Chapter 402
Episode 402 – The Third Opportunity
The moment Arthur finished speaking, the executives reacted. Some shot to their feet, glaring at him, while No. 1 silently studied Arthur’s expression.
Arthur calmly downed his drink and looked around.
"Why are you saying this all of a sudden?"
"For the Master? That’s a strange thing to toast to. What exactly do you mean?"
To No. 1’s question, Arthur leaned back on the sofa and tilted his head.
"Do you not understand the meaning of a memorial toast?"
"The subject is what’s strange."
"I’m saying we should pay respects because the Master seems to be dead. Is that so strange?"
"I didn’t think you were this reckless, Lord Arthur. You’re making a grave mistake."
As No. 1’s voice turned low and cold, the other executives’ gazes toward Arthur also chilled.
It was true they had lost contact with the Master, but they had never considered the possibility of his death—only his absence.
"If the Master hears about this..."
"Our alliance could fall apart."
"But shouldn’t that worry only matter if the Master is still alive?"
Arthur slowly stood from the sofa. Then, he pulled out an envelope from his coat and set it down on the banquet table.
A lavish envelope adorned with golden thread.
No. 1 recognized it immediately.
"A blank check..."
It contained the rest of the payment that the Allied Forces owed the Master—Azonne’s entire fortune. Arthur looked down at No. 1 and smiled.
"You know very well what this envelope is. So why is it still in my hands?"
"The Master is... busy."
"Busier than acquiring all of Azonne’s fortune? I’m genuinely curious what could possibly be more important than that."
“...”
"The Master I know would’ve come to see me the moment the deal was done. The amount written on this blank check is more than enough to give the Black Market wings."
"I’m sure the Master..."
"Have you ever seen the Master in person?"
"...No."
"I have. The Master came to me directly and offered this deal. That’s why I have this blank check—proof of that meeting."
Arthur shook the envelope slightly and picked up his glass.
"Has the Master ever made a mistake before? The one I met was near perfect. When he proposed the deal, he had a flawless plan. That’s why I allied with the Black Market. And yet..."
He calmly downed the drink, set the glass down, and looked at each of the executives one by one.
"With Azonne’s entire fortune on the line, I’ve still heard nothing from the Master. Judging from your reactions, I assume none of you have heard from him either. So, tell me—has anyone received contact from the Master? If you have, then summon him here. I’ll admit my mistake, bow my head before him on the spot, and even pay a large sum as apology."
Arthur’s confident tone left the executives unable to counter. Though they were all key figures in the Black Market, they knew almost nothing about the Master.
That was the fatal weakness of a decentralized organization.
After a brief silence, No. 1 cautiously looked at Arthur and asked,
"Are you certain the Master is dead?"
"Yes."
"Why do you suspect that?"
"Would you believe me if I said it was a gut feeling?"
At that, No. 1 let out a hollow laugh.
"You’re the lord of a territory and commander of the Allied Forces. Making a judgment based on intuition—isn’t that too reckless?"
"Sometimes intuition is more accurate than reason."
"So this is just your gut?"
As No. 1 asked with a hardened expression, Arthur shrugged and sat back down on the sofa. He opened a new bottle of alcohol and began pouring himself another drink.
"I heard something interesting from Lady Natasha."
At the mention of Natasha, No. 4’s face twisted.
He oversaw the organization that handled Divine Names within the Black Market, and he had recently suffered a devastating blow from gold-eyed Natasha.
Even asking the Allied Forces for mediation had been useless.
Too much evidence had surfaced of how sacrificial witches were used as offerings, and with such a major wrongdoing, it was hard for him to complain.
‘How is that my fault?!’
No. 4 was bitter.
He was a newly appointed executive—the previous 4th had been the one hunting and sacrificing witches.
"News from Lady Natasha? What kind?"
"She told me that recently, one of the executives disappeared... because he found out the Master’s true identity."
"...What are you talking about!?"
"Isn’t that right, No. 4?"
Arthur’s question visibly shook No. 4.
Not because Arthur accused him, but because he had suddenly brought up something No. 4 himself wasn’t fully aware of.
"I-I don’t know anything about that!"
"That’s probably why you’re still alive. Did he behave oddly before he disappeared?"
"No, nothing like that..."
He really didn’t know.
The Black Market was a decentralized organization—he had no way of knowing who the previous 4th was or what kind of person they were.
However, he did know one thing:
He had been promoted to executive because the previous 4th had disappeared without a trace.
And now Arthur was claiming it was because that person learned the Master’s identity?
"That’s hard to believe..."
"Whether it’s true or not, I don’t know. But I do think it’s possible."
"Possible?"
"What if the Master is one of the hosts of Divine Name?"
"..."
"No. 4’s mission is to identify the hosts of divine spirits through sacrificial offerings. If the Master is one of them, wouldn’t a list tied to the Black Market appear?"
It might’ve sounded like a stretch, even nonsense, but Arthur’s serious tone made it impossible to dismiss.
"Well, we’ll find out if it’s true or not soon enough."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I have a feeling this missing executive and the Master’s absence are connected. Who knows? Maybe before dying, that man leaked the Master’s identity to someone else."
The Master’s identity must never be revealed. In a decentralized organization, the worst-case scenario was easy to imagine:
"Whoever kills the Master can become the Master."
In other words, the Black Market’s leadership could change hands.
Perhaps realizing the gravity of the situation, the executives’ faces grew increasingly grim.
