“Sister! Look!”

  In the crowd, Lily and Jessica were there as well.

  Thanks to Javon’s earlier spree—buying like a true magnate—they had packed up their stall early, and now they were mixed into the onlookers, watching the commotion.

  “…That Shadow Cloak seems pretty good.”

  Golden-haired Jessica tugged at Lily’s sleeve. “And that Suncrest Medal—so long as you put it down before you start feeling unwell, it’s fine. The drawback is controllable. These are premium pieces among arcane artifacts.”

  Compared to the truly lethal items that killed their owners outright—pieces that demanded you believe in some Obscured Existence at the drop of a hat—these few Javon had forged on a whim were unquestionably premium.

  Quite a few spectators were tempted.

  Lily, however, held her sister’s hand and gave a bitter smile. “They’re good, sure. But I’d guess each one is worth at least three thousand pounds!”

  “Three thousand?” Jessica stared at Javon, eyes full of envy. “No wonder he didn’t haggle earlier.”

  “No. You’re missing the more important point.” Lily lowered her voice. “Anyone who can craft arcane artifacts is, at minimum, a transcendent Artisan of the occult world. Now think about what he bought from our table—plenty of it could be used in forging. Do you understand what that means?”

  “It means… that young man is a very capable Artisan?” Jessica tilted her head.

  “No.” Lily looked as though she’d been struck speechless. “It means that behind that young man, there must be a truly formidable Artisan. He sounded young—how could he possibly have that high a Sephiroth level and that kind of forging skill?”

  She glanced toward the stall. “Didn’t you see Master Gantiss marveling at those items? The real Artisan must be an experienced master!”

  In the current occult world, the Gate of Immortality had not yet opened. Because of madness and corruption, an ordinary Transcendent often had a shorter lifespan than a normal person—so “baby-faced ancient monsters” were rare.

  Rare, of course, didn’t mean nonexistent. Some female Transcendent would pay horrifying prices to preserve their youth.

  Male Transcendent generally didn’t care as much.

  In Lily’s eyes, a Javon that young could not possibly be a forging master. Calling him the master’s apprentice would still be generous.

  “Young man, I still don’t know your name.” Gantiss wore a gentle smile.

  He intended to show goodwill to the Artisan behind this youth, so his manner was notably warm.

  “Elvander.” Javon answered with a smile, showing two rows of white teeth.

  “Mr. Elvander, I have a private room in the castle.” Gantiss spoke plainly. “At Mr. Havier’s invitation, I provide Artisan services to the transcendent here. I’d very much like to exchange experience with the master who made these arcane artifacts.”

  He stated his purpose directly.

  So he doesn’t think I forged them. Javon grumbled inwardly. His expression didn’t change. “I’ll pass the message along.”

  As expected! That exchange made many of the onlookers certain.

  This kid didn’t just get lucky and pick up a few arcane artifacts—he truly has the support of a forging master.

  “Trouble.” In the crowd, Lily sighed.

  “What is it, Sister?” Jessica asked.

  “That young man is far too inexperienced.” Lily used the moment to instruct her. “He put arcane artifacts out for sale like it was nothing—exposing that he lacks the proper channels and experience. Worse, he’s also exposed that he’s connected to a forging master who has no factional protection.”

  Her gaze sharpened. “That invites greed. It invites danger. You need to avoid mistakes like that in the future.”

  “You mean… someone will try to use that young man to find the Artisan behind him—and even try to control that Artisan?” Jessica gasped.

  She looked at Javon, worry creeping into her eyes. “That Elvander seems pretty easygoing—he didn’t even haggle when he bought things. Sister, why don’t you help him? Introduce him to our sect. With The Witch Sisterhood protecting him, no one would dare act recklessly.”

  “The Witch Sisterhood only takes women—unless the master behind him is a woman.” Lily knocked her sister lightly on the head, her expression turning stern. “Besides, there are plenty of factions that don’t care about our Sisterhood’s face. Recently, in Verdant City, we even lost a Beyond Mortality-grade Grand Witch.”

  Her eyes swept the crowd. A glamorous woman swayed her hips like a water-snake as she approached Javon’s stall.

