**Chapter 82**
—
The first day he departed for Arcane.
Inside the train powered by a mana engine, the white-bearded man he met had handed him a black card and said:
*“If you go to the Black Spire and present this card, you’ll be able to meet me.”*
It was a memory Arthur had nearly forgotten, since he had no particular reason to seek the man out. But now, thanks to Willet mentioning the Black Spire, that memory resurfaced.
*‘Don’t tell me… that Black Spire is this Black Spire?’*
Arthur stroked his chin and nodded.
There was no way Black Spires were common, and there were too many overlapping points of connection.
The largest black market in Arcane.
The underworld organization that ruled the continent.
Anyone with a brain could see the links.
*‘But Willet said the Seven Lords are the ones who manage the black market… hmm.’*
Just as Arthur’s lips curled in amusement at the intrigue, Willet narrowed his eyes and asked:
“Why are you grinning like that again?”
“Huh?”
“Every time you smirk like that, I get uneasy. So why now?”
Arthur scratched his head.
“Uh… Did I smile in a bad way?”
“Not exactly, but… it feels ominous.”
“So you’re saying I smiled ominously?”
Willet fell silent.
“…Forget it. Let’s just move on.”
“You’re cutting me off like that, Elder Willet?”
“Explaining would only put me at a disadvantage. Anyway, I’ve got a gift for you.”
Arthur tilted his head.
Willet rummaged through a drawer and handed over a badge engraved in silver.
“Hm? This is…?”
“A C-rank mercenary badge.”
Arthur’s eyes widened.
It was only days ago that he had received a D-rank badge. Considering how difficult it was to raise one’s mercenary rank, this was something he shouldn’t be getting right now.
“…Are you sure you’re not giving me this by mistake?”
“No, it’s correct. The Mercenary Guild adjusted your rank.”
“Adjusted it?”
Willet downed his drink.
“They decided, after the recent incident, that your abilities no longer fit D-rank. Quite an exceptional case.”
Arthur let out a low whistle.
*‘Oh… so my rank went up even without completing requests?’*
For the ever-strict Mercenary Guild to raise his rank without any commissions cleared… this was new. Even in his past life, he had never experienced this.
Arthur mused to himself:
*‘If I stir up a few more incidents, will my rank climb again?’*
If he was to continue his mercenary life for the time being, the higher the rank the better.
Higher-ranked mercenaries not only earned better pay but also received higher-quality commissions.
*‘And high-quality commissions often involve good bloodlines…’*
At that moment, Willet stood.
“You’re plotting something strange again. Stop it. You can’t afford to stand out anymore.”
Arthur cocked his head.
“I wasn’t thinking anything strange though?”
“…Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
Willet nodded lightly.
“That’s enough talk for today. Let’s meet tomorrow. How about it?”
“Sounds good, Elder.”
“Best bring plenty of money.”
“Of course. Don’t worry.”
Leaving *Manners Make the Man*, Arthur stretched and muttered:
“Hm… Arcane’s black market, huh…”
He had visited black markets in his previous life, but never one on this scale.
*‘And this one’s tied to Sky Island too…’*
What he had thought would be casual entertainment was beginning to look like something far more interesting.
Not only Sky Island, but also the so-called Seven Lords—the true giants of the underworld—and pirates would be involved.
“At this rate, they might even be selling dragon blood.”
It was absurd, even to him, but who could say? They called it a place where you could buy anything, as long as you had money.
Smirking in anticipation, Arthur returned to his estate.
—
—
A morning so strangely clear it was unsettling.
Arthur headed for District B-13, where he had agreed to meet Willet.
As it was a residential zone, families were everywhere, strolling about the streets.
Faces bright with happiness under the pouring sunlight.
Arthur couldn’t help but tilt his head.
*‘The biggest black market in Arcane is opening in a place like this?’*
There was no hint of such a thing.
As he glanced about curiously, Willet rose from a bench nearby.
“You’re here.”
“Yes, good morning, Elder Willet.”
Willet nodded.
Unlike his casual wear at the tailor’s, he now wore a gray-brown suit with a black fedora.
The hat shaded the hideous scars on his face, lending him an air of dignity Arthur hadn’t noticed before.
*‘Could Elder Willet actually be from a noble family?’*
It was just speculation, but not impossible.
Despite living for so long in this cesspool, Willet never swore like the others.
*‘That kind of bearing doesn’t just appear out of nowhere.’*
Still, Arthur didn’t ask.
From experience, he knew Willet hated questions about his past.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s go.”
With that, Willet began walking, and Arthur followed.
They passed clean streets, then entered a massive promenade behind a housing complex.
“Ha ha ha—!”
Families were still everywhere, out for picnics.
Arthur and Willet passed them, heading deeper in.
