A Black Market LitRPG

The Central Sector was not free of crime, though its crime was of a higher class. Rather than petty protection rackets and inane extortion, it was here where most of the money laundering, trafficking and high-value deals were made between corrupt barons, enforcers and entrepreneurial gangs.

In a hidden alleyway away from the grand open streets, two bouncers dressed in suits were dutifully scanning the individuals in line, all of whom wore masks to hide their identities. In the middle of the line was a single man, holding a mundane briefcase that could barely be seen under the dark night sky.

As he walked up to the two bouncers, he was searched from head to toe for any concealed weapons. “Open the briefcase.” The bouncer ordered.

“Sorry, but I’m planning on selling something within. I’ll prefer not to show it out here.”

The bouncer grunted in response, motioning with his head to someone else inside. A well-mannered receptionist came out to greet the man. “Intending to sell something for the upcoming auction? Please follow me.”

The man was led to a intermediate section where there was a ornate archway that seemed to be something of a body scanner. “Sorry, sir. Just a precaution to make sure you have no active arctech equipment.” The receptionist explained.

“I understand.” The man eyed the scanner, but was unable to spot any engravings externally.

He hardly felt a thing as he passed through the scanner, and the receptionist immediately brought him through the next door.

The man entered to reveal a red carpeted floor, dazzling with bright chandeliers glistening with oscillating arctech lights. The entrance was crowded as people lined up for the cloakroom, while others simply hung around near a bar drinking cocktails. None of them paid attention to the man with the briefcase.

The receptionist led the man to a separate section of the place, where it was much quieter. “Please wait here while our head artificer prepares to inspect your item.” She motioned to a small private room with a table and chair.

The man sat quietly in the private room without making a fuss, waiting. Soon, an old artificer equipped with what seemed to be a magnifying glass in one eye entered the room along with a private guard. The old artificer sighed, sitting down on the opposite chair with a plop.

“Alright, let’s get this over with. Whatever you think it’s worth, it’s going to be at least half of it, so don’t get your hopes up.” The old artificer said with a dismissive tone, his face clearly bored by the dozens of fake or cheap items he had to check each auction.

The briefcase was opened to reveal an exquisite handgun, somehow carved with an oriental design unlike anything the old artificer had seen before. The design was out of this world, his words stuck in his throat. “This… what even is this?”

“An arctech handgun.”

“I know that much! Where the hell did you get it from? This is…” The old artificer snapped.

“I was under the impression this auction house doesn’t ask questions.”

The old artificer coughed slightly in a calm manner, though his hands were obviously fidgety, wanting to touch the handgun. “Yes, but it is also under our terms and conditions that there should be no ill-gotten gains that may have been obtained from our… bigger patrons.”

“Rest assured, this was not stolen from the city of Raktor.”

“Great! May I examine it properly?”

The man nodded, with the old artificer excitedly grabbing the handgun and inspecting the engraving on its exterior. The old artificer ran his hands over the surface, finding the grooves and the bolts used to hold the frame in place. Just as he was about to remove the bolt, the man suddenly spoke. “I wouldn’t open it if I were you. I’m told it would not end well.”

“An explosive failsafe, work of a master arctech designer to prevent others from reverse engineering their inventions. Expected.” The old artificer sighed. “But seeing as we can’t open its interior, we cannot verify the exact operation of the gun.”

“Well, it’s quite simple. Point and pull the trigger.”

“But does the gun not require an arcite fuel pack?” The old artificer asked. Guns normally were extremely hard to use regarding arcia energy requirements. Naturally, he felt such an exquisite pistol would have an obscenely high arcia energy cost.

“You can have your guard give it a test run. Go for it.”

The old artificer nodded at the guard, who wore a metal protective glove, before picking up the handgun in case it blew up in his face. Aiming at a wall further way, the guard pulled the trigger once, firing a blast of pellets that embedded right into the thick wall.

“Try firing again.” The man motioned, to the confusion of the old artificer.

“Fire again? Guns like these can’t be fired agai-“ The sound of the trigger being pulled and another blast of pellets coming out shocked the old artificer, who stared intently at the private guard. “You’re not a hidden mage, are you?”

“No, I can barely keep a chest plate active for more than two minutes.” The guard shook his head, himself somewhat proud of himself. The old artificer was in pure shock, his mouth agape. This… this is revolutionary!

“Do you understand the gun’s value now?” The man smirked.

The old artificer finally calmed himself down, sitting back down with the handgun placed in front of him. What came next was the hardest part of the entire thing. He steeled his face.

“Seventy percent of the final auction price.” The old artificer held up a finger.

“Ridiculous. You already know in your heart that this gun is an advancement in technology. Ninety percent.”

The old artificer’s heart clenched. This exquisite gun was bound to be a hit among the nobility. Maybe even Baron Cain might go all out for it, or merchants from other nations might grab it. “Seventy-five percent, that’s as high I can go.”

“Then there’s no deal.” The man reached out to grab the handgun, but the old artificer stopped him.

“Wait, wait, wait, I’m sure we can talk this out.”

“Ninety or nothing.”

The old artificer breathed in heavily before glancing at the open briefcase. “Those are the pellets, I assume?”

“Yes. Loaded into cartridges like this.” The man demonstrated the reloading of the pistol, shocking the old artificer once more. Loaded into the grip of the pistol, simply ingenious. This man is definitely not simple – if I don’t treat him well, this may be the last we see of him. We must keep him around!

