The City of Babylon was not just a city; it was a living, breathing beast made of gold and stone. While the Academy sat on the floating islands above, the City sprawled beneath it, a labyrinth of commerce, crime, and corruption.
We took the mana-elevator down from the Academy grounds. The descent took ten minutes. As the doors opened, the smell hit us first. Spices, unwashed bodies, roasting meat, and the metallic tang of industrial mana.
Zane stepped out, his massive frame creating a natural path through the crowd. He was wearing civilian clothes—a simple tunic and trousers that strained against his muscles. The Iron-Breaker was wrapped in cloth on his back, looking like a construction beam. I wore a hooded cloak. I didn't want to be recognized as the "student who embarrassed Vex" just yet.
"Loud," Zane grunted, glaring at a street vendor shouting about 'Fresh Wyvern Skewers.'
"This is the Trade District," I said, checking my pockets to ensure my meager coin purse was secure. "The heart of the Empire's economy. And the place where we will find our next piece."
"The Banker?"
"The Merchant," I corrected. "Cian of House Aurelius."
We navigated through the crowded streets. The architecture changed as we moved toward the center. Wood turned to stone, stone turned to marble. The beggars disappeared, replaced by private guards in polished armor. We arrived at the Golden Scales Auction House.
It was a palace. Massive pillars of white marble supported a dome of gold-tinted glass. A red carpet spilled down the stairs like a tongue. Carriages pulled by white horses (and one by a tamed griffin) were dropping off guests. These weren't students. These were the true elites. Merchants, high-ranking nobles, politicians.
"Fancy," Zane spat. "I hate it."
"Try to look less like you want to burn it down," I whispered. "Follow me."
We walked up the stairs. My plan was simple. Get in. Find Cian. Use my knowledge of the future to offer him a tip on an item being auctioned today—an item everyone thinks is trash but is actually a legendary artifact. That single tip would get his attention. It would be my foot in the door.
We reached the massive golden doors. Two guards stood there. They weren't Academy security. They were mercenaries. High-level ones. One of them, a man with a scar running down his cheek, stepped in front of us. He didn't speak. He just held up a hand.
"We are here for the afternoon auction," I said, putting on my best 'arrogant noble student' voice. "I am Aren. This is my bodyguard."
The guard looked me up and down. His eyes lingered on my worn boots, my cheap cloak, and the complete lack of expensive jewelry. Then he looked at Zane. He saw the raw strength, but also the 'Commoner' vibe.
"Invitation?" the guard asked. His voice was bored.
"I don't have one on me," I lied smoothly. "My father, Baron—"
"No invitation, no entry," the guard cut me off. He didn't even blink.
"I am a student of Babel Academy," I said, flashing my student badge. usually, this badge opened doors.
The guard glanced at the badge. "Good for you, kid. This is a private establishment. Members only. Or guests with a verifiable net worth of 10,000 Gold Coins."
10,000 Gold. I had maybe 50 silver in my pocket. "Check my account," I bluffed. "My family name is—"
"Kid," the guard stepped closer. He was huge. He leaned down, his breath smelling of tobacco. "I have the list of every noble family invited today. You aren't on it. You aren't even on the waiting list for the waiting list." He poked my chest with a metal-gauntleted finger. "Go back to school. The adults are doing business."
Zane growled. A low, dangerous rumble. He took a step forward. The guard's hand went to the hilt of his sword. The other guard straightened up. People in the line started to stare. "Is there a problem?" a lady with a fan whispered. "Look at those thugs."
"Zane," I said sharply. "Stand down."
"He touched you," Zane said, his eyes locked on the guard's throat.
"And he's doing his job. We are leaving."
I wasn't going to start a brawl at the entrance of the most powerful financial institution in the city. That wasn't dominance. That was suicide.
We stepped back, moving to the side of the entrance. "So that's it?" Zane asked. "We just leave?"
"No," I said, leaning against a marble pillar, watching the carriages arrive. "We wait. I need to confirm he's actually here."
We waited for ten minutes. Then, a sleek, black carriage arrived. It had the crest of a Golden Scale on the door. The door opened. A young man stepped out.
