“Refund the money?”
The air stilled for a brief moment before the shop owner resolutely rejected the notion:
“That’s impossible!”
“Do you believe me if I say I’ll find someone to tear down your lousy shop?” Moen sneered coldly.
“Or do you think I’m bluffing?”
“…Judging from the extravagant display of wealth earlier, you probably could do it.” The shop owner looked troubled, then said hesitantly:
“But I really don’t have the money right now. Even if I wanted to refund you, I couldn’t.”
“You, out of money?” Moen didn’t believe it.
A shop this shady, out of money? Impossible.
“How about this: I use alternative methods to compensate you?” The shop owner glanced uneasily at Moen’s determined expression, obviously reluctant to create more trouble. After a brief moment of deliberation, he offered cautiously,
“What do you think?”
“What methods?” Moen raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve come to the black market—you surely aren’t here just to cause me grief.”
The shop owner looked around warily, then leaned into Moen’s personal space. Lowering his voice, he whispered:
“To find good items in this market, intelligence is key. And I happen to have solid sources for reliable information.”
“Information...”
Moen’s mind shifted gears. He was indeed struggling to figure out where to find the Ancient Dragon’s blood essence. If this shop owner could offer useful intel, it would definitely be far more valuable than that insignificant 130,000 Emil.
"Please specify." Moen said, his interest piqued, leaning in closer.
At that moment, he caught a faint whiff of something pleasant—a delicate aroma. It felt familiar, though the scent was disrupted partially by the black cloak the owner wore, obscuring any clear recollection of why or how it was familiar.
“Actually, this information is something I acquired through private connections. If it weren’t for your extravagant ways, I wouldn’t usually divulge anything like this.”
The shop owner pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper. Its edges gleamed faintly with gold—a golden bat emblem emblazoned across it.
The writing on the paper was minimal, merely outlining phrases such as “Secret Auction—Cordially Inviting You to Participate.”
“This is…”
“An invitation.” The shop owner grinned cryptically, then explained:
“In the near future, there’s going to be a secret auction in the black market. This is the invitation letter—or let’s say, the entry ticket.”
“Auction?” Moen’s eyes gleamed. “Will there be anything good?”
“Well, that I’m uncertain of. But the organizer behind this auction is one of the most influential figures supporting the black market. The items they put up for bidding should not disappoint.”
“An influential figure…” Moen rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
This indeed sounded like an opportunity too good to miss.
“In that case, I want it,” he declared.
As he reached out to take the invitation letter, he discovered that the two delicate fingers gripping the paper might as well have been iron clamps—they refused to let go.
“What, you don’t want to let go? Then about the 130,000 Emil…”
“…Not really about that. It’s just this auction has limited spots available. Each invitation is incredibly precious. I went through a lot of trouble myself to acquire just this one—you’re simply carrying it off like this. Doesn’t that seem unfair?”
“What do you want, then?”
“How about an additional 100,000 Emil, maybe 80,000? Even 50,000 could work?” The shop owner tested the waters with his suggestion.
“Stop dreaming!”
Moen decisively yanked the invitation out of the shop owner’s grasp, sneering:
“I haven’t even charged you for emotional damage yet!”
“But—”
“No buts! I’m leaving!”
Tucking the letter carefully into his chest, Moen warily scanned the shop, worried the shady store owner had some unknown trick up his sleeve. Then he fled hastily.
Once outside, Moen’s steps noticeably lightened.
Snatching some benefit from that slippery shopkeeper felt more satisfying than stealing candy from a tiger. Blissful relief washed over him.
…
“The location on the invitation should be around here.”
After leaving the mysterious shop behind, Moen followed the address printed on the invitation letter all the way to a bustling corner of the black market.
Both sides of the path were lined with shady figures who had concealed their identities, directly vending items from makeshift street vending stalls. Many of the goods appeared odd and intriguing.
From his previous experiences, Moen knew gems hidden among this quirky merchandise occasionally revealed themselves. Unfortunately, Moen wasn’t the protagonist of this story. He lacked a wise old mentor with a snowy beard to guide him. All he had was some measly cash—not particularly useful in discerning true treasures.
Ultimately, all he could hope for was becoming the unlucky chump at the overpriced yet authentic auction counters.
“Huh? Strange—is this really the place?”
Finding the marked spot, Moen scratched his head, puzzled.
The indicated location turned out to be a sumptuous mansion—the kind of extravagant building almost unfamiliar in the entire black market.
This was supposed to be a secret auction? Why make it stand out so blatantly?
“Greetings, sir. Please accept one of these.”
As Moen hesitated, a gorgeous woman with bold makeup and an alluring minidress approached him carrying stacks of flyers. She offered him one.
“A flyer? Sorry, I don’t buy houses, drink bubble tea, or look for inappropriate ‘services.’”
Initially dismissing her with habitually blunt manners, Moen caught sight of the flyer’s details in a side glance—which stopped him abruptly.
Why was the symbol—the giant emblematic bat—so familiar-looking?
“This… this is?”
“It’s a flyer for the auction!” The young woman explained enthusiastically:
“After the recent cleansing operations shook up the market, many sellers suffered enormous losses. To rejuvenate the economy, our boss decided to organize this special auction event. Many of the items featured will be exclusive treasures from our boss’s private collections!”
What…? A black market organizing economic rejuvenation—what nonsense!
Wait, no, rewind—this wasn’t the point here…
“Limited quotas?” Moen interjected.
“Uh? Oh, sort of limited,” she replied, narrowing her brow thoughtfully to clarify:
“Due to venue constraints, only 500 participants are allowed to attend at once.”
“Secret auction?”
“Hmm? Sir, did you also hear the name of our event? The boss wanted things to retain an air of mystery suitable for black market activities. As such, no preview information about the items being auctioned was shared—and hence the quirky naming convention!”
“…!”
By now Moen’s hands had begun trembling uncontrollably.
“Invitation letter?”
“Did you notice our design?” The woman beamed confidently:
“The boss ordered all auction flyers to be decorated as though they were genuine invitations. See the embossed gold lettering? Those details were crafted using actual gold leaf paint!”
“…!”
“Something wrong, sir? Wouldn’t you like one flyer? As pretty as it looks, this doubles as an actual entry pass to the auction!” She persisted warmly, her hand waving another flyer enticingly before him.
“No… no need. I already have one,” Moen managed to stammer out weakly.
“You do?” Stunned briefly, she narrowed her gaze and carefully observed Moen’s trembling fingers producing his so-called “invitation letter.”
Her expression hardened rapidly.
If he already had one, why bother wasting her time chatting up nonsense?
Obviously, this guy deliberately dragged the moment out to flirt pointlessly—what a nuisance!
Probably some delusional loser mistaking the black-market scene for his opportunity to interact immorally. Ms. Irresistibly Good Looks won’t entertain this idiocy!
And honestly? Sneaking away quickly, she'd rather not deal further altogether.
“What a pervert!” She spat grimly before strutting elsewhere—a figure full of disdain left in her wake.
“…”
Moen stood frozen.
Dumbstruck.
Mulling over possibilities.
Pinpointing clarity dawning unmercifully…
Only moments before rage boiled over entirely:
DAMN.
That crooked shopkeeper swindled me AGAIN!
