming buildings were engulfed in yellow fungus, spreading across their walls. The mist was especially thick. Its slow curling, mixed with the groans of some unfortunate soul in the alley, created a sensation he never wished to experience again. Yet here he stood, at the very center of an agony-filled town.
Now proficient in using the Grafted Sigil, he quickly changed his face. He wore the appearance of an old man, his stature bent and frail. Changing the color of his clothes, however, was impossible. He asked the system, but it gave no reply.
"It does not know either."
Rosacer tried again, but failed.
"Looks like I will have to search for clothes."
With the merchants dead in the Southern Sector, trade had come to a halt under the Merchant Union's order. Supplies were no longer transferred, and people had become feral due to the lack of pills.
He had already fought some of them and was forced to kill. From one of the bodies, he managed to procure a suit. Perhaps the man had once been better than his counterparts, but without the pills, he had succumbed to madness.
After putting on the suit and adjusting it to fit his body perfectly, he retained the Mask of Pharaoh, reshaping it into a bangle. He then placed the separated Dark Messiah's Statue back into his inventory. As he did so, he felt a trace of wariness, half-expecting the inventory to react differently. In the end, it did not.
He exhaled in relief.
Slowly, he turned toward where the mist was thickest and heaviest. The docks.
The warehouses were still shrouded in such dense fog that the scene could barely be made out.
The ship, Leviathan Mariner, was already at the dock, ready to sail. All the sailors had been appointed. Rosacer had already missed his chance to join them.
Still, a mariner always needed extra hands. It was not over yet. He still had a chance.
As he moved through the docks, he encountered several sailors and stopped one of them.
"When does the ship leave?"
The sailor turned to answer him. "We leave tomorrow, after daybreak."
His eyes were hazy from lack of sleep. The toll was clearly heavy on them all. The mutation he carried was an extra pair of limbs.
Rosacer did not stop the sailor any longer. The man gave a small nod before leaving with his crew. Perhaps there was a glimpse of hope in his heart, for he was about to leave.
Even though sailing into the sea was never truly fruitful, it was still a symbol of hope. There was no way anyone could escape the city by sitting idle. At the very least, they were doing something.
After making further inquiries, Rosacer headed toward the warehouse. He had something to return to someone.
Far within the mist, a pink-haired woman emerged from the thicker fog. Her form shifted, transforming into a man dressed in gray clothing, his mutation visible in his eyes, which were uneven in shape and size.
The figure moved deeper into the heavy mist and was soon drawn toward a warehouse.
She looked around. The mist was heavier today. Without hesitation, she went inside.
The entrance was lit by flames of different hues. She navigated through the space and soon found an empty seat. Nearby sat an old man, and beside him was a mage. A mage dressed in cheap clothing. Perhaps a failed mage.
At first glance, she recognized him. He was her neighbor in the ragged apartment where she stays during her time in the Southern Sector.
But the old man seemed different. He bore no mutation. Although his clothes were nothing remarkable, they were still of finer quality.
The flames flickered. The time was near.
She stopped her wandering thoughts and quickly took the seat beside the old man.
The auction began.
This time, the auctioneer was a man with dark blue hair and eyes the color of the deep sea. His voice was melodic, like that of a mermaid, as it rang through the hall with his announcement.
"Today's auction is special," he said, flicking his finger.
The very next second, a box appeared before him, wreathed in smoking effects.
Slowly, the smoke spread across the area. It grew lighter and lighter, until it became almost transparent, so faint that no one could see it anymore.
"This is the Smoke of Awakening. It can create a vortex around itself where no one can sleep. It is an especially important item in places where sleep means death."
"Today's item for sale is this alone."
One of the men in the crowd called out, "Where is the item from?"
The announcer smirked before replying, "From the heartland of the Ernest Kingdom."
All the mages nearby immediately perked up.
"The bidding starts at five million vials."
"They are trying to take all the vials from the Southern Sector," the unsymmetrical eyed man whispered.
"Why?" the old man asked.
"To take revenge on the people who killed and then, like vultures, tore apart the Merchant," she replied without turning her head.
The announcer maintained his composure. His gaze swept across the crowd as he managed the chaos with calm efficiency.
Like ferocious beasts, the bidders drove the price through the roof, numbers so absurd they almost invited laughter.
Soon, the sum climbed into the billions.
Meanwhile, the man with the asymmetrical eyes had already lost interest. The item she had come for was not going to be auctioned today.
Rosacer disguised as the old man observed everything in silence. His target was something else entirely, and he scanned the entire arena with quiet focus.
And he found it. In the darkness of the arena, where the exit alley met the shadows, stood a tall man with a pale, ghostlike face.
Neb.
He waited and watched, his Grafted eyes straining as he searched for more, but unfortunately, there was no sign of the other members of the Men in Black.
"Looks like he will have to do."