A Black Market LitRPG

The relic market of Versia was far more subdued after the protests, with the military searching everywhere for any hints of the Minister and his accomplices. Kyle walked through quickly, looking out for a symbol mentioned by Zayin.

Suddenly, the sound of metal scattering on the floor caused many to turn their heads, only for them to look away in fear as two soldiers beat up a merchant. “Where is the Minister?!” One of the soldiers roared as he kicked yet another of the merchant’s display stand, intentionally disrupting the business.

“Hey! Stop!” A scrawny young man shouted from behind, holding a metal knife. “Don’t think I know you’re just bullying the merchants here so your bosses can monopolise the relic industry as well!”

One of the soldiers sighed before aiming his repeater at the man and firing three shots into the limbs. The man had no time to react, instantly collapsing to the ground in pain, groaning from the projectiles that dug deep into his flesh.

The soldier glanced at the passersby and onlookers, who winced in response and quickly scurried away. “That’s right, run like the fucking rats you are. HEY, YOU TWO! Haul these two idiots and confiscate all their relics. Imprison them for being accomplices of the Minister.”

Kyle didn’t bother helping them, immediately continuing his search for the symbol. He wasn’t here to play a hero just yet. Three clouds with a waterfall between them… He spotted the skull symbol on one of the corners of the street, clearly denoting the presence of Nest for those who were in the know.

He did not want to come into contact with Nest, who was an ‘unbiased’ organisation of informants, hitmen and assassins. Only money matters to them, and as of now, Kyle had no assets to offer to Nest, nor did he want to give away his identity to them. For all I know, they may very well be aware that I am Kyle Hawthorn.

Soon, he found the symbol, quickly turning down the corner into a less crowded street, with only a few merchants and food stall owners lurking along the walls.

Each of them eyed Kyle warily, their heads tracking his every move as he walked. Forward sentries – not surprising. Kyle was well-versed in the secrecy required by such black-market organisations, so he simply let them observe him, clearly showing his intent.

He walked up to a door that seemed to lead into a toilet, but instead, it was an arctech elevator, with someone waiting inside beyond the fenced door. “Where the clouds gather.” The bouncer in the elevator yawned, digging his ear.

“So shall the rain fall.”

“Purpose?”

“Sending a message as well as request for smuggling of goods.”

“All right.” The elevator’s fenced doors slid open, with the bouncer prompting Kyle inside. The bouncer patted him down, noticing that he had no weapons but only multiple small vials of health potions. Weird. However, the bouncer didn’t care – as long as there was no weapons, it was fine by him. What could he do anyway, throw them as projectiles?

Kyle expected the elevator to start descending, but instead, the man activated another engraving on the opposite wall, another door opening to reveal a pristine office that was a far cry from the usual Yual and Versian style of design. Instead, it was fully oriental, with the floors made of marble and the walls painted with drawings of fish swimming.

At the end of the long room sat an old man along with five other clerks, each having their own independent desks as they continually made calls on arctech radios, organising smuggling and supplies to and fro.

The old man glanced up from his work, his metallic prosthetic left hand’s gears whirring as he adjusting his glasses, the engraving glowing along the side. “Mr. Kris Greyborn. The protector of Minister Dekar. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Kyle approached the old man’s desk, bowing sincerely before taking a seat on one of the more opulent chairs meant for guests. “This is much smaller than I would have expected. Perhaps I should have gone to Nest instead.”

A clear sign of anger and frustration appeared on the man’s forehead, his eyebrows twitching slightly before he calmed himself down, placing down his pen and turning to face Kyle fully. “Yet you are aware that Nest is chasing you down at the behest of the industrialists.”

“Ah, a free piece of information? I was under the impression that I had to pay for such a tip. Thank you, you do treat your customers well.”

“Cut the crap. You came here for a clear reason. Speak. And you better have an offer to back it up.”

Kyle cleared his throat, standing up and pacing around the table. “The Clouds have always drifted the land. Originally calling the Hwa Dynasty home, they were ousted two hundred years ago in a political upheaval. Yet now established in Versia, they are losing ground and business to Nest, who plans to dominate the entire black market of Tenar and subsequently the country.”

“We have a working relationship with Nest, a balance.”

“Ah, but is it tenable? Once the revolution succeeds, your hold on the black market will begin to diminish. The puppet government may suddenly turn on you, wiping you out while letting Nest pick up the remains.”

The old man banged the table in anger. “Do not try to sway me with words. You have one last chance before I will have you leave the premise.”

“I need you to send a message as well as to receive a package for me.”

“Message delivery will be five thousand rakels. Smuggling a package into the capital in this scenario will cost much, much more. Maybe two hundred thousand rakels. Payment upfront.”

“I have an alternative payment. I will help you eliminate Nest from the black market.”

The old man nearly laughed his head off, slapping the table with his metallic hand. The clerks joined in the laughter, sneering at “Just because you took down a few Tiger-level hitmen, you think you can take down their entire organisation?”

“I can deal a strong-enough blow; the rest will be up to you to clean up.”

