"Yellow sparrow?"

Moen glanced at the figure not far away, frowning slightly.

The figure was completely wrapped in a large black robe, with no features visible. However, Moen still faintly felt a trace of familiarity emanating from the person.

This wasn't the first time he had experienced this feeling. It happened previously at that shady shop as well. How strange—was he really running into acquaintances during a simple trip to the black market?

Still, Moen quickly dismissed the idea. The odds of encountering someone familiar in such a place were incredibly low. It was probably just his imagination—after all, intuition could often be unreliable.

"You, uh..."

Moen's gaze swept briefly over the figure's chest.

"Sir, what do you mean by 'yellow sparrow'?"

The figure shuddered slightly. A hand hidden beneath the black robe clenched and then relaxed again. For some reason, the figure's tone grew less amicable than before.

"Hmph, playing dumb now, are you? Weren't you just hiding here, waiting for those guys to fight tooth and nail so you could swoop in and pick up the scraps?"

"I'm indeed waiting for them to start fighting," Moen replied calmly. "But I have no interest in scavenging."

"You're lying."

The figure pointed around them, where shadows flickered through the fog. "Take a look at the people around us. They all know perfectly well how risky scavenging can be. But have any of them given up? No. They all think it's worth a shot. If it works, they'll score big, right?"

"Oh? So what you're saying is…"

"Exactly. My friend, you look familiar to me somehow, like I've seen you somewhere before…"

The figure rubbed his hands together excitedly and continued, "Also, your strength seems rather impressive. A Late Stage Tier-2? In the Lower City District, that means you could practically dominate. How about teaming up? Let’s go big and hit the jackpot together?"

"Familiar?"

Moen smiled. "Trusting this kind of intuition doesn't seem too reliable to me. Besides, how do I know you're not trying to trick me?"

"We can form a pact." The figure pulled out a golden sheet of paper. "A Divine Covenant. Once signed, it cannot be violated. We team up, and once we acquire the Ancient Dragon Heart Blood, it'll be every man for himself. Doesn’t that sound fun?"

"That does sound tempting."

Moen nodded, then shook his head with a faint smile. "But I think I'll pass. Sorry, I don’t plan to get involved."

"Are you really going to keep waiting? Haven't you figured it out yet? This stalemate won't last forever. Someone has to break it before things spiral into chaos. Or are you placing your hopes on those cowards to make the first move?"

Growing visibly frustrated, the figure stamped their foot. "When it comes to playing dirty, timing is everything! You wait when you need to, but when action is called for, you must never hesitate. The moment is now, and you're wasting it!"

"Who said I was planning to play dirty?" Moen chuckled. "You're mistaken."

"Mistaken? What do you mean by that? If you're not here to exploit the situation, are you just here to spectate? In that case, may I recommend moving a little closer? The fog along the riverside is quite opaque and won't give you the best view."

"Neither spectating nor freeloading—I have other plans."

"Other plans?"

The figure froze for a beat, then laughed scornfully. "I see. You're planning to act last, aren't you? Hoping to swoop in as the proverbial yellow sparrow at the end. People like you, I've seen plenty of them. No courage to act decisively. They think they’ll wait it out and make a clean sweep, but in the end, they walk away with nothing."

Saying this, the figure lowered their gaze, as if suddenly realizing something. He sneered in understanding.

"Ah, I get it now. You're just a newbie trying out the black market. A pampered noble out here for the thrill of it, no? That explains everything. Listen, kid. The black market is no playground. It’s dangerous for someone without experience. I suggest you go back home and have fun lifting your maid’s skirt instead."

The figure's tone had taken on the patronizing air of a seasoned mentor sharing wisdom.

However, Moen was unbothered. Following the figure’s gaze, he glanced downward.

The black robe he wore fluttered in the riverside breeze, briefly revealing the luxurious gold embroidery adorning the cuffs of his inner sleeves. Clearly, such refined clothing was out of place in the Lower City District.

Looks like I’ll have to switch the clothes underneath too, he mused silently.

Hiding the sleeves back within the robe, Moen chuckled. "In that case, I advise you, sir, to quit while you’re ahead."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Because the Ancient Dragon Heart Blood is destined to be mine."

“…Pfft.”

The figure froze momentarily before bursting into laughter.

"Such baseless arrogance reminds me of someone I can’t stand. Granted, that guy’s been acting like a different person recently, but he’s still just as annoying."

"Whatever. If that’s how you feel, I won’t bother convincing you. What’s one more or less to me? Sit back and watch, then."

With an air of confidence, the figure waved dismissively before turning dramatically. Standing tall, hands clasped behind his back, he gazed imperiously at the fog-draped cityscape under the night’s shroud.

"Witness as I cut through the chaos, triumph over all, and seize the Ancient Dragon Heart Blood! Meanwhile, you’ll sit on the sidelines biting your handkerchief in regret! Haha—HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

With that, he leapt into the fog along the riverbank, moving as gracefully as a black fish disappearing into the current.

"Something about that guy..."

Watching the figure disappear into the mist, Moen rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"...felt uncomfortably feminine."

"Could he actually be a...?"

Shuddering at the thought, Moen quickly turned on his heels and walked away.

As he himself had said, he did intend to play the yellow sparrow. Yet who ever said a "yellow sparrow" must resort to underhanded tactics?

Moen ascended onto the bridge, shedding the black robe.

The structure was the largest tower bridge spanning the ancient Rhine River, serving as a critical nexus connecting the Lower City District to the upper parts.