Soon the greenery grew darker, the forest thickened, and the cooing of doves gave way to the cawing of crows.
Arthur let out a soft exclamation at the change, just as Willet halted.
“Mm… seems this is the place.”
Arthur peered past him—
And saw a black bell in the middle of the path.
It was housed within a small tower, though calling it a “tower” felt generous.
Still, regardless of its size, it was far too out of place here.
Arthur tilted his head.
“Can they really leave this out in the open?”
“Of course not. Must be a barrier.”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed.
“A barrier? But I didn’t sense any mana.”
“True magic makes no distinction between reality and falsehood. Whoever runs this black market has such a mage.”
Arthur stroked his chin.
*‘…That’s true.’*
True magic blurs the line between real and false.
Even lies become reality under true magic.
And this was clearly such magic.
*‘For me not to sense it at all, the caster must have at least fifty years of training… Who could the master be?’*
A Seven Lord, perhaps. Or the leader of the pirates. Or maybe Whitebeard himself.
As Arthur pondered, Willet carefully knocked on the bell.
Ding—
Once, twice, thrice.
The crows fell silent.
A hush descended. Then, a raspy voice scraped out from the mist.
“Kekeke… Guests. Are you guests?”
Arthur squinted at the dwarf that stepped out from behind the bell.
*‘Oh…?’*
Its ears were long like Jeannie’s, its skin green and ugly—
A goblin.
Arthur’s eyes gleamed with curiosity.
Willet murmured, “A goblin… I don’t remember seeing one last time.”
Arthur’s eyes widened.
“Oh… a monster?”
“Yeah. First time seeing one?”
“I’ve only read of them. Aren’t they a branch of the Green Skin race exterminated a thousand years ago?”
Willet nodded.
“Correct. Haven’t seen one in ages myself. They’re intelligent enough that some dark mages raise them, or so I’ve heard…”
Arthur thought to himself:
*‘So this goblin must be the guide.’*
Willet seemed to think the same.
Ending his musing, Willet addressed the goblin:
“We’d like to enter the black market.”
“Kikik… Ticket. Need a ticket.”
Willet pulled two from his breast pocket.
The goblin inspected them, then gestured.
“Guests… follow. This way.”
Arthur and Willet followed.
As they walked, Arthur mused to himself:
*‘Now I’m curious. Would Whitebeard’s card work here too?’*
If there was a connection, the goblin might react.
Would it lead him to the market—or straight to Whitebeard?
Arthur clicked his tongue.
*‘If I hadn’t just met him days ago, I might have tested it…’*
But knowing Whitebeard’s intentions, it was best not to cross him again.
Suppressing his curiosity, Arthur quietly followed.
After a time, the goblin halted and raised his lantern.
A massive tombstone appeared.
“Enter. This is… entrance.”
Willet stroked his chin, then stepped toward it—
And vanished.
Arthur muttered, impressed, “A teleport coordinate.”
“Kekeke… correct,” the goblin cackled.
Arthur regarded him for a moment, then asked carefully:
“Mr. Goblin, may I ask you something?”
“A question?”
“Yes. I’m curious about something.”
The goblin tilted his head.
“Money.”
“……”
“Give money. Money.”
Arthur shrugged and flicked a gold coin.
The goblin snatched it up and grinned vilely.
“What do you want to know?”
“Do you know of someone called Whitebeard?”
“……?”
“A dark mage of Sky Island. Ring any bells?”
The goblin flinched.
Its blood-red eyes trembled violently. Then—
A shriek.
“KYIEEEEEEEHHH!!!”
The ear-splitting screech made Arthur grimace.
The goblin clawed at its own ears.
Splat—!
Blood sprayed as it ripped them off, collapsing and thrashing with its severed ears in hand.
“Wh-Whitebeard! M-Master Whitebeard! F-Forgive me! Master Whitebeard!!!”
The voice was thick with both agony and terror.
Moments later, the goblin fainted.
Arthur, who had been watching silently, let out a low whistle.
“As I thought… it *is* related to Whitebeard.”
And clearly not in a pleasant way.
*‘From the looks of it… master and slave, perhaps?’*
Willet had said earlier that dark mages sometimes kept goblins. This fit the picture.
Arthur retrieved his gold coin and gave the unconscious creature a polite nod.
“You seem to want to be left alone, so I’ll take my leave, Mr. Goblin.”
With that, he approached the tombstone.
At once, the scenery blurred.
As his senses twisted, Arthur closed his eyes.
When he opened them again—
“…….”
A new sound filled his ears.
Arthur let out a breathless murmur.
“Oh…”
A red moon.
And a black sun.
Beneath that impossible sky, a city shrouded in darkness writhed.
—
