Chapter 302 - 302: Marketplace Anomaly
The Grand Concourse of the Trade Federation felt like an aggressive, high-stakes collision of a thousand different iterations of physics, commerce, and cosmic ego.
We descended the ivory stairs into the Pavilion of Delights. My [Nullifying Veil] kept my own signature comfortably buried in the static of the surrounding security grid, but as we moved among the stalls, I started to notice the nuances.
The anonymity protocol was absolute for those who wanted it — shifting gray silhouettes devoid of species or scent. But it wasn't mandatory.
"Look at them," Anna muttered, her hand brushing her bow out of instinct.
I followed her gaze. A group of three towering figures walked past, utterly visible. They were heavily armored in what looked like dark matter plating, radiating an aggressive, spiked heat that felt like a neutron star. The insignia on their chests was a cracked skull. They weren't hiding. They were advertising.
"Intimidation is also a currency," Kasian projected softly, reading my thoughts. "Those are likely emissaries from the Volkoran Expanse. By openly displaying their Tier 10 signatures, they dissuade casual bargaining and assert dominance. They are here to buy something specific, and they want everyone to know they have the strength to keep it."
We moved away from the swaggering giants and into the dense cluster of pocket-dimension storefronts. It was a dizzying kaleidoscope of civilizations.
Our first stop was an alchemical repository managed by a sentient colony of bioluminescent fungi residing in an intricate glass jar.
Eliza practically vibrated as she negotiated via the System translator. I watched as 20 million Quintessence Shards were smoothly transferred from my account.
"Did we just buy moss?" I asked, looking at the tiny, unremarkable green clumps sealed in stasis jars.
"That is [Chronos-Lichen]," Eliza shrieked quietly, clutching the jars to her chest like newborn babies. "It grows only on the decaying temporal fractures of dead suns. If I compound this with the Star-wheat we harvested, I can formulate a permanent, systemic 'Haste' elixir for the entire Bastion vanguard. Not a temporary buff — a permanent elevation of their baseline synaptic reaction time. It alters their fundamental speed limit!"
"Good purchase," I nodded. We weren't here for baubles; we were here to shift the evolutionary trajectory of an entire planet.
We visited a storefront that looked like the interior of a massive gear mechanism. The merchant was a cyborg, more polished chrome than flesh, his eyes whirring camera lenses.
Leoric spent three hours analyzing blueprints. I dumped another 40 million QS here. We acquired schematics for [Gravimetric Atmospheric Scrubbers] — technology designed to aggressively strip industrial rot or magical fallout from the mana in planetary atmospheres. I immediately sent the specs to Jeeves to start plotting their installation above the Planet to ensure the mana storms and rifts are easier to control. We also picked up crates of [Null-Core Conductors], highly unstable energy matrices that Leoric swore he could stabilize into new power sources for Bastion's localized defensive grids, essentially upgrading our barriers to passively consume attacking spells.
Anna wasn't neglected. We stopped by a stall run by a shadowy, arachnid-like being that spoke entirely in clicks.
Her [Final Word] was a Soul-bound, Mythic weapon that grew with her. But her armor was still functionally lacking. We spent 30 million QS outfitting her.
She stepped out of the shifting privacy screen sampling a suit made from the same material.
"How does it feel?" I asked.
The [Whisper-Silk Carapace] didn't look like armor. It looked like an elegant, tightly-fitted suit woven from dark gray smoke and spun starlight.
"It weighs nothing," Anna breathed, moving her arms rapidly in a sample suit. The air didn't stir. "The vendor said it has a passive enchantment of [Absolute Kinetic Dampening]. It doesn't absorb the blow like your void-metal; it convinces the attacking force to miss by actively bending local space. If they manage to hit me, the material redistributes the friction into localized stealth fields. Can't wait for Leoric to craft something using this."
"Perfect for a sniper who never intends to be touched," I agreed. "We can also integrate some decent Tier 7 Void-Steel weaving into the shoulder plating just in case. Because everyone gets some lucky shots."
