In a cramped, isolated bedroom, the air was thick with neglect. Iron bars secured the sturdy doors on both sides of the room. Cobwebs clung to the corners, dust coated the floor, and a discarded kerosene lamp hinted at long-abandoned occupancy.
Suddenly, the stillness was disturbed. The void in the center of the room rippled like the surface of a pond, and a figure stepped through.
It was Karl.
Gripping his knight's sword, Karl cautiously surveyed his surroundings before approaching one of the doors. With deliberate movements, he lifted the iron bar locking it.
"Creaaak..."
The rusty door scraped against the ground, emitting a faint noise that made Karl pause briefly.
*"I really hate coming here."*
Stepping out, he instinctively looked to the sky. The ever-present gray mist obscured the heavens, making it impossible to tell day from night. In the sky hung a shattered crimson moon, static and unchanging.
Every visit was the same.
The moon dominated the firmament, having seemingly stolen the domain of the sun. This shattered crimson orb stood as a stark reminder that Karl was no longer in his original world.
The oppressive cold and gloom weren't just physical. There was also an intangible miasma that seeped relentlessly into the body.
This was the Black City.
A place renowned for its rich deposits of blackstone.
Judging by its spired towers, stone buildings, and intricate carvings, the Black City must have once been prosperous. Its residents likely lived lives even more comfortable than those in Signo City.
But everything changed with the discovery of blackstone veins beneath its surface. The city was transformed into a mining hub. The wealthy fled, leaving behind a laboring population destined for grueling work and a life overshadowed by the ominous influence of the mines.
Tightening his grip on his sword and bundle, Karl strode cautiously forward. Just two steps in, his eyes narrowed as he spotted something in the road.
A decaying animal carcass—perhaps a dog or wolf—lay in the middle of the path, surrounded by buzzing carrion flies.
It was just a corpse, but Karl's wariness peaked. He gave it a wide berth, avoiding it entirely before continuing on his way.
The streets were uneven, marred by jagged cracks and fissures like open wounds in the earth. These fractures, said to be caused by reckless mining, had turned once-smooth pathways into treacherous terrain.
From these fissures came bursts of steam—sometimes scalding, other times chilling. A single misstep could leave even the hardiest ill for weeks. And then there were the abandoned pits, black voids that plunged into the depths.
Dark alleys and deserted homes seemed alive with unseen threats, as though malevolent beings lurked in the shadows, biding their time.
Karl's every muscle was tense as he moved quickly yet silently through the streets. After navigating two blocks, he finally spotted his destination in the distance.
"Phew…"
He exhaled deeply. Two figures dressed in black acknowledged him with subtle nods, and he sheathed his sword before stepping into a bustling thoroughfare.
This was the Raka Market, a rare hub of activity in the Black City's surface level.
"Fresh rat meat! No rot! Only half a blackstone per portion!"
"Finely forged Kalia longswords! Sharp and lightweight—the best weapon to deal with the half-dead!"
"Filtered water! Pure and clean, only one blackstone for ten liters!"
The vendors' cries filled the air, their enthusiasm tempered by the desperation of their trade.
In the Black City, survival was a daily struggle. The polluted underground streams made potable water a luxury, and the scarcity of fresh food left most scavenging for scraps. Even spoiled meat was a prized commodity.
Karl weaved through the throng and approached a familiar stall. Squatting down, he addressed the vendor.
"Kolon. Last time we spoke, you mentioned a source for breathing techniques?"
Despite being in a completely different world, Karl marveled at how certain things—like language, breathing techniques, and even the written word—remained eerily similar between the two realms.
Could the two worlds have once been connected?
Kolon, the stall's gaunt owner, grinned, revealing a mouthful of rotten teeth. An eyepatch covered the socket where a crow had once plucked out his eye.
"Ah, it's you!" Kolon greeted him with a crooked smile. "My friend, you always bring me interesting requests. Breathing techniques, eh? Such knowledge is the lifeline of noble families. You know they guard it fiercely."
"Yes, I know."
Karl set a milk canister on the ground.
"Fresh milk!"
Kolon's throat moved as he swallowed hard, his lips parting to reveal a greedy smile.
"Fresh milk… Oh, my friend, you always surprise me. I can't even recall the last time I had milk," Kolon said, licking his chapped lips.
"But…" Kolon sighed, shaking his head. "The man with the breathing techniques? Milk won't interest him."
"Oh?" Karl frowned. "What does he want?"
Kolon leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice.
"A way out of the Black City."
Karl snorted. "Do I look like someone who can arrange that?"
Kolon hesitated, then shrugged. "I thought you might. If you can get fresh milk, I figured you might have connections."
Seeing Karl's skeptical glare, Kolon quickly added, "The only way I know out of here is to join Lady Butterfly's caravan. But that costs two thousand blackstones."
Karl's expression darkened. He didn't have even a fraction of that.
"No deal," he said curtly, retrieving his milk canister.
"Wait!" Kolon reached out, his tone growing eager. "Don't leave yet. Let me show you something."
From behind his stall, Kolon retrieved a small, metal device and fiddled with it until it clicked audibly.
"Recognize this?"
Karl squinted. "A wrist-mounted crossbow?"
Kolon grinned broadly. "Exactly! This is a masterpiece crafted by a renowned artisan. It adjusts to fit snugly on your arm and carries three bolts. At close range, even a knight squire would struggle to dodge it. Poison the bolts, and even knights could fall."
Karl's eyes gleamed.
For now, he didn't care about knights. But having an effective weapon against squires was invaluable.
"Of course…" Kolon leaned back, smugly adding, "A canister of milk won't be enough for this."
Karl didn't argue. He reached into his bag, retrieved five pounds of cured meat, and pointed to an ornate clock on the stall.
"That clock too."
Kolon blinked, surprised, but then burst into a toothy grin. "Deal! You've got good taste, my friend. That clock's gilded in gold! It's practically a relic."
Karl smirked. He wasn't after the clock's mechanics or artistry—just its gilding. Gold held value in both worlds, and in the other world, this clock could fetch a decent price.