I stepped up to the counter of the dynamite stall, my eyes narrowing as I inspected the inventory. These explosives were fundamentally different from the heavy, industrial black-powder mining charges I had seen back in Caria City. Instead of standard gunpowder, these cylinders were packed with highly concentrated, stabilized mana. The magical density meant they packed a far superior explosive punch in a much smaller frame.
Taking a quick peek across the display racks, I noted the variety. Some were small, lightweight tubes, others were massive demolition blocks, and a few specialized charges were wrapped in a uniquely malleable, adhesive casing, making them incredibly sticky, just like C4.
The vendor working the stall was a heavily tanned man. As he stepped forward into the light, my eye locked onto his face. He had a massive, jagged scar slashing directly across his left eye, and his lips were flanked by a prominent, deeply weathered Glasgow smile. He looked at me, taking in my own tanned skin, my missing eye, and the matching scars carved into my cheeks.
"Greetings, tanned traveler, looks like we're on the exact same page, you and I. My name's Chris Ratt, owner of this dynamite shop. What can I do for you today, lass?"
Chris clearly saw me as a kindred spirit, a fellow survivor bearing the exact same brutal facial markings. I didn't let the familiarity distract me, though. My mind was already racing with tactical calculations. A sticky, high-explosive mana dynamite would be the ultimate backup asset. If everything went south, I could slap it onto a reinforced wall or cell door inside the Citadel and blow my way out.
Because these charges were mana-imbued rather than chemical, they didn't rely on a traditional burning fuse or a ticking mechanical timer that could easily be detected or soaked with water. According to the mechanics of the magical design, they could be triggered remotely by sending a specific, direct command of intent through a faint thread of mana, a feature designed so fishermen could safely detonate the blast from a distance the exact second a school of fish swam over it.
I picked up on these mechanical details by scanning a large, informational wooden board hanging right behind the counter. Chris noticed my single eye darting across the text.
"You reading the specs, lass? Here, lemme help you out. You're a quiet one, aren't you?"
Chris stepped back obligingly, moving his large frame out of the way so I could read the sign clearly. Because the stall was nestled in a deeply shaded, private area between two large awnings, I felt secure enough to reach up and pull my canvas hood completely back, allowing me to look at the text without obstruction.
The moment my hood dropped, exposing the full extent of my missing eye socket, my severed arm beneath the cloak, and the deep network of battle scars across my face, Chris went completely still. He stared at me, not with fear or disgust, but with profound, hardened respect.
"You've been through some absolute hellfire battles, traveler, you're a fiercely strong woman, and I give you massive credit for that. Around these parts, scars like those are a trophy of survival. Look at my own Glasgow smile here..."
He pointed a thick, calloused finger to his cheek.
"Back when I was locked up in the Dodorant Citadel, the guards forced a sharp, rusted metal tray into my mouth and punched me right in the jaw until it split wide open. But look at me now, I survived it, paid my time, and I am no longer a criminal."
My heart gave a sudden, sharp thud against my ribs. I froze, staring back at the scar-faced merchant.
Chris Ratt wasn't just a local explosives dealer. He was an actual survivor of the island fortress. He had sat in those cells, worn those suppression chains, and managed to walk out alive. If he had spent time inside the Dodorant Citadel, it meant he possessed firsthand, invaluable knowledge of the internal layout, the guard routines, and the structural vulnerabilities of the very prison I was about to infiltrate.
Knowing this could change everything, I decided to hold off on buying the dynamite for just a brief second. I needed to use my notepad to extract as much data from Chris as possible.
I must know the blueprint, If Chris spent years inside, he could tell me exactly where the high-security blocks are located compared to the standard cells where a petty thief like "Keane" would be processed.
I must know the Chain Weakness, he could confirm if the guards use the exact same mana-suppression locks on every inmate, or if there is a specific blind spot in their security screening where my swallowed paperclips might slip through undetected.
I quickly pulled out my merchant notepad, poised my pencil, and prepared to ask him about the inside of the hellhole he had managed to escape.
I quickly tapped my pencil against the paper and flipped the notepad around to show Chris what I had written:
Layout of Citadel.
Chris's eyes widened in sudden alarm, and he instinctively took a half-step back.
"Young lass, you're a fugitive, aren't you? This place is no safe for your kind. The Citadel is too strong, too brutal. If you're planning on breaking someone out, you're walking into a slaughterhouse." he whispered hoarsely, his gaze darting around the market to ensure no one was listening.
Realizing he had completely mistaken me for a desperate criminal on the run, I reached under my cloak with my right hand and pulled out my official S-rank status card, flashing the silver guild engraving right before his eyes.
Chris blinked, leaning in to read the card before letting out a long, heavy breath.
"Ah... you're a bounty hunter. Forgive me, lass. Sorry for calling you a fugitive. I see you've got a target on the loose. But you need to listen to me carefully. You cannot just catch prisoners like fish. The Bureau strictly prohibits bounty hunters from claiming targets once they're already inside the prison walls. If you try to force your way onto that island to drag someone out, it will be completely suicidal."
