James remained silent for a full thirty seconds, his expression unreadable. Then, in a low, measured tone, he uttered two words:
"Black Market."
At the mention of those words, the shopkeeper's demeanor subtly shifted. His polite smile remained, but something flickered in his gaze—an understanding that went beyond mere business transactions. It was the look of someone who had heard those words countless times before, each instance carrying its own weight of risk and secrecy.
Without another word, the shopkeeper turned on his heel and gestured for them to follow.
James moved first, his steps confident and unhesitant. Nile, though puzzled, knew better than to question him now. A lifetime under Veena's care had taught him one important lesson: when someone experienced in the ways of the world moves forward without doubt, it's best to follow their lead.
They walked past rows of cultivation artifacts and elixirs displayed on shelves before stopping in front of an unassuming wooden bookshelf. The shopkeeper ran his fingers along its edge, and with a faint click, the shelf groaned and swung inward, revealing a narrow passageway.
A secret entrance.
Nile hesitated, glancing at James, but the older man had already stepped in without hesitation. Taking a deep breath, Nile followed.
The corridor was dimly lit, its stone walls lined with faint engravings that pulsed with an almost imperceptible energy. The deeper they descended, the stronger the sense of secrecy became, as though the very air carried the whispers of a thousand hidden transactions.
At the bottom of the stairs, the shopkeeper led them into a small chamber. Against one wall stood a heavy wooden desk, its surface worn by time. On it lay a small, book-like artifact—its dark cover engraved with intricate patterns. Without a word, the shopkeeper retrieved it from a locked drawer and placed it before them, his expression expectant.
James stepped forward and pressed his palm onto one of the blank pages. The moment his skin made contact, a faint glow spread across the parchment, the book absorbing his imprint in silence. Once done, he stepped aside without a word.
Understanding the process, Nile followed suit.
As soon as his palm touched the page, a peculiar sensation coursed through him—something ancient, something binding. It wasn't a mere transaction. It was a contract. A pact that wove itself into the fabric of his being.
A Dao Oath.
The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. His soul now bore an invisible thread of restriction.
I am now bound by an oath… never to act against the Black Market as a whole.
However, as he examined the oath's effect on his consciousness, he noticed a crucial detail: it didn't prevent him from opposing any individual or faction within the market. The restriction was broad, yet not absolute.
Interesting.
Once both imprints were recorded, the shopkeeper closed the book with a decisive snap. Then, with practiced ease, he turned and shut the entrance they had come through.
Nile watched closely as the man infused his mana into an array carved into the wall. Almost immediately, the once-solid door rippled, its surface distorting as if reality itself were bending.
The distortion deepened, spiraling inward until it formed a familiar gateway—one Nile had seen before.
His breath caught.
This… this is just like the gateway I passed through when I entered Frost's trial!
Before he could dwell on the memory, James stepped forward without hesitation and vanished into the swirling vortex.
Nile inhaled deeply, steadying himself. Then, with one final glance at the shopkeeper—who simply nodded in acknowledgment—he stepped through.
The world around him twisted.
Light and shadow blended in an instant, his senses momentarily thrown into disarray. His feet lost their grounding, and for a split second, he felt weightless.
And then—
The distortion faded.
He landed on solid ground.
Nile blinked. His vision adjusted, and what he saw stole the breath from his lungs.
Before him lay an entire hidden world.
A vast underground area stretched as far as his eyes could see, alive with movement, sound, and energy. Unlike the cramped, dimly lit passage they had just left, this place was bathed in a golden glow. The ceiling—if it could even be called that—was embedded with countless luminous stones, mimicking the brightness of the sun, yet exuding an unnatural stillness.
Everywhere he looked, there was movement.
Rows upon rows of stalls lined the streets, traders hawking their wares to hooded figures and masked cultivators. Some merchants displayed rare spiritual herbs, while others dealt in weapons that shimmered with enchantments. Alongside them, tamed beasts—some docile, others emanating an aura of menace—prowled at their masters' feet.
In the distance, grand structures loomed—undoubtedly housing the more established businesses, the true power players of this hidden economy.
Nile's eyes widened in shock.
The Black Market… it's bigger than the Cultivation Market I visited earlier today.
And more than that—this place had a system.
As he and James moved deeper into the market, Nile noticed stark differences between this underground world and the legal cultivation markets above. Despite its illicit nature, everything here followed an unspoken order.
Unlike the open-air Cultivation Market bustling under the sky, this place thrived in secrecy. Yet, even in the shadows, there was structure.
The outer perimeter housed towering buildings—the seat of long-standing businesses dealing in priceless cultivation resources. Meanwhile, the central area was a dense web of market stalls, catering to smaller-scale merchants and independent traders.
Some vendors wore masks, their identities hidden. Others openly flaunted their power, their very presence deterring troublemakers. And then there were those whose aura sent shivers down Nile's spine—individuals whose existence alone carried the weight of countless secrets.
At the heart of it all stood a massive platform, elevated above the rest of the market. Unlike traditional auction houses, this was a public stage where anyone could showcase their wares to an entire crowd—for the right price, of course.
James, noticing Nile's curiosity, spoke in a calm, unwavering tone.
"The Black Market isn't just for illegal goods," he said. "It's a system of its own—structured, ruthless, and yet, ironically, it follows its own set of rules. If you have power, you dictate the rules. If you don't… you follow them."
Nile absorbed his words, unexpectedly fascinated.
This place was far more appealing than the Cultivation Market.
More structured. More efficient. Even the law enforcement here seems… stronger.
The Cultivation Market followed the laws of the kingdom. The Black Market, however, followed the laws of power.
And that, Nile realized, made all the difference.