As the group's eyes adjusted, a space nearly 400 square meters wide revealed itself before them. The area was well-lit by torches on all sides, preventing any dimness. There were no buildings, only rows of stalls offering a wide variety of goods: food, weapons, slaves...
Near the entrance, a group of rough-looking men loitered casually. Their tattooed arms were fully exposed, their menacing demeanor making it clear they weren't to be trifled with. These men served as the black market's enforcers, akin to bodyguards, ready to deal with any trouble.
Cæsar scanned the group, his sharp eyes catching two or three individuals with focused gazes and slightly raised shoulders—they stood out. The rest, in his estimation, were just cannon fodder.
"Those two have the strength of third-class soldiers," Tom murmured. The others noticed it too but said nothing more.
"For a mere black market, this isn't half bad," Jon said carelessly. Recently, Tom's promotion to squad leader and second-class soldier had lit a fire under Jon, driving him to train relentlessly. Now close to second-class strength himself, Jon's comment wasn't entirely baseless.
Gulas remained silent, though his interested gaze lingered on the gang members—it seemed his hands were itching for a fight.
Kebi, having spent enough time with the group to understand these types, took the lead and walked towards the center of the black market. The biggest and most reliable sellers were typically found there, the only ones capable of handling their substantial amount of silver buc without causing trouble.
The gang members stationed near the entrance were adept at reading people after years of idle watch. Gulas and Tom's predatory stares clearly annoyed them. Had it not been for the two sharp-witted leaders holding them back, trouble would have already erupted.
One of the scar-faced leaders barked at his subordinates, "Anyone who starts trouble will never see tonight's moon!" His men fell in line immediately.
As Cæsar and his companions reached the market's center, they encountered the only building in the underground space—a cramped 30-square-meter room. Once the group stepped inside, the space felt suffocating.
"How can I help you, gentlemen?" a raspy, aged voice asked. Behind a small wooden counter sat a man in his sixties or seventies, his sharp eyes studying them closely.
The room was peculiar. There were no physical goods, only rows of shelves covered in slips of paper, each listing items available for trade. There were about 20 to 30 shelves in total, hinting at the seller's considerable resources. Most items were food supplies and basic necessities; weapons were rare, limited to a few daggers and short swords, and there wasn't a single piece of armor.
Kebi, ever the negotiator, stepped forward confidently. "Old man, we've brought you a big deal today. The only question is, can you handle it?" He signaled to Tom and Gulas, who each retrieved a heavy pouch from their belts and tossed them onto the counter with a loud thud.
At first, the old man's expression was dismissive, but the weighty sound of the pouches snapped him out of it. Experienced as he was, he instantly recognized the sound of silver—not mere coins, but serious wealth.
With bony fingers, the old man untied one of the pouches and peered inside. The gleam of silver buc made his eyes light up. Taking out a few coins, he bit them to verify their authenticity. Shiloh's silver coins had a metal ratio of 6:3 silver to other metals, with 10% impurities, while Garrel's coins were a perfect 5:5 ratio with minimal impurities, making them harder and easier to verify.
"What's your request?" he asked, now fully serious.
"We want silver coins. All of it converted into silver coins. Gold coins would be even better if you have them," Kebi stated plainly. Silver coins were Shiloh's standard currency, equivalent in status to Garrel's silver buc.
The old man let out a dry chuckle. "Gold coins? I'm afraid you overestimate me. The exchange rate isn't favorable—officially, 100 silver buc equals 1 gold coin, but in practice, it's closer to 1:12 or even higher."
If the old man could secure gold coins, their silver buc could have been exchanged for nearly 2,000 silver coins—or 20 gold coins. Even if they received only 18 gold coins, Cæsar would still consider it an extraordinary profit. Gold coins retained their value far better than silver.
"Silver coins it is, then," the old man said, clapping his hands. A black-robed attendant entered, received whispered instructions, and quickly exited.
Before long, four burly guards brought in a large sack. These men were clearly loyal enforcers of the shop. They set down the sack and retreated to guard the door.
Kebi stepped forward, loosened the sack's opening, and revealed the glimmering silver coins inside.
The transaction was completed without a hitch. Without lingering in Volier City, Cæsar's group swiftly returned to their camp. The precaution of bringing Gulas and Tom, though wise, turned out to be unnecessary—the journey back was uneventful.
In total, they had acquired nearly 2,000 silver coins. Directly depositing such a large sum into the logistics office would raise suspicion, so Cæsar separated 700 coins and instructed Tom to have them delivered to Uncle York. The repayment far exceeded the original debt of 200 silver buc—an elegant way to settle a favor.
The remaining coins would be gradually spent in the coming days. Cæsar had no grand ambitions—survival had once been his goal, but now he dreamed of living comfortably. He hoped to save enough by the war's end to secure a manor under a baron's domain and retire peacefully with his family. This windfall brought him one step closer to that dream.
That evening, the troops set up camp near a forest.
"Set up camp!" The officers barked orders, and soldiers began organizing themselves efficiently.
Cæsar sat atop his horse, chewing on a twig, eyes fixed on the distant forest. He was curious about demonic creatures and magical beasts, wondering if any lurked among the trees.
"We're in the southwestern foothills of the Bering Mountains," Uncle York said, riding up beside him. "I know you want to hunt magical beasts to grow stronger, but you should focus on refining your fighting energy first."
"I understand, Uncle," Cæsar nodded.
York wasn't aware of the two doses of Red Sea Flower Cæsar had received from Young Master Soren. With diligent training and the flower's aid, his fighting energy had already reached nearly two-thirds of York's level—a secret only Cæsar knew.
"In two days, we'll reach Bimor City in the northwestern Bering Mountains," York continued.
"This regrouping means another tough battle ahead," Cæsar said, urging his horse forward.
"Winter's coming. If this war drags on another year, even the toughest soldiers will start to break," York sighed, following suit.
"Once we reach the main camp, there'll be opportunities. You've made some good money, kid—use it wisely," York said with a knowing smile.
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting crimson light on the clouds. A chill wind rustled the brittle autumn leaves, scattering them across the forest floor.