As Eliza argued about the specific cooling temperature for volatile mercury compounds with a multi-limbed amphibian, I stood by a railing overlooking a vast, indoor cascading waterfall made of liquid song, taking a moment to breathe.
"Quite an overwhelming sight for a new face, isn't it?"
The voice was rich, deep, and heavily synthesized.
I turned. Standing next to me was one of the grey silhouettes. An anonymous guest like us.
"I suppose my awe is a bit too loud, even through the filters," I said carefully, maintaining the baseline courtesy expected of anyone here.
"It's not your awe, friend. It's your shadow," the silhouette replied. The form gestured vaguely with a hazy grey limb. "You travel with multiple unmasked sapient guests. That is permitted. But my sensory augments... they twitch. I can perceive the density tether of Anima."
"And?" I asked casually, shifting my weight.
The figure let out a surprisingly warm chuckle that sounded like grinding pebbles.
"Do not be alarmed. I am not a threat, nor an assassin looking for bounties. The anonymity field of the Concourse masks species, rank, and origin. It blanks the aura. But the System... it struggles to entirely obfuscate the metaphysical gravity of a multi-Soul binding. If someone has the right… optics, they can see the gravitational warp of the fabric."
Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.
He paused, looking out over the liquid-song waterfall.
"I am merely stating an observation. The Great Crucible approaches. The Integration wave brings billions of desperate, frightened warlords crashing together. Many of them view this market as an armory. They network here. They build temporary empires meant to burn fast and hot when the shields drop. To walk openly with Anima suggests you possess a foundation far deeper than a frightened survivor holding onto a freshly-cleared Dungeon."
"You're scouting," I deduced.
"I am soliciting," the silhouette corrected softly. "You rely on phenomena, judging by the cold logic woven into the gravity. Your intent, while hidden, lacks the desperate hunger of a conqueror."
It was an unsettling conversation. My absolute inability to read his soul intent through my usual [Perception] chafed against my strategic nature. I didn't like playing games without knowing the stakes.
The silhouette seemed to sense my intense, cautious irritation.
"I understand the hesitation," the voice resonated gently. "To ask for trust in a place designed to prevent it is foolish. Allow me to offer transparency."
The grey anonymity field didn't drop completely. The shape remained a blank outline to any casual observer. But directed forcefully and entirely at me through a tightly controlled, agonizingly narrow window... a sliver of the being's true signature brushed against my [Void Perception].
The backlash nearly buckled my knees.
The aura hit my mind like a physical sledgehammer. It wasn't hostile or aggressive. It was just staggeringly, crushingly massive. It was the presence of someone who didn't just control mana; they dictated entire spectrums of reality.
Tier 12 at the least.
I had met a retired Tier 12 dying in her own World, whose power had felt terrifyingly boundless, but her presence was suppressed by agony and duty. The entity standing next to me was healthy. He felt like standing under an active rocket thruster.
My [Void-Star] shuddered against my ribs, reacting not with hunger, but with the cold, instinctual stillness of a predator meeting a stronger predator.
I choked back a gasp, forcing myself to stand perfectly upright, engaging my newly minted Soul space to violently prune the shock waves threatening my mental composure. I smoothed the panic away.
"That is… a very convincing argument for sincerity," I managed, my voice impressively steady.
The immense pressure vanished instantly, the tight transmission snapping shut.
"My home world," the entity continued, his tone remaining friendly, completely ignoring the fact he had almost lobotomized me just by waving hello. "It suffered... poorly during a previous Cycle. Not an invasion. An event. We successfully deterred the immediate Imperial conquerors, but the resultant environmental stress fractured the core physics. The ensuing fallout spawned a massive infestation of conceptually degraded abominations that corrupt reality upon touch."
He turned the featureless grey expanse of his face toward me.
