Lyra kept her head bowed low, practically merging into Arthur’s shadow as she guided him deep into the undercity. The pleasant cobblestones of the mid-tier rings dissolved into cracked flagstones covered in slick, foul moss. Narrow tunnels plunged down beneath the city foundations, illuminated only by sputtering, low-grade mana lanterns that cast long, grotesque shadows.
She trembled violently, clutching the back of Arthur’s frayed tunic with white-knuckled fingers. "Arthur... please be careful," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the dripping water. "The sub-market isn’t run by guards or guildmasters. It belongs to the Shadow Syndicate—female mercs and thugs who take whatever they want."
Arthur didn’t slow his stride. His shoulders remained broad, his carriage imperious. He had dealt with autocratic warlords, corrupt heads of state, and syndicate bosses in his past life; a handful of street-level enforcers were no different.
As they rounded a damp corner into a subterranean alley filled with illicit stalls, a sudden hush fell over the crowd. Dozens of eyes locked onto them.
"Well, well, look what crawled out of the gutter..."
Three towering female thugs stepped out from the gloom, blocking the pathway. The leader was a scarred brawler wielding a heavy iron mace, flanked by two muscular women wearing studded leather armor. In a world where males were scarce delicacies to be hoarded or traded, seeing an unregistered, strikingly handsome young man wandering into the black market without a high-ranking matriarch was like dangling raw meat in front of starving wolves.
"A boy? Walking down here alone with a trash-girl?" The leader smirked, a predatory glint flashing in her eye as she took a slow step forward, looking Arthur up and down. "Lost your way, little prince? Why don’t you leave that dirty rat behind and come with us? We’ll treat you right... keep you real warm, feed you sweet wine, and make sure you never have to walk these cold tunnels again."
The other thugs chuckled, taking aggressive steps forward, their hands resting on the pommels of their daggers, clearly intending to kidnap him by force.
Lyra gasped, instinctively shrinking behind Arthur, paralyzed by sheer terror.
Arthur didn’t flinch. He didn’t stutter, drop his gaze, or offer a pathetic plea. Instead, he stepped forward, crossing his arms over his chest, and looked down at the gang leader with a look of absolute, icy contempt—the exact same look he had given foreign ministers who dared to break international economic treaties.
"I am not interested in your pathetic vices or your cheap hospitality," Arthur said, his voice ringing out sharp, clear, and utterly void of fear. "You are wasting my time. Direct me to the undercity’s premier grimoire dealer immediately, or get out of my sight."
The thugs froze in absolute shock.
In this world, low-born males were either timid, submissive cowards who whimpered for protection, or arrogant, spoiled brats who threw tantrums. None of them spoke with this level of cold, iron-clad supremacy. The sheer weight of Arthur’s aura—the absolute certainty in his tone—commanded instant, instinctive obedience.
The leader’s predatory smirk faltered. Her eyes widened, a strange flush warming her scarred cheeks. Rather than taking offense, her heart hammered against her ribs. The sheer confidence radiating from this young man was intoxicating.
"A-A grimoire dealer...?" she stammered, suddenly dropping her aggressive stance, her voice losing its harsh edge completely. She swallowed hard, looking at him with newfound, desperate admiration. "Y-You mean Madame Vespera’s emporium? We... we can take you there! Right away! Please, follow us!"
Without another word, the three formidable thugs instantly turned around, acting as his personal honor guard, pushing aside anyone who got close to Arthur as they led him through the winding black market tunnels.
Lyra stared at Arthur’s back in complete astonishment. He didn’t even raise a weapon... he just spoke, and three deadly mercs became his servants...
They stopped before a heavy set of iron double doors emblazoned with a shadowy serpent emblem. The lead thug knocked three times, spoke a password to the eye-slot, and ushered Arthur inside before bowing slightly as he walked past.
The interior was vast, quiet, and smelled faintly of ancient parchment, dried herbs, and ozone. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the dark mahogany walls, filled with thousands of leather-bound scrolls and glowing magical texts.
Sitting behind a grand, velvet-covered desk at the center of the room was a breathtaking woman in her early thirties. She had long, raven hair, crimson eyes, and wore flowing dark robes that revealed an exceptionally voluptuous figure.
"What’s this?" the woman asked, her deep, seductive voice echoing in the grand room as she looked up from her ledger. "My enforcers bringing a boy inside my vault?"
"Madame Vespera," the lead thug said hurriedly, blushing as she gestured toward Arthur. "He... he demanded to see you. He’s different."
Madame Vespera rested her chin on her hand, a sultry, amused smile playing on her lips as her crimson eyes swept over Arthur’s shabby tunic. "A boy looking for magic? How cute. Did you run away from a noble lady’s bed, little one? Or are you looking for a charm to keep the girls paying for your company?"
Arthur walked straight to her desk, ignoring her flirtatious tone entirely. He placed his heavy leather pouch of coins on the wooden surface with a solid thud.
"I am here to purchase knowledge," Arthur stated, his voice flat, resolute, and completely unbothered by her presence. "I have fifteen silver pieces and fifty coppers. I know this is insufficient to purchase high-tier spell tomes outright."
Vespera raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued by his sharp demeanor and unwavering eye contact. "If you know it’s not enough, why are you standing in my shop?"
"A trade," Arthur said smoothly, leaning slightly over the desk, his eyes locking onto hers with absolute authority. "I require reading access to your foundational magic theory, core construction, and language texts. In exchange, I offer you this current capital, plus a binding promise. Within six months, I will return to this undercity as a power capable of providing your syndicate with political backing, economic leverage, and trade routes you currently cannot touch."
Vespera stared at him, her breathless amusement slowly shifting into pure astonishment. No male had ever spoken to her like an equal—let alone proposed an economic partnership with such fierce, terrifying determination. The absolute conviction in his gaze told her he wasn’t dreaming; he was stating a future fact.
She felt a sudden, electric thrill run down her spine. Her heart fluttered as she looked at his handsome face and unwavering posture.
"You have remarkable nerve, boy," Vespera murmured softly, her cheeks flushing as a genuine, delighted smile broke across her face. She reached out, her long fingers gently sliding over the leather pouch before sliding toward his hand. "Fifteen silvers... very well. Keep five silvers for yourself—you and that poor girl behind you look like you haven’t eaten a decent meal in days. Go buy yourselves warm meat and clean clothes."
She stood up, her dark robes trailing behind her as she gestured toward the massive archive behind her desk.
"You have unlimited access to my reading vault," Vespera declared, looking at Arthur with undeniable affection and deep intrigue. "Read every book you desire. I will personally hold you to that promise of future support, my ambitious little king."
Arthur took the returned silver coins, giving her a single, firm nod. "A bargain struck."
He turned back to Lyra, who was staring at him with wide, idolizing eyes, her heart practically beating out of her chest. Arthur tossed her the five silver coins.
"Come, Lyra," Arthur said, a calm, victorious smile touching his lips. "First, we eat. Then, I master magic."