Cian Aurelius. He was my age, maybe a year older. He had pale blonde hair tied back in a neat ponytail and wore spectacles with thin gold frames. His suit was tailored perfectly, dark blue silk with silver threading. He didn't look like a warrior. He looked like a calculator in human form.
He was surrounded by three older men—advisors, probably—who were talking rapidly. "...the spice trade in the East is fluctuating, Young Master..." "...House Valerius is asking for a loan extension..."
Cian ignored them. He was looking at a pocket watch. His expression was one of utter, profound boredom. He walked up the stairs. The guards didn't stop him. They bowed. Deeply. "Master Aurelius," the scarred guard said, his voice dripping with respect. "Welcome."
Cian didn't even look at the guard. He walked past him as if the man was part of the architecture.
This was my chance. A split second. I stepped away from the pillar. "Lord Aurelius!" I called out. Not shouting, but projecting my voice.
Cian stopped. He paused on the top step. He turned his head slightly. The sunlight glinted off his glasses. He looked at me. [Skill: Analysis]
[Name: Cian Aurelius] [Role: The Merchant Prince] [Disposition: Arrogant / Bored] [Danger Level: Low (Physical) / Extreme (Financial)]
For a second, our eyes met. I expected curiosity. Or annoyance. Instead, I saw... nothing. He looked at me the way a human looks at an ant. Not with hate. Just with total indifference. I wasn't worth the calories it took to process my existence.
He turned back around without saying a word. He snapped his fingers. One of his advisors broke off from the group and jogged down the stairs toward us. A heavy-set man with a red face. "What do you want?" the advisor barked at me. "Are you begging? Do you know who you interrupted?"
"I have a business proposition for Lord Aurelius," I said calmly. "Regarding the artifact being sold in Lot 44."
The advisor laughed. It was a wet, ugly sound. "Lot 44? The rusted dagger? Kid, go sell your information to a pawn shop. Lord Aurelius deals in Empires, not trash." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a silver coin, and flicked it at me. The coin hit my chest and fell to the ground. "For your trouble. Now get lost before I call the City Watch."
The advisor turned and walked back up the stairs. The golden doors closed. Cian was gone.
I stood there, looking at the silver coin on the dirty pavement. Zane was shaking. The veins in his neck were bulging. "Aren," he said, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "Let me break that door down."
"No." I bent down. I picked up the silver coin. I wiped the dirt off it with my thumb.
"Why?" Zane demanded. "They treated you like a beggar!"
"Because we are beggars, Zane," I said softly. I looked at the coin. It was real silver. "Right now, to them, we are nothing. We are noise. If we break the door, we are just bandits. Bandits get hanged."
I clenched the coin in my fist. My pride wasn't hurt. In the game, I knew Cian was arrogant. But seeing it in person... feeling that dismissal... It clarified things. I didn't want Cian as a partner. I wanted to own him. I wanted to make him realize that without me, his gold was worthless dust.
"I don't want to beg for a seat at their table," I said, turning away from the Golden Scales. "I want to buy the table. And then burn it."
"So what do we do?" Zane asked, spitting on the ground near the fancy red carpet.
I looked at the map of the city in my mind. If the Golden Gates were closed, we would go to the Rusty Gates. Babylon had two faces. The surface was gold. The underground was iron and blood. And down there, they didn't ask for invitations. They asked for results.
"We need capital," I said, my eyes cold. "Cian dismissed Lot 44. He thinks it's trash. That's his mistake." I started walking down the street, away from the marble palaces, toward the darker, smokier alleys of the Lower District. "We are going to the Black Market, Zane."
"Why?"
"Because in the Black Market, they don't care about your family name. They care about what you can sell." I smirked, though there was no humor in it. "And I know how to make something that every criminal in this city is addicted to, but doesn't know exists yet."
"Drugs?" Zane frowned.
"No. Something better." I tapped my temple. "Mana Potions. But not the watered-down trash the Academy sells. Pure, unstable, high-grade liquid power." "I'm going to cook, Zane. And we are going to make enough money to buy that arrogant Merchant's attention."
Zane looked at me, then at the distant golden dome. He grinned. "Cooking. I can carry the pots."
We descended into the shadows of the city. The rejection at the Golden Scales wasn't a defeat. It was the start of a war.