I sighed. "Fine," I said sweetly, slipping my all-purpose mana pistol into my magical pouch beneath my skirt. "But if we die, I'm haunting you."
We departed in an ordinary merchant carriage. No sigils. No banners. No royal arrogance. A few hours later? And when we arrived—I was shocked.
The black market sprawled beneath a shroud of grime and smoke, hidden within a forgotten quarter of the city like a festering wound the kingdom pretended not to see.
Narrow streets. Crooked stalls. Lanterns burning with sickly green and violet flames. The air was thick—incense, sweat, rot, blood, cheap wine.
Beggars lined the edges, missing limbs, missing eyes, missing hope. Some weren't begging—they were waiting.
Illegal sellers barked quiet offers. Buyers whispered back. Magic stones glowed faintly from crates—unregistered, unstable, dangerous. Vials of forbidden medicine clinked beside dark magic runes etched into bone and metal.
Beasts—gods, the beasts. Caged. Muzzled. Mutated. And then—