  Lily lowered her voice. “Here it comes. Red Bee Tasha—one of ‘Vulture’ Marek’s people. Her reputation is filthy. They say most male Transcendent who get too close to her end badly.”

  Jessica’s worry deepened.

  “This Mr. Elvander…”

  Javon had barely sent Gantiss away when a woman arrived before him—no mask, an alluring face, scant fabric, shamelessly sensual. Her voice was sweet and sticky, like cheese that refused to melt.

  “Good day, ma’am. See anything you like?” He maintained the act of a young man, forcing his voice to stay calm.

  “My name is Tasha.” She smiled languidly. “That Suncrest Medal and the cloak are both excellent… but sadly, I don’t have enough money.”

  She swayed as she spoke, her chest rising and falling like waves. One finger traced her red lips slowly, making several men nearby swallow unconsciously.

  Javon’s throat bobbed. “Credit… isn’t possible. But you can pay with other materials instead.”

  Tasha chuckled. “What kind? Anything I have can be used, you know…”

  “Ahem… gemstones, Essence materials, esoteric transmissions—those all work.” Javon coughed, trying to appear steady.

  Tasha’s expression stiffened, annoyance flashing.

  She covered the awkwardness with a lilting laugh, her pale fingers gliding over the two arcane artifacts. “What a pity. I like them so much, but you won’t let me trade in other ways. Then… Mr. Elvander, may I call you Elvander?”

  “Of course.” Javon wore an expression that said as you please.

  “I want to ask—do you take crafting commissions?” Tasha’s eyes rippled with suggestion. “I provide the materials, you craft the arcane artifact, and I pay your fee.”

  She tilted her head. “Mr. Havier can notarize it—he’s a reputable gentleman.”

  “Sure.” Javon pretended to think, then nodded slowly.

  “That’s the final confirmation—and bait. That idiot just swallowed the hook.”

  In the crowd, Lily grabbed Jessica and turned away. “No need to watch. That young man is dead. Maybe even the master behind him will get dragged in.”

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  “Sister…” Jessica tried to turn back, only to find Lily’s grip unexpectedly strong.

  “Do you want to offend that bitch and the people behind her—for a stranger?” Lily didn’t look back. “Don’t forget—we still do business in this market.”

  “Notarization? No need.” Javon looked at Tasha, a smile forming. “A normal paper contract will do.”

  He continued, as though kindly reassuring her. “And you don’t need to worry about me running off with your materials. I’ll pay you a deposit first—the amount equal to the value of the materials you hand over. How’s that?”

  “No occult contract? Cautious, Elvander…” Tasha laughed softly. “Fine. I agree.”

  She produced a small black-iron box from her waist. When she opened it, inside lay a shriveled, small hand—dry as old parchment—covered in jagged wounds.

  “This Essence material is something I picked up on an expedition.” Tasha tossed him a coquettish look. “I want it made into a dagger. Even Master Gantiss found it a bit troublesome…”

  She asked, “Elvander, what do you think it’s worth?”

  “A thousand pounds.” Javon assessed it, deliberately pressing the price down a little. “That’s fair.”

  “Fine.” Tasha nodded. “A thousand-pound deposit. How long until you can finish?”

  “About a week.” Javon answered. “One week from now, we trade here.”

  He took out the cash he’d just received from the man in black, counted out a thousand pounds, handed it to Tasha, and signed the contract with her.

  “I like how decisive you are…” Tasha blew him a kiss and swayed away, hips high.

  After the crowd watched her retreat with lingering reluctance, they surged forward at once, drowning Javon’s stall.

  Tasha’s lips curved as she climbed the stairs inside the castle and opened a room.

  Inside, a towering man with a beastlike face lounged on a sofa, smoking a cigar.

  Tasha coiled around him like a snake, giggling. “That young man tried so hard to act seasoned, but he’s really just a green fruit. I can’t wait to bite him open and taste him…”

  “He accepted the commission?” The beastlike man groped her without restraint, asking between breaths.

  “Yes.” Tasha laughed. “And he thought he was clever—refusing to be bound by an occult contract. Heh. If he really made Mr. Havier notarize it, that would’ve been a nuisance.”

