At dawn, a group of five quietly departed from the military camp. Cæsar, Jon, Tom, Gulas, and Kebi moved in the opposite direction of the advancing army.
It was late autumn, and whether in Garrel or Shiloh, the cold was biting in fall and winter, while summer brought unbearable heat. As such, the army typically marched from noon until dusk.
Fortunately, the two barons had previously decided to push forward as much as possible, and now only two days remained before they would reach the Legion Headquarters in Bimor City.
Taking advantage of the army's morning halt, Cæsar and Kebi set off toward a nearby Shiloh city for a business deal.
Their destination was Worel City, once home to two thousand residents. The city's most notable feature was its nearly 10-meter-high walls, an anomaly for such a small settlement. It was said that Baron Abik, the former lord of the city, had spared no expense in constructing them—a decision that was mocked by many local nobles at the time. Why would such a small city need such towering walls?
But those same nobles now regretted their scorn. It was precisely those walls that had shielded Worel's inhabitants from the ravages of war, turning the city into a haven for Shiloh's wealthy merchants and refugees.
Cæsar's purpose in Worel wasn't robbery or pillage—it was trade. During their time in a small town earlier, they had caught some smugglers and petty traders, but their goods—mostly grain and Shiloh coins—were of little value. Realizing they had no chance of being released, Kebi had suggested heading to Worel City to participate in its trade fair.
Every city has its shadowy merchants: bandits, smugglers, and shady dealers. In these black markets, one could find goods unavailable anywhere else—at a steep price, of course.
Kebi had previous experience in the black market. Phalanx City once had a thriving one until the Garrel army destroyed it. Kebi knew all too well the wealth and resources hidden in these clandestine trade networks. This time, he wasn't bringing Cæsar to buy goods but to sell them.
"Shiloh is finished; everyone with insight knows it," Kebi declared confidently as they walked. Cæsar and the others paid him little attention. "Right now, the 'buc' is hard currency. The black market traders will buy it up at almost any cost."
That was Kebi's proposal: trade their 'bucs' for Shiloh coins. Within Garrel's trade caravans, the exchange rate was 2:1, but in Shiloh, some were willing to trade at 5:1. This was a golden opportunity.
Cæsar had not only brought the loot from their recent 'sweep' but had also borrowed a hefty sum—400 silver bucs—from Uncle York. Tom and Gulas's bags bulged with currency.
After careful consideration, Cæsar deemed the deal worth the risk. Still, he brought along his three most capable men for security. Few in the black market could pose a threat to Cæsar's group, and Tom and Gulas alone could handle dozens of common thugs without breaking a sweat.
They wasted no time and hurried toward Worel City. By the time the morning frost began to fade, they had already reached the city's outskirts.
Worel City didn't differ much from Phalanx City, except for its taller walls. However, even these impressive defenses looked fragile to the seasoned eyes of Cæsar and his men.
A few guards loitered along the walls, and a large, conspicuous crater marred the western section—a warning shot delivered by Baron Kashir's mage the previous day when their army passed by.
The crater had struck terror into the hearts of Worel's residents but gave Cæsar and his men added confidence.
Outside the city gate, a crowd of refugees had gathered, hoping to enter. Perhaps due to the lingering fear of the nearby Garrel army, the gate was barely open—a narrow crack in the otherwise imposing barrier.
Despite the early hour, the line stretched for dozens of meters. At this rate, it was unlikely they'd make it back before noon, or even get into the city at all.
Cæsar frowned and glanced at Kebi. Puffing out his chest, Kebi confidently declared, "Leave it to me!"
Striding up to the gate, Kebi exchanged a few words with one of the guards. With a discreet flick of his left hand, he slipped something into the guard's pocket. Feeling the weight in his pouch, the guard gave a subtle nod to his comrades, who allowed Kebi and his group to bypass the line.
The refugees muttered angrily as the group walked past. A couple of them seemed ready to start a fight, but one sharp glare from Tom silenced them immediately.
Tom's towering two-meter frame dwarfed the thin, malnourished refugees. Gulas was equally imposing, and even the 'smaller' Cæsar and Jon were around 1.8 meters tall, still formidable figures.
Gulas crossed his arms and let out a disdainful snort, sending the crowd scattering like frightened birds.
When the group reached the gate, the guards tightened their grips on their spears, their expressions wary. The aura of men who had killed before was palpable, and seasoned soldiers could recognize it instantly.
Kebi hastily reassured them, but the guards hesitated until Kebi made another quick gesture, slipping more coins into their hands. With reluctance, they finally stepped aside, though their spear tips still hovered near the group.
"Don't cause trouble," one guard warned, only to receive an eye-roll from Gulas in response.
Inside the city, Gulas gave Kebi a hearty slap on the back, nearly sending the smaller man sprawling. "Not bad, you little fox. Where was this cleverness when we first caught you?"
Kebi grinned sheepishly. "These gate guards are just low-level grunts, chosen to be cannon fodder. A few copper coins are enough to settle them."
The city itself was in disarray. Refugees crowded every corner, and not a single store remained open.
Cæsar had no interest in sightseeing. "Lead the way," he ordered.
"Every city's black market thrives in its most chaotic district," Kebi explained. "Right now, there's no place messier than the slums."
They moved through a labyrinth of makeshift shelters, surrounded by hollow-eyed refugees wrapped in tattered rags.
At one point, a barefoot figure stumbled toward them, hands outstretched. "Please, sir, I haven't eaten in three days…"
Before he could get closer, Jon stepped in his path. The beggar froze, clutching a copper coin that had somehow appeared in his hand—a subtle act by Jon that Cæsar silently noted.
Finally, they arrived at a large wooden shack guarded by four rough-looking men holding wooden clubs and iron picks—the only weapons allowed in the city.
Gulas and Tom's intimidating physiques were enough to grant them passage without question, though their easy entry puzzled Cæsar slightly.
Inside, the shack revealed a staircase leading underground.
"A basement?" Cæsar asked, frowning.
"Built by mages, they say," Kebi explained. "The larger black market is above ground, but our identities aren't exactly inconspicuous. The underground market is smaller but more exclusive."
"Currency exchange doesn't require a grand venue," Cæsar said with a nod.
With flickering torches lighting their path, the group descended into the shadows, their resolve unshaken.