A month elapsed since my relocation to Central City.
And sh*t, many things happened.
On the initial day, I engaged in meticulous scrutiny of the local populace, identifying individuals with potentially beneficial connections. This endeavor involved interacting with neighbors, frequenting establishments such as bars, and strategically observing the social landscape.
During the subsequent day, I expanded my horizons, venturing into different districts of the city to glean a wider spectrum of insights.
By the third day, I had successfully identified my target contact. This particular individual bore the hallmark of a distinguished and prosperous elderly noble, notably traversing the city with an air of refinement. My scrutiny of him continued unabated for a span of two days, culminating in my strategic intercession to disrupt a bandit attack orchestrated by his rival nobles. In response to my intervention, the noble conveyed gratitude, albeit with a measured sense of wariness in his demeanor.
After all, it would be unreasonable to expect someone to bestow trust upon an individual they had recently encountered through what could only be perceived as a series of coincidental incidents—although, in truth, I had closely shadowed his movements for a full two days, an endeavor that stretched beyond the boundaries of mere coincidence.
By the sixth day of my urban residence, I orchestrated a meeting. Our rendezvous transpired within one of his establishments—an establishment whose keeper I had befriended during the preceding two days. The shopkeeper, speaking favorably of me, facilitated a tentative yet positive rapport between the elderly noble and myself, which steadily solidified over the ensuing seventh day.
While my initial intention had been to venture into the Black Market within a week, the pressing reality of dwindling finances compelled me to postpone that plan.
It was on the tenth day of my residence in the Central City that I orchestrated a meeting with the elderly noble. During our discourse, I casually introduced the notion of selling intellectual creations, specifically highlighting the concept of a telescope. This mention was skillfully veiled as an accidental utterance, aimed at gauging his interest.
The noble's intrigue was palpable as I expounded upon the telescope's functions. However, his financial prudence prompted skepticism.... I mean, entrusting funds to an unknown individual without a proven track record would be irrational.
Thus, I cleverly shelved the telescope proposal, pivoting to a more palpable offering—a cherished game from my previous existence: Chess.
Engaging in a marathon of strategic duels, the noble's fascination grew exponentially. Eventually, he expressed the desire to purchase the game. I graciously accepted, weaving a veneer of camaraderie by abstaining from payment and declaring it a token of our burgeoning friendship.
Persisting in his insistence, the noble broached the subject of recompense. To this, I played the hard-to-get game before reluctantly yielding, negotiating a contractual arrangement in which I would receive 6% of the initial net income derived from production and sales. Of course, this was my original plan all along.
[A/N : Net income (NI), also called net earnings, is calculated as sales minus cost of goods sold, selling, general and administrative expenses, operating expenses, depreciation, interest, taxes, and other expenses. It is a useful number for investors to assess how much revenue exceeds the expenses of an organization. This number appears on a company's income statement and is also an indicator of a company's profitability.]
On the fifteenth day, the noble and I formalized our partnership. A network of his merchant acquaintances was soon introduced to me, fostering amiable relations. The culmination of these interactions led to the completion of the product's production on the eighteenth day. Without delay, the noble orchestrated its distribution through his shop and allied vendors in other cities.
The venture yielded triumphant outcomes, rendering me a concealed benefactor of considerable wealth. I enjoined the noble to safeguard my identity, thus preserving the mystique that enshrouded the source of this newfound prosperity. This clandestine prosperity flourished, solidifying my enigmatic stature by the twenty-fifth day.
And so, returning to the current moment, night had fallen.
"Let it rain, b**ches!"
Alone within the confines of my small house, I cavalierly tossed gold coins into the air, their glinting surfaces catching the dim light and casting a shimmering cascade throughout the room.
"Fuwahahaha!"
You might question the rationale behind my continued residency in this seemingly humble house. Yet, as I've earlier elaborated, its unassuming facade conceals strategic importance.
This small house will prove valuable in the future....
And I mean this, LITERALLY.
...
..
.
The following day dawned, and I embarked on a short stroll toward the outskirts of the bustling Central City.
"This should be the place..."
Surveying my surroundings, I located a seemingly deserted establishment with a faded sign that read "Peace Maker."
Upon entering, an old bartender on the other side greeted me.
"Welcome," the bartender's voice chimed as he methodically polished a glass. He carried on with his task, seemingly disinterested in my entrance.
The password should be...
"The path that leads to the end is the right path that leads to heaven," I voiced aloud, echoing the cryptic words I had heard.
His glass-polishing paused, and he briefly averted his gaze to cast a quick glance in my direction.
"When the sky turned red, the blood will fall. If the sky turned black, it would be...?" he left the sentence unfinished, allowing me to fill in the blanks.
"The end of all," I finished, our eyes locking in mutual understanding.
"...You may come in."
After a brief, contemplative pause, the bartender let out an audible sigh and pulled a lever hidden beneath the bar counter. A section of the wall opened up, revealing a hidden passage.
Stepping through the doorway, I couldn't help but curl my lips into a subtle smile.
"So this is the Black Market, huh," I mused to myself, my eyes sweeping over the bustling scene before me. People donned intricate masks as they perused the diverse and intriguing wares displayed at each stall. Even the vendors themselves wore masks, shrouding their identities.
To my surprise, the sky above mirrored that of the world outside the market. Clouds lazily drifted across patches of visible sunlight, while birds soared freely through the air. It was a surreal and unexpected sight.
I took a measured step forward as the secret entrance sealed itself behind me.
"Now, where shall I begin?" I mused aloud, a hand thoughtfully propped under my chin as I surveyed the bustling marketplace.
As the Nameless Squad seldom frequented the Black Market due to their extensive missions, I found myself heavily reliant on the merchant friends of the elderly noble who had occasionally ventured into this district. Gathering information from these individuals was anything but straightforward. Understandably, the topic of the Black Market was shrouded in secrecy, and coaxing information from them required a fair amount of financial persuasion.
Regrettably, the process proved to be a taxing endeavor. The merchants weren't quick to divulge any information linked to the Black Market. It seemed that parting with their knowledge required more than just casual conversation; it demanded a generous expenditure from my hard-earned funds. Thus, I found myself relinquishing nearly half of my earnings simply to procure snippets of information.
The challenge was further exacerbated by the scarcity of information available in the novel about the Nameless Squad's current affairs. As their story was slated to unfold two years in the future, the details of their present circumstances remained limited. This dearth of information only added to the complexity of my task.
"...This should be the place."
Gazing at the dilapidated and filthy small house before me, enveloped in the odorous mix of moss and refuse, I involuntarily covered my nose to shield myself from the unpleasant stench.
How can they even live in this place with such condition...? God, I want to throw up!
The thought of anyone living in such conditions was almost unfathomable. I felt an immediate urge to retch, and I had to suppress it by pressing my other hand firmly against my mouth.
With an internal grimace, I managed to stave off the revulsion that threatened to overpower me.
"I just need to secure their services... *Burg*!"
Suppressing the impulse to vomit once more, I lifted my hand and rapped my knuckles against the door.
"Nameless Squad, are any of you inside?"