  After that, worry crept into her tone. “Even if that kid is green, his teacher might not be. An Artisan who can craft arcane artifacts is at least third Sephiroth—maybe higher. Is that material truly useful?”

  “Relax.” The man split his mouth in a grin. “How could a Beyond Mortality being end up with no faction, forced to have an apprentice sell arcane artifacts openly in a market? And even if his Sephiroth level is high—once he touches that thing and tries to forge, he’ll fall straight into our trap.”

  His grin widened. “That thing… was dug out of an ancient ruin. An evil object.”

  “That ruin…” Even Tasha looked afraid. “That damned place was cursed by a great existence.”

  “We paid an enormous price,” the man said. “So many died, and we barely mapped the rules of the outer curse. Any other Transcendent who touches a curse like that without preparation can only become our prey.”

  Hunter Bar, washroom.

  Javon removed his mask and pushed the door open. The bar was still deafeningly lively. No one noticed that a customer had spent too long in the washroom.

  He stepped outside into the biting winter air, pressed down his hat, and climbed into a carriage still running routes at this hour.

  “Somewhere I can stay. Quiet.”

  The carriage started up and soon stopped before a building called the Loldo Inn.

  Javon paid the fare, entered, and faced the front desk. “One quiet room. Spacious. Comfortable.”

  The proprietor glanced at him, voice flat. “Identification?”

  “Forgot it.” Javon slid a few silver shillings across.

  “…Fine.” The innkeeper replied with a weary tone, yet pocketed the coins with practiced speed. He took up a key and led Javon to the second floor.

  As expected. Inves has its public-order rules, but not many people actually follow them strictly.

  Javon accepted the key, opened the room, and found it large—double bed, a separate washroom, and a walk-in wardrobe.

  “The room includes breakfast. Lunch and dinner you’ll need to eat outside—though you can also have food sent up.” The proprietor added one last thing. “Break anything, you pay. And we don’t have street-girls. If you want that, find it yourself—and don’t bother other guests.”

  Click.

  Javon shut the door. He looked around, then went to the desk and pulled the lamp’s chain.

  A bright glow sliced through the darkness.

  “Electric light.” Javon admired it. “I’d heard Wynchester is the fastest place to adopt new inventions. Seems it’s true.”

  The light carried a glassy tint—colored panes in the shade staining the room, giving it a faintly hazed atmosphere.

  His fingers brushed the lampshade. The Illuminant’s material appraisal triggered by reflex, letting him sense the iron content in the glass, then the filament’s lifespan and quality…

  Javon took off his coat and hat, hung them on the rack, and began reviewing the day’s gains.

  “Today I officially made contact with Wynchester’s occult world. As expected, it’s far more prosperous than Verdant City. I’ve acquired a large batch of Essence materials and forging consumables—plus cash.”

  “Overall, not bad.”

  He took out the black-iron box from The Flesh-Eater’s Pack. Opening it, he saw the shriveled, desiccated claw again.

  On this hand—almost simian—were countless jagged, hideous wounds. The blood within had long since dried, yet it still felt as though a crimson surge remained.

  Javon stared at the material. His eyes flashed pure white.

  Under the lens of Essence appraisal, everything around him turned blurred and unreal—while the claw in his hand became sharper and sharper.

  Vivid crimson roiled, as if forming a vortex. Within that vortex, strands of iron-black seeped outward—like rust spreading across red.

  “A fairly ordinary Sanguis remnant.” Javon judged quietly. “Probably around the third-tier. The key is the Umbral curse mixed into it—its tier is high, though not at the World-Sanctioned Immortal level.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “That Tasha was exactly as malicious as she looked.”

  Umbral is born from the fall of Forged Light. It carries domains of corruption, darkness, and decay. A curse aligned to Umbral is perfectly normal.

  After thinking it through, Javon took out his tools and prepared to craft an arcane artifact.

  Each time I forge an arcane artifact, the Forgebearer becomes a little stronger—right up to the limit of the third Sephiroth.

  What blocks me has never been Essence accumulation, nor the madness drawback…

  He sighed and dropped several obsidian-like crystals into a mortar. He ground them down, scattering the starry-black powder across the dried claw.

