The Anomaly's Path

Author Note:

Hey everyone,

Quick note about the Archivist’s pronouns. As you’ve probably noticed, the Archivist’s gender is completely unknown — no one knows their true face, race, or identity.

In the previous Chapter, Leo referred to the Archivist as "he" because that’s what he assumed in his head. But the truth is, nobody knows. So moving forward, I’ll be using "they" for the Archivist until their real identity is revealed.

Also, I’ve gone back and changed the pronouns in the last Chapter from "he" to "they" to keep it consistent. So if you reread it, you’ll see the Archivist is now referred to as "they" throughout.

Enjoy the Chapter!

_

The silver fox mask was getting uncomfortable. Sweat dripped down the back of the auctioneer’s neck, soaking into the collar of his pristine white suit.

As an official host for the Hollow Syndicate’s Grand Shadow Auction, he was supposed to be a master of showmanship. His code name was "The Conductor," a title earned after ten years of running auctions that made rich people spend their fortunes while asking for more.

His job was simple: keep the crowd excited, push the bidding high, and earn a big commission.

He had run auctions for corrupt politicians, warlords, and black-market kings without ever breaking a sweat. Tonight was supposed to be just another night — another job, another crowd, another pile of gold.

...Or so he thought.

For the past hour, his life had been a living hell. And it was all because of one single guest sitting up in VIP Booth 7-A.

Alias: [Loki].

"Current bid is seventy thousand gold credits!" the auctioneer called out, trying to keep his voice smooth and charming while his stomach churned. "Do I hear seventy-five—"

Beep!

The light above VIP Booth 7-A flashed gold.

"One hundred thousand gold from VIP 7-A!" the auctioneer announced, suppressing a twitch in his left eye.

Down on the main floor, the whole crowd groaned in frustration.

A mercenary in the third row slammed his fist on his seat, cursing loud enough for everyone to hear. Beside him, a rich noblewoman snapped her fan shut so hard the frame cracked, then threw her bidding paddle on the floor in disgust.

No one wanted to fight a VIP with endless money, but watching the same thing happen again and again was pushing everyone to the edge. The first bidder muttered curses, tore his card in half, and slumped back in his seat.

"One hundred thousand credits, going once... twice... Sold to guest [Loki]!" The auctioneer slammed his gavel down. "Moving on to—"

Beep!

A small notification flashed on the auctioneer’s podium screen.

[VIP Privilege Exercised] Guest [Loki] has invoked High-VIP Exemption Protocol. The previous transaction for [Item #42: Frost-Rune Dagger] has been canceled. The item will be returned to storage.

The auctioneer gripped the edges of his wooden podium so hard his knuckles turned white.

Again. He did it AGAIN.

The High-VIP tier was for the highest nobility — Highest Nobles houses, royal blood, Astra Union executives, or highest merchant lords.

One of their special privileges was the Exemption Rule. A High-VIP could bid on an item, drive the price up to ridiculous heights, and then simply choose not to buy it at the last second without any penalty.

It was a legal loophole built into the system to protect elite buyers if they changed their minds. But nobody ever used it like this!

Nobles had pride. They had money to burn. Why would anyone waste time driving up prices just to drop the item seconds later?

But he’s a menace, the auctioneer thought, his teeth grinding together behind his mask.

Over the past hour, this bastard named Loki had done this over a dozen times.

He would jump into a bidding war, force the price up until the real buyers gave up, and then cancel the purchase. Half the items tonight had to be put back into storage because Loki kept blocking every legitimate buyer in the room.

And the worst part? The auctioneer couldn’t say a single word.

The Hollow Syndicate was a powerful underground organization, but they still operated in the shadows. They couldn’t afford to anger a High-VIP who likely held high noble status or backing from the Astra Union.

If an auctioneer insulted someone of that caliber, his body would end up in a pipe by morning. He had to swallow his anger, smile, and keep going.

I needed a new job, he thought miserably, wiping sweat from under his mask. I swear, after tonight, I’m quitting.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the auctioneer projected his voice through the microphone, forcing a warm tone. "That concludes the first half of our grand auction. We will now take a thirty-minute break. Please enjoy the refreshments in the lower lounges, and we shall return shortly."