"Now then, let me offer you an opportunity."
"An opportunity? What kind?"
"Let’s have a drink first."
Arthur poured each of them a glass of expensive liquor, then raised his own.
"Let’s assume the Master is dead."
"Ridiculous..."
"Then wouldn’t the next Master have to come from among you?"
In that moment, the atmosphere changed. The Black Market’s Master. It was a dangerous role—but also an irresistible one.
Of course, right now, it might seem off-putting.
"Even if one of us became Master, we wouldn’t last long. Do you really understand what you’re suggesting?"
"That was true when the Master acted alone."
Arthur smiled and gently swirled his glass.
"The Allied Forces will support the new Master."
"They say timing is everything in life. If word gets out that the Master is dead, the Black Market will collapse. Doesn’t someone need to step up before that happens?"
"Y-You’re insane!"
No. 1 stood abruptly, his face twisted with fury. Arthur looked up at him—the executive with the greatest influence in the Black Market, and the one who would react most strongly to talk of becoming the next Master.
"This is not a matter you can meddle in. It’s a Black Market issue."
"Is that so?"
"I’ll take my leave."
At No. 1’s signal, the other executives hesitated briefly, then rose from their seats. Among them, No. 4’s face showed clear reluctance.
His organization had been devastated by Natasha. All he had left were his connections to slave hunters who once hunted witches.
And now, the seat of Master had been dropped right in front of him—along with the promise of the safest protection imaginable.
Perhaps reading his hesitation, No. 1 placed a firm hand on No. 4’s shoulder.
"Think carefully. Do you really believe the organization can move just because one of us becomes Master?"
Feeling the pressure of that grip, No. 4 flinched and stood up.
No. 1 was right.
Even if he became Master, without the support of the other executives—those in charge of money, intelligence, and force—he couldn’t control the Black Market.
And ‘money’ was the most critical of all. Neither intel nor strength meant anything without funds.
This wasn’t something the Allied Forces’ support could solve.
Realizing that, the executives’ expressions quickly turned cold.
In the chilly atmosphere, the banquet dissolved.
Arthur spoke to their retreating backs.
"People say that over the course of life, we’re given three opportunities."
"The first was meeting me. And the second... was the proposal I just made."
Arthur raised his glass toward them as they departed.
"I hope you don’t miss your third."
The executives left the mansion without responding.
Slam—
The doors shut tight.
Once all the executives were gone, Arthur set his glass down and smacked his lips.
His serious expression softened, and he let out a small sigh, releasing the tension.
For now, their hearts have been shaken.
Arthur sipped from his glass and glanced at the bottle.
"Tastes great. Must be because it’s expensive?"
Though it was his first time trying it, the flavor clung to his tongue, and the smooth way it went down was oddly addictive—it even let him enjoy it in front of the executives.
He looked over the untouched food on the table. There was an absurd amount.
Clearly, the executives had grown accustomed to VIP treatment—their extravagance was obvious. But this time, Arthur had managed to ruin their appetites before the meal began, so the banquet was left entirely for him.
"Shame. All this will end up as food waste."
Alone again, Arthur quietly began eating. The chef here really was talented. He was seriously considering bringing them back to the castle.
Just then, someone beside him picked up the bottle.
“You’re hogging all the expensive booze?”
“Would it kill you to make some noise when you show up? Popping out at night like that—thought you were a ghost.”
Ignoring Arthur’s complaint, Fenry checked the label and her eyes sparkled.
She sat next to Arthur and began eating and drinking as if nothing had happened.
Now there were two at the table. But before long, a third dropped from the ceiling with a thud.
“Damn, I was starving just smelling this food. Why does it have to smell so damn good?”
“Karl. Were you hungry?”
“Didn’t even get a meal—came straight here when I heard the news.”
“Eat as much as you want.”
“I planned to, even if you didn’t say so.”
Karl stood at the table, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. Then, someone else appeared and smacked the back of his head.
“Ow! What the—?!”
“That look you had drooling over the food almost got us caught by the executives.”
“No way that happened!”
“I saw your drool, you liar.”
Natasha dusted off her hands and briefly looked at Arthur before taking a seat across from him.
Karl quickly forgot the hit and focused on stuffing his face.
He must’ve been really hungry.
Fenry, Karl, and Natasha—The allies who had gone to handle the Black Market all gathered together.
“Everything ready now?”
At Natasha’s question, Arthur nodded.
“Let’s finish eating and begin.”
“This should be fun. I’m really curious what their faces will look like tomorrow.”
What kind of expressions will they make when the Black Market’s pockets are completely emptied?
Without money, neither information nor force means anything. It wouldn’t take long for them to realize that.
Just then, Karl paused mid-bite and asked,
“Hey... that thing you said—is it true?”
“What thing?”
“That people get three chances in life.”
“It’s an old saying passed down. Could be true, right?”
"Old saying? I've run an information network for centuries as an elf and never heard that one. Where’s it from?"
"Ahem, just... a place only I know about."
"Hmph... three chances, huh..."
Karl, Natasha, and Fenry all seemed intrigued. They began wondering what their own first chance might have been.
At the same time, they quietly looked at Arthur, who was sipping his drink in silence.
They recalled the words he had spoken just moments earlier:
‘The first opportunity... was meeting me.’
The three quietly returned to eating, each thinking the same thing:
That first chance... might have already passed.