The iron doors of the Obsidian Exchange sealed shut behind him, cutting off the market’s noise instantly.
The contrast hit hard. Outside, District 59 was rust and desperation. Inside, lawless luxury.
Polished spirit-jade floors swallowed footsteps whole. Crimson velvet draped the walls. Calming incense hung thick in the air — necessary, in a room full of paranoid killers. Soft gold orbs floated above the amphitheater, casting warm light over masked patrons who trusted nothing about that warmth.
Lin Tian pulled his hood lower and settled against a stone pillar in the back row. Just another mercenary hoping to glimpse treasure he couldn’t afford, as far as anyone here could tell.
"System." He kept it silent. "Activate [Insight Eye]. Filter targets by threat level."
The golden light sharpened under the overlay. Data boxes bloomed across the crowd.
[Target: Rogue Cultivator | Qi Gathering Level 6 | Threat: Moderate]
[Target: Demonic Practitioner | Qi Gathering Level 8 | Threat: High | Hidden Weapon: Venomous needles in left sleeve]
[Target: Unknown Mercenary | Qi Gathering Level 7 | Threat: High]
His pulse stayed even as he scanned the room. Every person here had survived things worse than anything the Outer Sect could throw at a disciple. Wealth and violence sat in equal measure across every velvet seat.
He had neither. Not a single credit.
Official sect funds would leave a trail straight back to him. He’d come down with nothing but scrap-built weapons and whatever he could improvise on the spot.
An elderly man with a sharp, rat-like face stepped up to the podium, silver robe catching the light.
"Welcome to the Obsidian Exchange." His voice carried clean through a hidden sound array. "Tonight’s goods bypass the hypocrisy of orthodox sect law. We ask no questions about origin. We guarantee only the blood spilled to acquire them. Let bidding commence."
The auction moved fast. Bloodstained manuals stripped off dead elites. Volatile talismans. Fresh-harvested beast cores. Tens of thousands of spirit stones changing hands in seconds, the room’s greed thickening with every lot.
A pair of cloaked bidders near the front traded low insults over a batch of stolen array blueprints, tension rising until a third bidder outbid them both and the argument died on the spot. Nobody here fought over anything that wasn’t already sold. Money settled every dispute before it could turn violent.
Two hours in, the auctioneer raised a trembling hand for the final item.
A woman in sheer silk carried out a lead-lined box. The room’s temperature spiked the moment she set it down.
"Our grand finale." His eyes gleamed. "Harvested from the deepest magma vents of the Southern Volcanic Range. Strictly regulated by the Inner Sects. Nearly impossible to find anywhere else."
The box hissed open. Crimson light flooded the hall.
A fist-sized gem sat inside, holding what looked like a miniature swirling galaxy of liquid fire. Heat distorted the air above the podium just from proximity.
"A High-Grade Yang-Fire Crystal! Starting bid, fifty thousand spirit stones!"
His breath caught. His [Primordial Yang-Tyrant Body] resonated with the crystal instantly, every cell in him pulling toward it. This was exactly what Madam Shen’s Dantian needed — the one thing that could push her fully into Foundation Establishment.
Secure that crystal, and his administrator ran flawless. His grip over the Outer Sect’s economy would be complete.
"Fifty-five thousand!"
"Sixty thousand!"
"Seventy thousand!"
The bidding exploded fast, driven by cultivators desperate enough to break bottlenecks with pure Yang energy.
He watched the number climb, broke and unbothered by it. Back on Earth, a hacker locked out of an encrypted system didn’t just walk away because the front door was too expensive. They found the crack nobody had patched yet.
"One hundred and twenty thousand spirit stones!"
The voice hit like a physical blow, dropping the room into silence.
He turned toward the source. A mountain of a man sat in the VIP section, dark iron armor scorched and scratched, a massive blood-red battleaxe strapped across his back. Boots up on the railing, radiating the kind of arrogance that came from never once losing.
"Going once." The auctioneer’s voice cracked, clearly rattled.
Nobody else raised a bid. Money and violence had settled the matter before anyone else got a chance.
"Going twice. Sold — to Commander Gu Hai of the Blood-Iron Mercenary Company!"
Lin Tian’s eyes narrowed. He locked [Insight Eye] onto the man who’d just walked off with his prize.
[Target: Gu Hai (Leader of the Blood-Iron Mercenaries)]
[Age: 38]
[Cultivation: Qi Gathering Level 8 (Peak)]
[Threat Level: Severe]
[Analysis: Target is surrounded by six elite guards (Qi Gathering Levels 5-7). Target possesses high-tier defensive artifacts and a ruthless disposition.]
The math ran itself fast. Three levels above him, six armed guards, an auction house full of enforcers watching every corner. Walking up and taking the crystal here was a fast way to die.
He weighed the alternative before dismissing it too — trying to negotiate a private sale after the fact would mean approaching Gu Hai’s camp directly, and a broke stranger asking to buy a hundred-and-twenty-thousand-stone crystal off a mercenary commander would draw exactly the wrong kind of attention.
*I need to track him.* Find his base, his patrol routes, the window where he’s actually vulnerable. Information like that didn’t come free down here — shadow-brokers and informants all wanted heavy payment upfront.
He needed capital. Fast.
He didn’t linger to watch Gu Hai gloat. He turned and slipped back out through the iron doors, cloak swishing behind him, back into the blood-red gloom of the market.
He knew exactly where to find money fast in a place like this.
He moved through rusted corridors, away from the high-end auction houses, toward a sound that shook the bedrock itself — thousands of voices screaming for blood at once.
The smell hit before the sight did. Cheap alcohol, sweat, fresh copper.
The Fighting Pits sat in a massive crater at the cavern’s center. A lawless arena where desperate fighters traded blows for enormous purses. Last one standing collected. The loser left as a corpse.
He stood at the crater’s edge, watching two fighters below tear into each other while the crowd threw betting slips and screamed overhead.
This was the fastest way to fund a move against Gu Hai.
He checked the mask was still seated right and walked down toward a rusted iron cage serving as the registration desk.
A fat bookie with a mechanical eye looked him over, unimpressed by the leather armor and lack of any visible spirit weapon.
"Fresh meat, huh?" He blew smoke straight into Lin Tian’s face. "Entry’s free. You die in there, we keep whatever’s left on the body to cover cleanup. Sign the waiver. Name?"
A fighter shuffled past behind him toward the exit, one arm hanging wrong, escorted by two men who didn’t look like they were helping him out of kindness. The bookie didn’t spare the man a glance.
Lin Tian didn’t flinch. His eyes — the flat, dead stare he’d carried since the Graveyard first taught him what survival actually cost — locked onto the mechanical one staring back.
"The Vulture." His voice came out rough, mechanical under the mask. "Put me in the next match."
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