“Ninety percent, deal!” The old artificer quickly shook his hand before hastily ordering the guard. “Get this man a VIP seat immediately; he’s an esteemed patron of the auction house now!”

“Keep the briefcase. Also, a change of clothes would be nice.”

“Of course, anything for you!” The old artificer was nearly swooning over the handgun, knowing it could sell for way over a million rakels or even ten million rakels. This is it, the main key point of the auction!

The man was given a VIP seat, overlooking the entire auction hall in his own private booth. A waiter served wine and snacks, though the man hardly drank nor ate any of it, his eyes simply scanning the auction hall.

The auction had yet to start, but there were many of high society already mingling around with each other, forming business deals and partnerships. The man noticed even a few bishops in the midst, negotiating with strangers in hushed tones in the corners.

[Good evening, fellow patrons. The end-of-year Decaber Auction is finally ready to commence! Please take your seats. This month’s auction has many interesting things in store; please collect a list from one of our employees.]

The door of the private booth opened, revealing the old artificer who entered with a gleeful smile, sitting down next to the man and handing him a list of items. “Good sir, perhaps you might be interested in buying a few things? Also, it would be good to know your name…”

“You may call me Hawthorn.”

“Ah, Sir Hawthorn, I will commit that name to memory.” The old artificer nodded, racking his brains to try to recall if there were any nobility in Raktor with that name. He prided himself on knowing almost every one of worth in the city, but no ‘Hawthorn’ came to mind. Perhaps it is a moniker.

“And to whom do I owe the pleasure?” Sir Hawthorn looked at the old artificer.

“I am known as Master Xen, but you may simply call me Xen.” The old artificer nodded his head before pointing at the list. “Perhaps you might see something that might interest you?”

“Perhaps…” Hawthorn glanced through the list, noting the huge variation in types of items of all curiosity. Artefacts, historical art pieces, potions and even slaves were traded at this auction. However, Hawthorn did not spot anything that would help him until he reached the end of the list, his eyes widening in recognition.

Master Xen spotted the obvious change on Hawthorn’s face, knowing he had found a potential hook to foster a closer relationship. “Ah, seems like there is something you’ve taken a fancy to.”

“How much can I borrow?”

The old artificer stroked his beard. “I personally value the handgun to be a million rakels, so ninety percent would be nine hundred thousand.”

“You’re joking. The gun would go for ten million at the minimum. I guess I can’t borrow any then.” Hawthorn put the list aside, sighing.

Master Xen’s eyebrow twitched at being called out like that, though both of them knew ten million rakels was to be expected. “Fine, you can borrow nine million rakels. However, if your handgun sells less than ten million, you will have to make up the difference. Do note our loan interest rates are ‘competitive’.”

“Not a problem. Nine million rakels it is.”

The audience finally settled down, with the auction finally presenting the items in sequence.

[First up, Item #1, we have a cyclops slave! Be the envy of your peers when you show off this magnificent specimen, one of the last of its kind.] The host of the auction snapped his fingers, with workers wheeling in a slave cage nearly three meters tall. Inside was a bound cyclops, naked and skin shredded from the numerous whippings to keep it docile.

[Bidding begins at one hundred twenty thousand rakels.]

Hawthorn didn’t show any interest at all in the slave, with Master Xen noting all of this down, trying to put his finger on what Hawthorn likes. If I can get closer to him, I might find the source of the gun. If HE is the source of the gun, I must suck up to him even more than ever.

The auction proceeded as normal, with the items alternating between categories. Hawthorn curiously stared at the stage, as though he was watching an ancient holo-drama from Ancient Earth, where totems, broken-off stones of ancient ruins and forgotten weapons were auctioned for millions.

[Next up, Item #33: An explorer team has dug up ancient ruins in Versia, only to find carved human-sized statues or idols of what seems to be spines. The statues are rumoured to be unbreakable, and of course, the auction house did not dare to test that theory.]

The statues were displayed on the stage, made of rock and what seemed to be dried mud. It looked extremely unpleasant and more like centipedes, and many of the audience members were already thinking of what the next item was, checking his list.

[Bidding begins at a hundred thousand rakels.]

The auction hall was silent, leading the host to feel slightly embarrassed at displaying such an item with no interest to be found.

[Well then, if no one bids, then it will be simply be kept by the auction house. Going once…]

“A hundred thousand rakels.” Hawthorn suddenly spoke out, raising his auction sign to indicate his bid. Master Xen raised his eyebrows in surprise, adjusting the magnifying glass on his eye to see the items on stage better. I don’t understand… it’s just rock and stone.

A noticeable wave of murmuring began to spread across the audience, with some of the more curious people wondering why would a person from the VIP booth want to buy such an item. Perhaps it was actually of some value?

Three more members bid in sequence, raising the price to two hundred thousand.

“Three hundred thousand.” Hawthorn re-bid. Now the audience was far more intrigued, wondering whether the statues had inherent value.

Baron Cain sat with his entourage in an opposing VIP booth, wondering who the bidder was. None of his peers within his social circle would ever buy something as gaudy as those statues. How in the world would you display them?

[Three hundred thousand, going once, going twice… SOLD! To the VIP patron in booth six.]

“Master Xen, could I trouble your employees to bring the items up to this booth immediately?” Hawthorn asked.

“Ah- of course, of course!” Master Xen quickly spread the order down, with the centipede statues being brought up into the large booth, mounted on trolleys.

Hawthorn stood up and walked over, placing his hands on the ‘centipede’ looking statues.

THIS CHAPTER UPLOAD FIRST AT NOVELBIN.COM