They reached a crossroads—no, they had passed several intersections already—but they continued along the same path without changing course.

Javrot kept glancing back. Kassal shared the same unease. Cyn noticed and reassured them,

"Don't worry. Miguel will catch up to us."

Javrot replied anxiously,

"But there were several intersections on the way here. What if he took a different one? He could get lost. This place is like a maze."

Cyn smiled, as if thinking of something else.

"I told you there's no need to worry. He can find our location. And if he chooses not to join us, that's his decision. Either way, there's no need to fear for him."

Drop… drop… drop…

Blood dripped onto the ground.

It fell from Cyn's finger, leaving a trail for Miguel to follow—if he wished to. If Miguel had other plans, Cyn would accept that readily. In the end, both of them had their own concerns.

They continued through the darkness. Then, suddenly, Cyn stopped.

The man behind him bumped into his back.

If Gilbert—the one who had been abducted—was the head of the northern branch, and Mainz the head of the eastern branch, then Javrot was the head of the western branch.

That made the remaining man the head of the southern branch.

Quides.

The Slave Executioner.

He apologized quickly,

"My apologies, Lord Cyn! You stopped so suddenly—I didn't notice—"

Cyn paid it no mind.

They stood at a turn in the path. Cyn remained motionless.

Kassal asked,

"Why did you stop? Do we continue straight, or turn?"

Cyn replied,

"We have company. They're coming—and there are many of them. But they're not the troublesome kind."

He knew this because the Scar of Pride had alerted him to several people approaching from the right. So they waited there, ready to greet them.

Out of the pitch darkness, several armed figures emerged, wielding daggers and swords.

The moment they reached the intersection, they collapsed—especially when faced with the masked figure standing there.

The first three who rushed forward were sent flying backward, their bodies mangled as if smashed by a massive boulder.

Someone shouted,

"Who's there?!"

Only then did the masked figures reveal themselves.

They had been searching for them—but they hadn't expected this.

Fortunately, there was a clever one among them. Clever enough to speak.

"Stop! No fighting! Wait—!"

Most of the group retreated instinctively. They stared at the masked men before them.

The speaker stepped forward, scanning the group as if searching for someone.

When he spotted him, his eyes lit up. He grabbed the man and pulled him close.

"Come here!"

The man struggled uselessly.

"What are you doing?! Let me go! We came here to defend—"

"Shut up," he ordered sharply.

Holding the man firmly, he addressed the masked group,

"This man rushed to us, claiming one of the entrances had been breached by unknown intruders. He brought us here to help. But we need to know who we're fighting first."

On the other side, Cyn watched the shrewd man who thought diplomacy would save him.

Kassal spoke coldly,

"Aren't you all cut from the same cloth? Why pretend now? Just know this—the Raging Floods will disappear from the capital today."

The man's eyes widened.

Luck had smiled upon them—they wouldn't die here. This was a misunderstanding.

He spoke quickly,

"Sir! From your words, this seems to be a misunderstanding. You're partly right—but it applies only to this man."

He glanced at the one he was holding.

"We don't belong to the Raging floods. Some of us are from other guilds, and others work for the new black market. It seems this man caused confusion between us. May I ask who you are?"

Quides stepped forward, lifting the veil of mystery.

"We are from the Ravenline Guild."

The man welcomed them immediately.

"You're welcome here anytime, Ravenline. I didn't expect you to come—especially after you rejected all the invitations we sent to your branch. But the method you used is… well… I don't quite know how to put it. You caused quite a commotion."

Kassal frowned.

"You say we rejected your invitations? You never sent—ah. I see."

Understanding dawned on him.

"The invitations you sent to our eastern branch were rejected—ignored. All because the Raging Floods entered our territory, abducted the branch head's family, and threatened him. Now I understand. And you're saying that man belongs to them?"

The man opposite seemed to understand as well. He looked at the captive, unwilling to get entangled further, and shoved him forward—straight into Kassal's arms.

"Go to your father."

Kassal grabbed the man by the throat. With a crushing grip on his jaw, he forced his mouth open, drew his sword, and drove it through his mouth until it burst out the back of his neck.

Kassal was furious at what the Raging Floods had done to them.

Cyn asked calmly,

"So. The new black market—and this place—don't belong solely to the Raging Floods?"

The man answered,

"The black market isn't something that belongs to one party alone. Nobles, houses, clubs, scar bearers—many share in it. Construction took a long time."

"This place was built using old storm drainage channels. They were no longer needed after a new system was established, so they were restructured into something much larger underground. An enormous budget was spent. There are hidden routes leading to each faction's den—entrances and exits."

He paused, then continued,

"For example, the route you used belongs to the Raging Floods. Every group has its own path. I'm not one of those in charge, but I heard a route was planned beneath your branch. However, since no agreement was reached and the invitation was rejected, the gate was never completed."

Cyn asked,

"And the church? The knights? What's their stance on this?"

The man smiled before answering,

"The black market—the underworld—is a place of profit. Trade. Taxes are paid. They benefit as well. Of course, there are conditions governing transactions and conduct."

The Scar of Pride informed Cyn:

He's clean. He's not lying.

Cyn removed his mask.

Everyone stared at him. Even in the darkness, his features were visible. The gesture eased the tension on the faces before him, as if they finally understood.

Cyn turned slightly, signaling the others to do the same, then spoke calmly,

"About what happened—and the disturbance you mentioned—is there anything we can do? Originally, our conflict was with the Raging floods."

The man—Benson—smiled.

"As for that, don't worry. No one knows what happened. When we came here, we thought it was just some troublemakers returning. We didn't expect it to escalate into a conflict between guilds."

"This can be resolved with money—or through a tribunal held within the black market, according to its laws. The presence of an executive member of the Raging Floods will help. Their number four is currently here."

"You can discuss matters with him. But let me remind you—no fighting. Once you leave, do as you please. But here, things are regulated. You don't want to become everyone's enemy."

Cyn smiled, gazing into the distance at something unseen.

"It's good that one of them is here."

Benson exhaled in relief. He had resolved the issue without risking his life—this might even earn him a promotion.

"Good. I'll take you to him. A small auction is being held today in one of the auxiliary halls. You can settle things after the auction."

Benson turned and waved for them to follow—

—and froze.

The men who had come with him were all sprawled on the ground, dismembered. Dead within seconds. No sound. He hadn't heard a thing.

He stood petrified, thoughts spiraling—fear, panic, what had happened, when?

He sensed someone behind him, but his legs refused to move.

A hand rested on his head.

A cold voice whispered into his ear,

"Unfortunately, Benson. Had we met while we were in a better mood, I might have spared you. I might even have considered inviting you to join us—if circumstances allowed."

"But… the man in front of me won't allow that."

His thoughts shattered. His eyes widened.

How—how does he know my name? Where is he? Who is that man?

His eyes, long accustomed to the darkness, locked onto a masked figure leaning against the wall.

When had he gotten there? Had he been behind them all along?

The last thing Benson heard was the cold voice behind him:

"You can rest now, Benson. I'll lead the way from here."

Swish.

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