  By his instinct, this was the best way to dissolve the material.

  Sizzle.

  The black powder sank into the torn wounds and birthed filth like sludge, gradually coating the entire hand.

  At the same time, white smoke rose. Beneath the mudlike layer, flesh and bone began to melt away, leaving only something pure behind.

  “Next…” Javon murmured. “Forge the dagger that will serve as the vessel. Then use a rite to drive the fusion of Essence and blade.”

  He took an iron ingot, melted it directly with pure white flame, and poured it into a mold.

  Finally, he drew the ritual array. He placed the dark-red crystal refined from the claw and the dagger blank at the two ritual cores, then chanted an invisible incantation.

  On the dagger’s edge, dark-red patterns began to crawl—like blood channels, like arcane runes…

  In the midst of the process, Javon sensed something wrong. A higher-tier mystical influence was spreading out of the remnant, settling onto him.

  “A curse? Unfortunately for you—it isn’t at the Velthyr level.”

  Within his Essence sight, threads of black rust had already wound around him, even trying to taint his Essence.

  If this were another Artisan, they might truly have been finished…

  Javon listened. At his ear, blurry, hazy murmurs of madness seemed to form.

  An ancient altar… a ruined palace, collapsed… time-worn and mottled, like an old treasure hidden in the river of history…

  A hand thick with fur—like a gorilla’s—pressed onto the altar. Then a wound split open across the palm, and foul, fallen blood poured out…

  Drop by drop, it ran across the ground. Within each drop, obscure symbols seemed to live, together forming an esoteric transmission written in Spirit Language.

  …

  “This curse… comes from an ancient ruin. The Blood of Decay?!” Javon spoke the keyword he had obtained through divination, recalling what he had seen.

  “Judging from the architectural style, it’s from the dark chaotic era after the Fabry dynasty—a style of madness and degeneration.”

  “I’ve been friends with Clark for so long; I didn’t learn nothing. As for the exact year, it can’t be verified.”

  “But from that fallen blood, I actually obtained a fragmentary Sanguis esoteric transmission. If Tasha knew, she’d be furious.”

  Javon’s inheritances were many—he had no need to covet a single broken transmission. Still, nothing stopped him from skimming it to enrich his occult knowledge.

  Rite—Blade Rite

  Crimson runs within my veins, splitting my skin into wounds that never heal…

  Spirit and flesh spill from those wounds; only on the brink of death do I see more…

  …

  “Fairly advanced knowledge,” Javon said, stroking his chin. “It touches life and death?”

  He looked at the dagger nearing completion. “And the curse wrapped around me… seems usable.”

  He acted at once.

  Javon began chanting the true name, calling forth the Spirit of Null Observance!

  From the Spirit’s perspective, he could clearly see the iron-rust-black traces coiled around him.

  “Purify!”

  Without hesitation, Javon drove Secret Power through himself, forcing the iron-black out—condensing it into pure corruption crystals.

  “Normally, this would make excellent bullet cores.” Javon lifted his ghostly hands. “But right now…”

  His hands pressed down, as if seizing an invisible curse and stamping it onto the rite.

  Wuu… wuu…

  On the dagger, channels and patterns writhed together, releasing a sound like weeping. Two lines of blood-colored liquid—like tears—dripped from the blade.

  “The Weeping Blade!”

  Javon returned to his body and held the dagger. He wrapped the grip in layers of fine hemp cord, then added decorations to the guard according to his personal taste.

  “Among all Extraordinary-grade Eldritcha I’ve seen, this ranks among the strongest,” he said softly. “Even if it can only be used in close combat.”

  “It has two drawbacks. One of them is a one-time curse I deliberately bound into it.”

  When he finished, he took out Roberts’s Arcane Insect Box. Spiderlike little bugs crawled out, slipped through door and window cracks, and scattered—into darkness, corners, treetops, sewers—forming a surveillance web.

  “If Tasha intends to scheme against me, she’ll track me.” Javon’s eyes cooled. “She most likely tampered with the material—or the box.”

  “Hopefully she comes soon.”

  He washed up quickly, fell onto the bed, and sank into sleep.