Chapter 08: Night Market 🌙
As Neale walked through the city, it was noticeable that the streets were becoming less and less busy as the day went on.
It had even become possible to count on one's fingers the number of vendors who had yet to leave the streets.
As soon as he returned to the building where he had rested the previous night, he decided to enter through the window he had used to leave.
And as he continued climbing the building toward that floor, he noticed that there were now a few people resting on the floors below.
That was when he quickly realized that this was no longer a place he could use for himself, which made him give up on climbing.
And when his feet hit the ground with considerable force, even his single-strap backpack slammed against his back, but there was no sound, perhaps because the bulk of the rest of his overcoat inside his backpack had muffled the potential noise, or perhaps his landing hadn't been as forceful as he thought.
Now that Neale had to look for a new place where he could spend the night, it was difficult not to notice how those streets no longer showed any signs of life.
It was almost as if the entire world had suddenly come to an end and, by some miracle, he was the only one left.
Neale: "Is the whole city like this now?"
Neale: "If so, then maybe the only people around now are those doing their patrols."
Having been walking for some time, somewhat lost as he tried to memorize some of the streets he passed through, Neale came across a small building that was in much worse condition than the others.
It didn't seem to be used by anyone else in the city either, but even so, Neale cautiously opened and climbed through one of the windows, taking such care that he didn't even want to frighten the rats.
And even after looking inside, everything really did seem to be empty.
Most of what appeared to be old furniture was broken, and the walls smelled of mold and dust.
Anything that hadn't been looted had clearly been abandoned.
The humble fireplace, with old, dry charcoal remains in the corner of the building, as if it were hiding from the sight of strangers. With so many broken pieces of furniture around it, it was even difficult to tell what each thing was or whether they were still intact.
Trying not to attract the attention of whoever might be living nearby, he simply cleared a small corner of the building for himself, raising as little dust as possible.
And the moment he finally took his backpack off his shoulders and placed it near his feet, with both the intact and torn straps facing him, and the white lock of hair falling over his eye as he lowered his head, it occurred to him that perhaps those white strands were attracting too much attention, since none of the residents he had observed while walking through the city had such a distinctive feature.
And, if possible, it would be very good if he could avoid drawing attention to himself for a while.
With that in mind, he began searching his surroundings for something that could solve his new problem.
At first, he had thought about simply cutting off the white strands with what remained of the blade of his long knife, but that would probably make him look even stranger, and he didn't want to cut off all his hair.
So, he began looking for ways to disguise it.
This was what he managed to find.
A small bowl, a sphere, and charcoal. After sitting down next to his backpack and taking the canteen and knife out of it, he used the knife's handle to crush the charcoal inside the bowl until it became a very fine powder.
Then, using the canteen, which he had filled with river water, he gradually mixed the water into the charcoal until it turned into a sort of damp paste, which he applied several times until the white strands of his hair became a matte black.
Once he was done, he tied his hair back into a samurai bun above the nape of his neck.
After putting the canteen and bowl away with his long knife, he began removing the silver buttons from his overcoat, thinking that these items might be considered valuable in the city of Valerium and that perhaps someone there would buy them for a good price. Well, for now, this was the only plan he had that came anywhere close to being solid and immediate.
But suddenly, he was no longer inside the building removing silver buttons. Instead, he was walking through the city streets carelessly, without any particular destination or plan.
The day seemed to be moving quickly toward nightfall, and at that exact moment when the sky lay between late afternoon and the beginning of night, the shadow of a man began to grow rapidly, consuming the space behind him with a murderous intent that was difficult to conceal.
When Neale turned his head to face him, night had finally fallen, taking over the sky, and the city's lights had come on, bright as tiny suns enclosed within even smaller glass walls. But the man and his strange shadow were no longer there. So Neale turned to face forward again.
That was when their eyes met.
The shadow belonged to a man much taller than Neale.