He bowed, stepped off the stage, and practically ran toward the back room to grab a drink.

_

Up in VIP Booth 7-A, I threw my head back and let out a long, happy laugh.

"Hahaha! Look at them down there!" I leaned over the glass balcony, pointing at the frustrated crowd filing out of the hall. "Look at those poor peasants scrambling! Ah, this is truly the power of money!"

Sitting on the couches behind me, my group was staring at me like I had completely lost my mind. Caster sat frozen with a half-eaten grape near his mouth. Julia looked wide-eyed and deeply unsettled through her mask. Malva just let out a tired sigh.

I ignored all three of them and sank back into the plush leather couch, propping my feet up on the glass table.

Man, being rich is the best feeling in the world!

Back in my old life, I had to count every single penny just to buy groceries. But now? I belonged to House Celestial. I had millions of gold credits sitting in my account, and I was using a VIP status that made me untouchable in a place like this.

Strength is great, sure. Sword skills and magic are cool. But pulling off a legal scam just because you have a fancy VIP card? That is a whole different kind of high.

"Boss..." Caster finally spoke up, his voice a deep robotic hum through his mask. "Are you... okay? Why did you bid two hundred thousand gold on a broken rusty shield, raise the price so nobody else could get it, and then just... refuse to pay?"

"It’s called market manipulation, Caster," I said, waving my hand. "And more importantly, it’s hilarious."

"You drove that poor auctioneer to the edge of a breakdown," Julia whispered nervously. "I saw his hands shaking."

"He’ll survive," I chuckled.

To be fair, I didn’t just mess with people. I actually bought a few strange items that caught my eye.

I picked up a set of fancy glasses that changed your vision depending on the music, a smooth black watch that showed a floating clock, and a weird folded metal rock. When you touched it with mana, the rock unfolded into a surprisingly comfortable armchair.

Did I need it? Absolutely not. But it looked cool, and I was rich, so I bought it anyway.

I also kept my eyes open for a high-grade sword art for Malva, but nothing good had shown up in the first half.

Besides, driving the auctioneer crazy wasn’t just for fun. It was part of a plan. Tonight, I came here to meet the master behind this place. If you walk into the Shadow Market like a normal buyer, you’re just another masked face in the crowd.

But if you act like a completely unpredictable, filthy-rich chaotic monster, you get noticed. And getting noticed was the fastest way to skip the line. Right on cue, three quiet knocks sounded against the heavy wooden door of our booth.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Julia held her breath, Caster straightened up, and Malva simply turned her head to look at the entrance.

I didn’t flinch. A wide grin spread across my face behind my mask.

"Come in," I called out lazily.

The door clicked open. A young woman stepped into the VIP booth. She wore a simple dark coat, her face covered by a plain black half-mask. Her short black hair was styled in a neat bob, framing her jawline.

Behind her stood two massive guards in dark enforcement coats.

She didn’t look at Caster or the girls. Her eyes locked straight onto me. She bowed her head slightly and held out a small, sealed silver envelope.

"Greetings, guest of Booth 7-A," she said, her voice smooth and completely devoid of emotion. "I am a messenger representing the inner administration of the Hollow Syndicate."

I stayed leaning back on the couch, resting my chin on my hand. "And what does the inner administration want with me? Are you here to complain about my bidding style?"

"Not at all," she replied calmly. "However, your actions tonight have drawn considerable attention."

I narrowed my eyes and let a faint trace of dark killing intent leak into the room. The air grew thick and heavy.

"You brought guards to my private booth," I said, my voice dropping into a low, cold rasp. "In case you forgot, looking into a High-VIP’s identity or bothering them in their private suite is a direct violation of your own market rules. Are you planning on threatening me?"

The two guards behind her visibly tensed, stepping forward.

The girl immediately raised a hand, stopping the guards in their tracks. She lowered her head deeper into a polite bow.

