As Daemon stepped into the Black Market, he was immediately struck by how different it was from the rest of the city. It was a stark contrast—modern in appearance, yet its very essence was steeped in secrecy and crime. The underground marketplace resembled a sprawling mall, but its atmosphere was far from ordinary.
The narrow alleys were lined with countless stalls and booths, each one brimming with all sorts of illegal merchandise. But the market wasn't just a place for physical items. The Black Market was also known for dealing in something far more dangerous: dungeons. These weren't the controlled training dungeons from the academy, but the real, original ones— dangerous and unpredictable.
While dungeons were typically owned and regulated by the federation, there were organizations that had found a way to operate outside the law, trading and selling access to these dungeons illegally, especially within the Black Market.
Daemon made his way through the bustling streets of the Black Market until he reached the headquarters of [Nedius], a notorious organization known for dealing in illegal dungeons. As he approached the entrance, he noticed a variety of individuals coming and going.
Stepping inside the building, Daemon moved toward the lobby. The room was filled with the quiet hum of conversation, but his focus remained on the desk in the corner. Behind it sat a young woman, dressed in a black suit that gave her an air of professionalism. She appeared to be in her twenties, with a calm and composed demeanor.
"Welcome to [Nedius]," she greeted him with a polite smile. "How can we assist you today?"
Daemon didn't waste any time. "I'm looking for a dungeon to explore," he replied, his voice steady and clear.
The receptionist quickly turned her attention to the computer in front of her, her fingers tapping on the keyboard. "What rank of the dungeon should it be?"
Without hesitation, Daemon answered, "Give me a Rank-2 dungeon." Her fingers paused for a moment, before she continued typing, processing his request.
A hologram flickered to life in front of Daemon, displaying various dungeon options available for exploration. He scanned through them briefly, his thoughts focused on one particular choice.
"I'll take the Wailing Forest," Daemon said, his voice calm but resolute.
The receptionist's expression shifted slightly, as though taken aback by his decision. She quickly returned to typing, confirming his request. Daemon knew the Wailing Forest was not a popular choice—it had a notorious reputation, one that most hunters avoided. But it was exactly what he needed.
His finances were dangerously low, and he needed money quickly. The Wailing Forest dungeon might be a risk, but it also offered the potential for a great reward.
Unlike other dungeons, where monsters could be fought and slain for loot, the Wailing Forest was different. There were no physical beasts to battle. Instead, it was the sounds—the eerie, agonizing cries of people—that haunted anyone who ventured within its depths. These cries could drive the weak-minded to madness, even causing them to take their own lives.
It was known as one of the least popular Rank-2 dungeons for this very reason. But for Daemon, it was perfect.
His passive skill, [Cold-Blooded], granted him a high resistance to mental attacks—something that had been tested and proven in the past. He had no doubt that it would protect him from the psychological attacks of the Wailing Forest.
The receptionist glanced up from her desk and said, "Sir, as per our policies, since this is one of the most dangerous dungeons, there will be a strict time limit of 30 minutes."
Daemon frowned slightly at the restriction, but he nodded, understanding the reasoning behind it. A place like the Wailing Forest wasn't just dangerous—it was a potential death trap. "Understood," he replied calmly.
She gestured for him to follow her. They walked to the warp gates at the edge of the headquarters, large circular structures glowing faintly with runic energy. The receptionist handed him a small storage bag, explaining its use. "This is for anything you collect inside the dungeon. Good luck," she said with a polite smile before stepping back.
Daemon stepped onto the platform. The warp gate activated, and his vision blurred as the world around him twisted and spun. In the blink of an eye, he found himself in the Wailing Forest.
The scene before him was eerie and surreal. The trees were warped, their twisted trunks forming grotesque faces that seemed frozen in endless cries of anguish. A heavy, grey mist blanketed the forest floor, muting all sound except for the faint, mournful wails that echoed in the distance.
Daemon exhaled slowly, his breath visible in the cold, damp air. "Makes sense why they call it the Wailing Forest," he muttered under his breath, gripping his weapon tightly as he stepped forward.
The forest seemed alive with an oppressive gloom. The mist thickened around him, obscuring his vision, but Daemon moved steadily, unshaken. As he walked, his sharp eyes caught a faint glow on the ground ahead.
Bending down, he found a blue runestone, its surface shimmering faintly in the dim light. Runestones—condensed mana crystals—were rare and valuable. A small smile touched Daemon's lips as he picked it up and placed it carefully into the storage bag.