The man was dressed entirely in black, and as Neale's eyes traveled higher, the man looked like... And when Neale's vision finally reached his face, it was only for a second, but somehow, he managed to see the pale, silvery skin of his face before all the lights went out and everything became nothing, with only those bright golden eyes taking up space in the void.
And the closer they came, the brighter they became, and the stronger the sensation of death tightening around Neale's neck grew.
It was at that moment that Neale finally woke up. It was around ten thirty at night. His forehead was sweating, but he could no longer remember his dream. However, both of his hands were gripping the fabric of the overcoat in his lap tightly. He got up, placing his overcoat on top of his backpack as he wiped his forehead, worried that the dye might be coming off after he had stuck his head out the window. The breeze was calm at that moment, and the smell of mold mingled with the smell of smoke coming from the city. The few strange lantern lights were already being lit by the residents.
Neale: "I think it's time to head back out into the streets and see if I can get something out of these things."
Neale spoke calmly to himself as he looked at the moon, which didn't seem particularly interested in showing itself that night.
Once again, Neale found himself wandering through the city streets with his backpack on his shoulders, and as soon as he moved a little farther away from his new base, he could already feel the difference. The absurd number of people who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere in the city was practically impossible for him to count. There were so many conversations happening all at once that it was impossible to understand anyone around him. The number of stalls also seemed to have increased, but it was difficult to tell what they were selling. Some seemed to offer certain miracles and protection against the Absolute Races; others were so obviously fraudulent that they could barely even be called scams.
So, determined to get out of the middle of the large crowd and find a slightly quieter area where he could do his shopping, Neale continued walking until he reached a somewhat calmer street. However, it was still occupied by a small group of men drinking and betting on various kinds of games, women and men dressed in very little clothing calling out to drunk men or those with money, inviting them into the alleys, while others simply seemed lost as they intoxicated themselves with a smoke that made their lungs and throats burn.
Most of the shops also seemed different in this part of the city. The stalls gave way to more physical storefronts and a few bars illuminated by faint red lights. But one particular stall caught Neale's attention. Its owner was an old man with gray hair, not very tall, not very strong, but still rather stocky, and his belly stood out beneath his clothes. Most of the things he seemed to be selling had the Order's symbol engraved on them, which led Neale to consider three possibilities before approaching the stall to try his luck:
First: Most of those products were probably fake, and this was simply a way to stand out in the market and attract some attention.
Second: Somehow, he had managed to steal those products and was now trying to get rid of them while making a profit.
Third: This man somehow had a connection with someone inside the Order, and in exchange for selling these items, that person received a certain share of the profits.
As soon as the stocky old man noticed Neale approaching his stall, he immediately began shooing him away.
Stocky Old Man: "Hey, hey, scram, kid! You shouldn't even be awake at this hour, much less in a place like this. Now get out of my sight, and make it quick."
Every three words that came out of the man's mouth, his eyes would quickly dart toward the scantily clad women between the alleys.
Neale: "I'm not a kid. I'm much older than I look, and are these items you're selling actually authentic?"
Stocky Old Man: "Ha ha ha! Don't make me laugh at this hour, kid. You probably don't even have enough money to buy a single one of these items. Now get lost."
Neale: "And what if I actually have a lot more than you think, old man?"
Stocky Old Man: "You?… I highly doubt that."
The two stared at each other like two wild lions deciding which one of them would hunt the zebra.
Neale: "Okay, okay, fine, old man, you win. I really don't have the money, but I do have some items that should be worth as much as or even more than the items you have here, and I was thinking about, well, pawning them with you. And since you clearly have good taste in items, I believe you could sell them for a much higher price than I could."
Neale watched the man, who suddenly fell silent and maintained a serious expression as he carefully observed what the young man was threatening to pull out of his backpack.
The first item Neale took out of his backpack was a small ball, larger than a marble but solid, clearly made from a mixture of two metals that were practically worthless. He had found it while looking for ways to dye his hair.