"Please forgive us, honored guest," she said quickly. "We mean no disrespect. My master simply wishes to request a short private audience with you during the break."

"Your master?" I asked, playing dumb. "And who would that be?"

"The Archivist," she answered.

Bingo.

Inside, I was doing a victory lap. The Archivist was the most secretive figure in the entire underworld. In the game, players had to complete dozens of complex quests just to get a single letter from them. Getting a direct invite on my first visit was a huge shortcut.

Of course, I couldn’t look too eager.

"The Archivist, huh?" I leaned back, tapping my fingers on my knee. "Doesn’t your master have a strict rule about never meeting outsiders? I thought they had a solemn vow with the Astra Union to stay hidden in the shadows."

"My master does," the girl replied smoothly. "But they believe an exception is warranted for a guest of your... unique standing."

"Hmm." I let out a dramatic sigh, making a show of acting reluctant. "Honestly, shouldn’t your master have come up here to greet my glorious self, rather than asking me to walk to them?"

The messenger’s lips twitched slightly under her mask, the very first crack in her emotionless face.

"...My master is unable to leave their private quarters," she explained carefully, swallowing her pride. "We humbly request that you grant them a few minutes of your valuable time."

"Well, since you’re begging so nicely," I laughed, pushing myself off the couch. "Fine. I will humor them."

I turned back to Caster, Julia, and Malva.

"You guys stay here," I instructed them. "Help yourselves to the food. If anything good pops up on the tablet while I’m gone, feel free to bid on it. Malva, keep an eye out for any high-tier sword manuals."

"Boss, are you sure?" Caster asked, looking worriedly at the two heavy guards. "Going alone with them seems risky."

"Don’t worry," I chuckled, turning toward the door. "I’m just going to have a friendly chat."

_

I followed the messenger down a series of hidden corridors behind the main auction hall. The fancy carpets and glowing crystals quickly disappeared, replaced by bare stone walls, iron beams, and thick defensive wards carved into the bedrock.

My mind worked fast as we walked.

I knew the Archivist was sharp. In fact, they had probably already figured out my identity the moment I stepped into their auction. They must have known that the heir of House Celestial was here, causing trouble in their domain.

And now they wanted to know why I had come.

We finally reached a massive set of double doors made of dark, polished wood, reinforced with silver runes.

The messenger stepped forward and placed her palm against a flat crystal scanner. The scanner flashed deep red, reading her mana signature.

Clack!

The heavy locks disengaged with a loud thud.

"Please step inside," she said, bowing and gesturing toward the opening. "My master is waiting."

"Aren’t you coming in?" I asked.

"No. My master wishes to speak with you alone."

I shrugged and stepped through the threshold. The doors swung shut behind me with a solid sound, sealing the room completely.

The room was massive, like an ancient library. High bookshelves stretched all the way to the ceiling, packed with thousands of old leather-bound books, glowing orbs, and sealed scrolls. The smell of old paper, ink, and faint ozone filled the air.

In the center of the room sat a large mahogany desk illuminated by a single floating lamp.

Sitting behind the desk was a figure.

It wasn’t a terrifying monster, nor was it an old wizard in robes.

They had long, straight black hair that fell past their shoulders like a curtain of dark ink, smooth and shiny, catching the light with a faint blue tint. Their face was delicate yet sharp — high cheekbones, a small nose, and a defined jawline framed by pale skin that looked almost like moonlight on fresh snow.

Their lips were thin and pale, pressed into a flat, unreadable line. But their most striking feature was their deep crimson eyes. They looked ancient and unsettling, like two glowing rubies cutting straight through the dim light of the room.

They were slim, wearing a dark, elegant coat that wrapped tightly around their frame. They didn’t emit a single speck of aura, yet their sheer presence made the huge place feel claustrophobic.

The Archivist.

I froze in my tracks. My eyes narrowed as I looked at the person in front of me. I knew that face. Even if I wanted to forget it, there was no way I wouldn’t recognize it. It was a face carved into my memory — impossible to mistake.

It wasn’t just some mysterious underworld figure standing there. But a person I knew...

"...Seris."