As Daemon pressed deeper into the forest, a faint notification echoed in his mind:
[Cold-Blooded maintains your composure. Your mental resistance has increased.]
The oppressive cries of the forest seemed to have no effect on him, the eerie wails sliding off his psyche like water off a stone.
'This is almost too easy,' Daemon thought, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. 'Like stealing candy from a child.'
With his passive skill shielding his mind, he moved swiftly and confidently through the mist-shrouded woods. His sharp eyes scanned the ground and surrounding trees, easily spotting the faint glow of more runestones scattered about.
He bent down to collect one, then another, each blue crystal slipping effortlessly into his storage bag. The sound of the wails intensified the deeper he went, but to Daemon, it was nothing more than background noise.
**********
As Daemon stepped through the warp gate, the familiar blue energy surrounding him flickered before dissipating. He found himself back at the headquarters, a small storage bag now weighing down his hand. The bag was stuffed full of runestones, their faint blue glow still radiating from within.
He walked straight to the counter where a clerk waited, glancing up at him with a neutral expression.
"How can I help you?" the clerk asked.
Without a word, Daemon placed the bag down on the counter with a soft thud.
"I want to exchange this for money," he said, his voice steady.
The clerk nodded and swiftly began to process the runestones. After a moment, the clerk glanced back up, typing some details into the system.
"After taking the institute's share, the remaining amount will be 48,750 Units."
Daemon nodded, satisfied. Dungeon diving was always the best way to make money—one successful dive could earn tens of thousands of units, but it always came at a price. It was risky business, no doubt about it.
Daemon walked through the bustling crowd outside the headquarters, his eyes scanning the various stalls. There were weapons, potions, illegal items, and even some shady goods being traded in plain sight. But Daemon wasn't interested in any of those.
His eyes settled on a small, inconspicuous stall tucked between larger vendors. Unlike the others, this one wasn't selling anything flashy. Instead, it was filled with various kinds of eggs, each carefully arranged and looking almost out of place in the middle of the black market.
As Daemon approached, the shopkeeper, a rough-looking man with half-closed eyes, looked up at him. "How can I assist you, young hunter?" he asked, his voice deep and gravelly.
Daemon leaned forward slightly and spoke with certainty. "I want DX-021."
The shopkeeper's eyes, which had been lazily half-shut, suddenly snapped wide open in surprise. For a moment, he studied Daemon carefully, his expression turning from surprise to suspicion. His gaze narrowed dangerously, as if trying to gauge whether Daemon truly understood what he was asking for.
"Boy," the shopkeeper finally spoke, his voice low and tense, "Do you know what you're asking for?"
Daemon didn't flinch. "Yes, I am very much aware." His voice was calm, unwavering.
DX-021 was not just any specimen—it was dangerous, illegal, and could turn someone into a mindless slave. Even mentioning it was a risk, especially because it was a product of a mad scientist, a creation that had nearly sparked a war between the domains of the world. It was so dangerous that even a member of the most powerful families in the federation could face execution if caught possessing it.
The shopkeeper stared at Daemon for a moment, his sharp eyes narrowing as if trying to pierce through his calm facade. "How did you know I had it?" he finally asked, his voice low and cautious.
Daemon met his gaze with a sly smile. "We have our sources," he replied confidently.
The word we lingered in the shopkeeper's mind. "We, huh? So, he's part of some organization," he thought, his expression tightening. Deciding not to press further, he reached under the counter and carefully pulled out an egg. Its pale shell was speckled with ominous red spots, radiating an almost palpable sense of danger.
"Take it," the shopkeeper said, placing the egg on the counter. "This is the only sample I have."
Daemon picked up the egg, its surface cold against his fingers. "How much will it be?" he asked.
The shopkeeper shook his head. "It's free. I don't want your money. But in return, this should never be traced back to me. And I better never see you again."
Daemon's eyes widened in surprise. He had deliberately used the word we earlier to create the illusion that he wasn't acting alone. It was a calculated move to deter the shopkeeper from trying anything suspicious. But this reaction was unexpected. The man was practically giving the dangerous item away.
"It seems he wants to get rid of this thing as much as I want it," Daemon thought, his mind racing. Without another word, he nodded and turned to leave, tucking the egg securely into his bag.
As he walked away, blending back into the bustling black market, he couldn't help but feel the weight of his next objective. Now, it was time to address the true reason he had come to this place.