“HAH! What confidence you have! Maybe you should change roles and become a jester! This is ridicul-“

Before the old man could finish, his neck was suddenly grabbed by Kyle and lifted up high. The clerks all immediately pulled out their repeaters, aiming them right at Kyle, who held the old man. “You are not the only organisation I can use in the black market. Choose – your entire heritage dies here, or you become rulers of the Versian black market.”

“F-fool!” The old man struggled as his neck began to strain against the chokehold of Kyle. “My men’s repeaters will shred you to pieces.

“A trade I am willing to make. Ten seconds to make your choice. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five-“

“Okay! Okay! I’ll do it!” The old man finally relented, tapping Kyle’s arm as he was dropped unceremoniously onto the floor. He gingerly rubbed his sore neck, choking out saliva. How in the world did he move so fast in just a split second?!

Kyle reached into his belt and handed the old man a health potion vial for his neck. “Good. Gather your men and prepare for the signal. We begin tonight.”

The customers cheered and roared as they watched two ruffians have a go at each other on top of three round tables, the frames barely able to hold on as their weight continuously shifted. Sweat and blood were flung into the cheering onlookers, who heartily downed their pints and shouted.

“COME ON, YA WUSS! GRAB HIM BY THE BALLS!”

“THE EYES! AIM FOR THE EYES, YOU FUCK WIT!”

The brawl was hardly the main attraction of the bar, with slave female dancers dressed in revealing clothes parading themselves on the stage, with men throwing flowers at the girls non-stop as they groped another girl that was already giving them a lap dance. The kaleidoscopic lights from the tinted arctech lanterns swivelled around the floor while jazz music blasted from the surrounding arctech radios.

Kyle sat at the bar, his face masked from view as he swirled a glass of whiskey, slowly savouring it. Just as he was about to raise his hand to signal to the bartender, another drunk man barged his way next to him on the bar with two clearly drugged girls in tow. “Hey, BARTENDER! A room in the back, the one with spikes!”

Kyle glanced at the man’s neck, a clear skull tattoo signifying that he was part of Nest. “The spider crawls in the undergrowth.”

The drunk man turned swiftly to stare at him, any sign of his previous haphazard acting long gone. “Who do you work for?”

“Sorry, wrong person.”

“The vulture hides in its nest. Now, tell me who you are working for.”

“No one. I’m looking for information.”

The man groaned before motioning to a burly bodyguard. “Get this guy downstairs. VIP.”

“Yes, sir. Please, follow me.”

Kyle followed the burly bodyguard, shoving their way through the rowdy crowd as they laughed and cried, obviously high on some drugs. Kyle noticed an empty potion flask rolling on the floor, picking it up.

Ah, the handiwork of Haui, it seems. Kyle was well aware since meeting Haui for the first time that Haui was already selling potions to the black market. Of course, Kyle did not care if this affected Haui or not.

They walked downstairs past the churning arctech engines that powered the entire place, along with couples making out along the corridor, some of them already fully naked. The burly bodyguard eventually led him to a plush room with top-of-the-line alcohol and potions lined up nicely in golden display cabinets.

A bright chandelier hung low over the red carpeted floor, with there being two guards inside flanking a mature lady who lay on a sofa, smoking a Euria Pipe and flipping through documents with clear boredom.

“Take a seat, please. The Nest welcomes every customer. I trust it wasn’t too easy to find us?”

“It was hard indeed.” Kyle sat on a sofa opposite the lady. He glanced around the room, estimating the distance. The maximum dimension of the room seems to be 5 meters – doable.

“So, what information do you need?”

“I need a list of all industrialists who are currently infiltrating the government.”

The lady paused before putting down the documents and grinning widely. “I’m afraid that list has some of our biggest customers around here.”

“I heard the Nest only deals in money.”

“But can you offer enough money to offset what they paid us?”

“Name your price.”

“A hundred million rakels, and I’ll give you the list.”

Kyle had a slight look of shock on his face. “I only have Versian coins – why would I have rakels?”

“Don’t fool me, Kris Greyborn. I’ve been keeping my eye on you ever since you entered the capital. It is clear you are a man with some background from the Yual Dominion. Who is your owner?”

“I am working independently. Hopefully, that piece of information should be enough to offset the cost?”

The lady glared at Kyle, obviously infuriated. “You don’t seem to understand your position here, Mr. Greyborn. The industrialists have offered close to fifteen million rakels for your head – but I think you can be of much more worth alive than dead. Where is the Minister?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The door leading into the room swung open, with ten more Nest guards entering and aiming their repeaters at Kyle, who raised his hands slowly in surrender.

“Don’t bother trying to bluff us anymore, Kris Greyborn. We saw you leave Clouds – how much did they pay you?”

“Enough to make it worth. Perhaps you can offer more?”

“Or I can simply capture you. To think the Clouds have stooped so low to hire other parties just to kill me – ridiculous.”

“Oh? This could be the first time Nest is wrong about something.”

The lady’s eyes squinted. “Wrong?”

“I’m here to kill all of you.”