"I do not need warlords. My empire requires sanitary workers. Highly efficient, highly durable exterminators capable of scrubbing anomalous magic before the corruption becomes systemic. Given your clear aptitude with... Consumption..." He chuckled softly again.
"I need people to help clean the mess. We pay incredibly well, both in specialized knowledge concerning post-Ascendancy structure, and localized sovereignty within safe zones. You appear competent. Consider my frequency."
A glowing silver data-chip materialized from the grey blur and floated into my hand.
"An open-ended contract for mercenary exterminators," I murmured, pocketing the heavy chip without looking away from the towering, disguised god.
"Exactly," he nodded cheerfully. "The universe is remarkably untidy, young master. And the System only rewards those who pick up the trash. If the upcoming Integration proves… overly chaotic for your Faction… the 'Sanitarium Collective' is always ready to help our friends. Just ask for Void Walker Zronik when you arrive, if you decide to take my offer. Have a wonderful rest of your day."
The figure gave a polite half-bow and strolled away, seamlessly blending back into the anonymous, bustling crowds near the exotic potion stalls.
I leaned heavily against the railing, feeling cold sweat tickle my spine inside my armor.
"Everything okay, Eren?" Anna asked, jogging up beside me holding what looked like a vibrating block of blue cheese.
"I just received a job offer to act as a cosmic janitor for a civilization that probably requires a minimum of Tier 10 intervention," I laughed dryly. "It seems consuming toxic garbage through the Void Star on dying planets is becoming a lucrative, specialized niche for us. Also, I am pretty sure he knew about my Void Affinity and that I could Consume things so the System already has failed, I just hope nothing bad comes of this."
It would be incredibly risky to take his offer, but the potential things I could learn about Perception and the Void, like how he was able to feel my link to the Void, might make it worth pursuing.
We spent another three grueling, joyous hours continuing our blitz on the local economy. Eliza eventually ran out of spatial bags, resulting in Leoric angrily weaving unstable containment runes into cheap leather backpacks to hold the absurd amount of unstable elemental cores we purchased for power-grids.
Despite dumping almost 200 Million Quintessence Shards into localized upgrades, materials, raw schematics, and specialized protective gear… I checked my internal ledger.
My account balance was still over 4.3 Billion QS.
At the same time, back on Ferra, [Void Walking] from Tower to Tower, my overly mana-caffeinated, ruthlessly efficient, completely sociopathic [Echo] was practically glowing with effort. Empowered heavily by the new sigils and practically spamming the full brunt of my [Domain], the clone had effectively achieved a permanent 'overdrive' state. It was chaining its clear-time on Floor 100's incredibly dense respawning Guardians, funneling unimaginable excess amounts of raw, highly potent, unrefined Ascension-tier essence directly into my waiting [Hunger].
Every swing the clone took transferred another fortune directly into my systemic wallet.
"My first layer of runic mana formation within my Inner World is almost ready too," I chuckled under my breath, shaking my head at the absolute absurdity of the wealth generation. The brutal, agonizing grind was paying off dividends I had only joked about a year ago.
"And," I reasoned thoughtfully as we finished paying an exorbitant sum for a crate of compressed temporal-sand for Anna's archery ranges. "If one heavily runic-enhanced clone can generate this much capital while casually looping high-end boss kills… I absolutely need to unlock more proxy slots."
I imagined an interconnected network of a five, perfectly synchronized, overdrive-capable Erens systematically scrubbing the respawning high-yield floors across all twenty-five Towers on respawn, effortlessly channeling the combined loot through the overarching [Void Star] domain directly into the Bastion treasury. It would shatter the concept of systemic scarcity for our people entirely.
"Right then, team," I smiled broadly, ushering the laden group toward the massive, golden elevators leading to the secure upper tiers. The pre-show was over. "Shopping bags away. Get your game faces on. I think I'm ready to see what they have that's actually expensive."
The great chime sounded across the Concourse. The anonymity fields intensified as the grand doors to the celestial booths opened wide.
The Celestial Auction was beginning.