Chapter 74: The Market
"This isn't fair! Why do we have to do this? Aren't there fifty fully trained knights sitting in the mess hall right now?"
Alina kicked a loose pebble across the cobblestones, watching it bounce into a gutter.
Nuri didn't even argue. He just kept his head down and nodded along to every bitter word coming out of her mouth.
Scarvy was leading them through the narrow alleyways behind the central plaza, heading straight toward the outer district.
To make the walk even worse, Scarvy didn't say a single word the entire time. She just picked her way through the damp streets like a ghost, leaving an unbearable, awkward silence hanging over the four of them.
Then there were the onlookers.
Every time they passed a tavern porch or an open stall, people stared at Wan like creepers.
Sure, the twin stood a head taller than most men, and his skin was grey and cracked, but the open gawkiness made Nuri's skin itch. You couldn't tell if the locals were terrified or just disgustingly curious.
At least Captain Caelan put out an official bulletin about him earlier, Nuri thought, gripping his coat collar tight against his neck.
If Caelan hadn't declared Wan under direct Order protection, someone would have probably thrown a pitchfork by now. The captain really was a lifesaver.
"This is the perimeter," Scarvy said, abruptly stopping at the mouth of a dark archway.
She turned around, her masked face completely blank.
"This alley was the last registered stop for the unmanifested fruit wagons. Your job is simple. Find the distribution point."
She pointed a gloved finger toward the crowded market avenue ahead.
"They brought in bulk inventory, so they're likely staging it from a local storefront. Don't lose them."
And before Alina could even ask a single follow-up question, Scarvy stepped back into the shadow of the archway and vanished.
Alina stared at the empty shadow for three long seconds.
She let out a heavy, aggressive sigh and scoffed at the alley wall. Who does she think she is? Some mysterious vigilante handing out cryptic clues to her henchmen?
"Whatever," Alina grumbled, yanking her spear strap tight across her shoulder. "Let's just get this over with fast."
Fast?
Nuri looked at the sprawling, chaotic web of market stalls stretching ahead of them. He had a very bad feeling this was not going to be fast at all.
He just hoped they didn't end up triggering another riot before noon.
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"Hey... you two have never actually seen the capital market, have you?" Nuri asked, turning back to Turman and Wan.
Both twins nodded instantly, their heads snapping toward the open avenue. They looked like they’d been waiting for someone to ask all morning.
"I guess we can look around while we search," Nuri said, taking a step into the street.
He didn't make it two paces before a sudden, sour stench hit him straight in the face.
Nuri's entire expression buckled. He gagged, instantly slapping both hands over his nose and mouth.
"What's wrong with you?" Alina asked, stopping mid-stride.
Turman and Wan closed in around him, looking worried.
"I don't know..." Nuri choked out through his fingers, his eyes watering. "There's something... foul coming from over there. It smells like rotting meat mixed with cheap copper. It's horrible."
His stomach turned a violently tight knot. He fought with everything he had not to throw up his breakfast right onto his boots.
While Nuri was bent over, Wan reached into his heavy leather belt pouch.
Clink.
Wan held his hand out toward Nuri. Resting in his palm was a thick, charcoal-lined cloth mask with double leather straps.
Everyone stared at the twin, their eyes wide.
Nuri wiped a single, involuntary tear from the corner of his eye, took the mask, and strapped it over his face instantly. The thick charcoal filter cut the sour stench in half.
"Thank you so much, Wan," Nuri breathed out, his voice muffled by the cloth.
"Wan! Where did you even get that?!" Turman asked, his voice spiking with excitement. He looked at his brother like Wan had just pulled down a star.
Wan simply gave a tiny, careless shrug and looked toward the market stalls.
For a second, all three of them just stood there staring at Wan's back. In that moment, the guy looked almost impossibly cool.
They fell in behind him as he pushed into the crowd.
At first, it seemed like an ordinary street. Vendors were screaming out prices for dried fish, bolted cloth, and tin pots. Turman kept slowing down, his eyes wide as he took in the sheer noise of free people moving around without guards.
Then the air changed.
The deeper they walked into the narrow lane, the quieter the street got. The usual bartering noise faded away into a weird, unnatural hum.
Nuri realized the vendors weren't shouting anymore. They were standing behind their crates, silently tracking the four of them as they walked past.
It wasn't normal curiosity.
Every single merchant had the same locked, predatory glare, the eyes of a wolf tracking a stray calf through the brush.
Nuri's hands slid into his coat pockets, his fingers curling tight around his mana focus.
Did we just walk straight into their primary nest?
Alina caught Nuri's eye and gave a subtle, fraction-of-an-inch nod. Turman saw it too, his shoulders tensing under his tunic.
"What's the play?" Turman murmured under his breath, keeping his eyes locked straight ahead.
"Keep walking normal," Nuri muttered back through his mask. "Don't touch your steel. If they know we've spotted them, they'll bolt."
Nuri's jaw set tight behind the cloth. How had the Order missed this? What were the local sector patrols doing all day? There was an entire coordinated network sitting right in the middle of a public trade lane, and nobody had filed a single report!
"Hey there, kids."
A rough voice called out from a stall to their left.
"Looking to buy some fresh apples?"
The four of them stopped and turned together.
Behind a heavy oak table sat a thick-necked, middle-aged vendor. He had calloused hands, a broad chest, and short-cropped hair, he looked far more like a retired mercenary than a guy who sold produce for a living.
Nuri's eyes dropped to the crate of red fruit resting on the wooden table.
His skin went cold.
He could see it. Underneath the red skin of the apples, a faint, sickly purple haze was swirling just below the surface, the exact same unnatural residue he'd spotted in the eyes of the rioters outside the gate.
This was it.
Nuri slowly raised his gaze, looking past the fruit stand and scanning the surrounding shops.
The cloth merchant across the street. The butchery two doors down. The spice vendor sitting on the bench.
Every single stall had crates stacked behind them. Every single product carried that same faint, twisted aura.
The entire block was infected.
Nuri swallowed hard behind his mask, his pulse hammering against his ribs.
What now?