Stocky Old Man: "Are you trying to make a fool out of me, kid? This piece of crap isn't even worth a single five-nox scoria coin."
Without understanding anything, the old vendor simply watched Neale smile briefly, a subtle smile at the corner of his mouth. It was as if he had just confirmed something.
Neale: "Sorry, old man, my mistake. What I actually want to sell is this."
This time, Neale showed the man five silver buttons with designs engraved on them and his long knife with its broken blade.
Stocky Old Man: "Is that all, kid? Well, these buttons aren't badly made. They might actually be worth something, but nothing too special."
Neale: "What? Wait a second, at least take a proper look before jumping to conclusions."
Stocky Old Man: "What else am I supposed to look at here? They're just a few old buttons and a broken, useless blade."
The old man grumbled quite loudly as he picked up Neale's long knife to examine it more closely, until he finally noticed the Order's symbol engraved on the handle. And as soon as he noticed it, his eyes widened like two jewels trying to shine in the dark.
Stocky Old Man: "How did you get your hands on a blade like this? If it were still in its prime, it would be worth a fortune. This isn't fake, is it?"
Neale: "You can trust me, it's authentic. Do you want to buy it from me?"
The old man remained thoughtful for a few moments before answering, already deciding how much he would pay for the items on the table.
Stocky Old Man: "All right, I'll buy them from you. For the silver buttons, I'll only pay you one scoria nox, and four black steel nox for your broken blade. So, what do you say?"
Neale: "That's not bad, but add one more black steel nox and it's yours."
Stocky Old Man: "I'm sorry, kid, but that broken blade of yours isn't worth even a single additional coin."
Neale: "Maybe not, but if you add just one more coin, I'll also sell you three random pages from an Order mission journal, provided I see that you're being generous. Otherwise, I can simply sell them to someone else."
Neale: "And I can guarantee that these pages are genuine. So, what's your answer to my offer?"
Stocky Old Man: "This could definitely be one of those opportunities you can't afford to let slip away."
Stocky Old Man: "All right, I accept. Then here's the deal: one scoria nox, five black steel nox, and ten gold nox for the information you have. But I don't have all those gold nox on hand right now, so as payment for them, you can choose some of the items for sale here at my stall."
As soon as Neale tore out three random pages from the journal, he immediately began choosing the items he would take to make up for the missing gold nox. Prioritizing food first, he picked up three cans of food. Then, a pair of daggers with blades the length of his forearms and a belt with sheaths that allowed him to carry the blades around his lower back. Finally, he collected the money from his sales before leaving, his backpack knocking against his new weapons.
Meanwhile, right behind him, a smile spread across the stocky old man's face, almost stretching from ear to ear.
Stocky Old Man: "This is going to make me a pretty penny."
Not too far from that place, Neale continued walking through the dark city of Valerium, searching for bars where he could eat during the time he would still be staying there. He also kept looking around for clothing stores, thinking about perhaps changing his clothes, when everything around him began to grow darker. As soon as he realized why, he understood that the distance between the lanterns had become greater from that point onward.
Just as he began turning around to head back and continue through the better-lit parts of the city, once again his eyes met two or perhaps five hooded figures concealed in an alley. Startled, Neale pressed his back firmly against the wall before passing in front of the alley, and during the brief moment when his back found support, he overheard part of their conversation about how they would carry out the takeover of V-Zero on the day of its arrival.
Neale didn't understand much of the rest of their conversation beyond that part. He was at the point where he began doubting his own hearing when he finally gathered the courage to quickly walk past the alley before those people had time to get a good look at his face. But as soon as Neale had passed the alley, he didn't notice when or how. He hadn't even looked back toward the alley, yet there was no one behind those shadows anymore.
And as he walked, now beneath the light of the lanterns, his eyes seemed frozen, as if locked onto a target that didn't exist. And things didn't seem to be heading in a good direction either.