Mounted patrolmen on horseback roamed the bridge under the cover of night.

Straightening the delicate collar of his luxurious garment, Moen approached the sound of hoofbeats echoing through the fog.

"Halt! This bridge is closed to traffic after dark," barked a mounted patrolman, looming high above Moen.

But upon noticing the expensive fabric of Moen's attire, the man’s expression softened. Dismounting quickly, he bowed with profound deference.

"Young master, have you encountered any trouble this late at night?"

"I’d like to speak with your superior," Moen replied. Producing an elegant family crest, he waved it briefly.

"The top-ranking one, if you will."

…

…

In the narrow alley, the standoff held firm.

Three gang leaders glared at one another warily, none willing to yield an inch.

The Ancient Dragon Heart Blood was too much of a temptation—an opportunity so rare it felt divinely ordained. No one present could afford to let it slip away.

As time dragged on, the tension only grew heavier. More unauthorized onlookers gathered in the shadows, biding their time. They waited like opportunistic strays, ready to pounce once these packs of wolves—arguably the fiercest in the Lower City District—tore one another apart. Once the dust settled, they’d feast upon the scraps left in the wolves' wake.

Under such immense pressure, everyone in the alley gripped their weapons tightly, their nerves stretched to a breaking point.

"This can’t go on…"

Lorenzo, the most anxious of the three leaders, felt his mind racing. He realized that prolonging the standoff put him at the greatest disadvantage since he currently held the Ancient Dragon Heart Blood.

Should he form a temporary alliance with the Rats instead, to deal with the Hyenas?

After all, the Hyenas were the weaker faction. Without them, the Rats couldn’t truly threaten his side. In the absence of a stronger adversary, the Rats and his own faction would be at something of a stalemate.

Sure, he'd have to share five drops of the Dragon’s Blood—a painful concession. But compared to losing everything and angering his Master Above, this was by far the lesser of two evils.

A monumental loss for eternal life? Lorenzo grit his teeth—fine. He could endure the humiliation.

Having made up his mind, Lorenzo turned toward Sam, leader of the Rat Gang.

"Sam, how about we—"

Before he could finish, his words were abruptly cut off. Lorenzo’s face paled instantly.

He had heard the telltale twang of a bowstring releasing in the stark silence of the night.

His body moved faster than his thoughts—his arm flared with pain mere moments later.

An arrow sliced through the fog, colliding with the mana-infused armor on Lorenzo's body. Sparks flew as metal shrieked against enchanted propulsion. Though the magical armor mitigated the attack, deflecting the arrow’s tip and leaving only a faint scratch, the damage was done.

Lorenzo's mind seethed with rage. Drawing his sword in a swift motion, he pointed it directly at Sam—the Rat Gang leader. His eyes burned crimson in the pale moon’s haze.

"Sam! You treacherous bastard!"

"No—it wasn’t me!"

Sam's face contorted in disbelief.

"I didn’t give the command!"

But before he could defend himself any further, something else whizzed through the air toward him.

Ducking instinctively, Sam barely dodged the incoming projectile—a wolfsbane slammed violently into one of his subordinates, leaving the unfortunate victim crumpled in a pool of blood.

A wolfsbane—classic Hyena gear. Vulgar weaponry for equally vulgar thugs.

"Schuris!" Sam bellowed, his fury palpable. "Are you picking a fight to the death?"

"I didn’t!" protested Schuris, the Hyena leader. But his puzzlement over the situation had no time to settle. From the corner of his eye, he suddenly detected a swift movement behind Lorenzo. A shadow darted out from among Lorenzo's faction, brandishing a blade that gleamed coldly in the night.

Schuris' instincts screamed danger. Old as he was, he'd survived the Lower City District by honing a razor-sharp survival instinct. He simultaneously retreated and raised his gilded staff to block the incoming strike.

A sharp clang echoed in the alley as the blade left an unmistakable mark along the length of Schuris' favorite staff.

Watching the ruins of his prized possession, Schuris’ rationality was consumed entirely by sheer rage.

"Lorenzo!"

The shout tore through the dense fog.

For a split second, all three leaders sensed something was wrong. Yet the suffocating tension and mounting pressure left no room for subtle contemplation.

The first blow had landed. The powder keg had been lit.

Without needing explicit orders, the tightly wound members of all three factions sprung into action.

Watching the boss of their gang being attacked, those elites, thugs and rats whose strings had already collapsed to the point of almost breaking, where could they stand it, and directly brandished the large swords and weapons in their hands and pulled the triggers!

The scene was instantly chaotic!

Blades flashed, bullets fired, and chaos erupted in the once-silent alley under the moonless sky.

"Damn it, it's strange! Something’s off!"

Carving through an oncoming thug with his blade, Lorenzo felt a spark of clarity amidst the bloody madness. He realized that someone—unseen—was deliberately pulling strings from the shadows, sowing discord to fan the flames.

But by the time Lorenzo directed his focus outward, looking for the shadowy figure who’d struck Schuris first... there was no one left to find. Too much confusion, too many enemies. And amidst it all, a strange voice emerged from the murk, ringing through the battlefield with disorienting clarity:

"Fighting! Whoever gets the Dragon’s Blood first, it’s yours to keep!"

Lorenzo’s expression darkened. He clutched the steel container tightly to his chest, retreating behind waves of his subordinates while another voice shouted beside him.

"Lorenzo's here!"