Seeing that logic and professional clearance weren't going to get him to spill the fortress secrets, I had to resort to a completely different tactic. I lowered my head slightly, softened my posture, and looked up at him through my single eye, mimicking a highly specific, devastatingly cute face, a youthful expression of absolute, fragile innocence. It was a manipulative trick I had perfected since my childhood to easily disarm my childhood friends and get exactly what I wanted from my siblings.
Juxtaposed against my missing eye, the severed arm, and the brutal Glasgow smile, the sudden burst of raw, child-like vulnerability completely caught him off guard. Chris's hardened, cynical demeanor instantly melted, his eyes softening as he awed at the unexpected cuteness.
"Easy, easy, lass! Don't get a hold of yourself, alright, alright, I'll tell you the prison layout! If you happen to get yourself locked inside or find a way in, I promise I'll tell you everything you need to know to survive it. Just stop looking at me like that."
Even though I didn't possess any sort of magical Charm or Lust skill, the kind of specialized attributes used to manipulate people's minds, my bizarre combination of an innocent, cute expression framed by terrifying battle scars completely sealed the deal.
Chris leaned over the counter, tracing a rough map with his finger on the wooden surface as he began explaining the entire, harrowing layout of the Dodorant Citadel:
The Intake and Processing Bay (Level 1): This is where the prison transport boats from the Lulu City piers dock. New arrivals are immediately stripped of their belongings, thoroughly searched, and fitted with the dual mana-suppression chains. It is highly automated and heavily guarded.
The Guard Quarters and Cultivation Zone: Positioned on the upper outer rings of the island. The guards live in self-contained barracks and manage their own sustainable greenhouses. They rarely ever descend into the lower blocks unless a riot is triggered.
The Standard Blocks or simply Level 2, is a sprawling labyrinth of iron-barred communal cells where low-level criminals, thieves, and petty offenders like "Keane Leon" are dumped. Security here relies mostly on the suppression chains rather than active guard patrols.
*The Deep Solitary Vaults or simply Level 3 - Subterranean, it is located deep beneath the ocean floor. This is where the high-risk, high-tier targets are kept in absolute isolation. The walls are reinforced with thick, mana-dampening stone, making magic completely unusable even if a prisoner somehow manages to remove their chains.
"If you get thrown in there as a petty criminal, you'll be processed at Level 1 and tossed straight into the Level 2 standard blocks, the key to surviving is the intake. If you can sneak past their initial search with a way to unlock those chains, the standard blocks are poorly patrolled because the guards trust the suppression magic blindly. That's your only window."
I absorbed every single detail, my mind perfectly mapping out the blueprint. I had my face, I had my swallowed paperclips, and now, I had the exact internal geography of the slaughterhouse. I was completely ready to turn myself in.
I nodded slowly as Chris finished describing the basic layout. My ultimate objective wasn't just to sneak into the Level 2 standard cells and sit tight, I had to reach Luke Granhart. Given his high-profile status as Don Anthony's apprentice and his heavy involvement with the illegal distribution of the Death Chant firearms, he wouldn't be chilling with the petty pickpockets. He was almost certainly locked away deep within the subterranean darkness of Level 3.
My plan was simple, mechanical, and ruthless, infiltrate the prison, descend to the lower levels like a spoon digging through layers of dirt, find Luke, interrogate him for everything he knew, harvest his DNA to add to my archive, and then use his identity to seamlessly infiltrate the arms trafficking guild from the top down. Easy.
But descending to Level 3 was going to be a completely different beast than surviving Level 2. I tapped my pencil and wrote a quick follow-up question on my notepad:
Structure of Citadel.
Chris looked at the note, his weathered face darkening.
"Huh... planning a deep dive, are ya? Based on my experience, the structure of those lower floors is highly defensive. The walls and floors down there aren't standard stone; they're forged from raw, magic-dampening metals and dense minerals. They're designed specifically so that even high-tier, legendary criminals are instantly reduced to ordinary, fragile humans the moment they step foot in there."
The gravity of his words clicked in my mind. If I was stuck on Level 2, I would only have to deal with the dual magic-suppression chains, meaning if I picked the locks with my swallowed paperclips, my vampiric attributes, blood magic, and wings would instantly flood back into my body. But if I descended to Level 3, the entire terrain itself was inherently magic-dampening. Even if I popped my chains off down there, the very air and walls of the room would keep my powers completely suppressed. I would be nothing more than a normal, one-armed, one-eyed girl trapped under the ocean floor.
This meant Level 3 was a magical dead zone. My only viable escape window would be dragging Luke back up to Level 2 or Level 1 before triggering my exit. Level 1, the Intake and Processing Bay, was the closest to the surface and the open ocean. It was my definitive escape hatch.
To guarantee my survival, I needed to set a trap. I would buy a high-explosive sticky charge right now, smuggle it past intake, and plant it in a hidden, blended spot on the walls of Level 1 during my processing. Since these mana-infused explosives responded directly to a mental command rather than a fuse, I could descend to the lower levels, interrogate Luke, drag myself back up to the processing bay, and mentally signal the hidden charge to detonate, blowing a hole straight through the fortress wall so I could dive into the sea and fly away.
I quickly scribbled my exact request onto the notepad:
High-explosive sticky dynamite that can explode Level 1 walls.
Chris stared at the note, then let out a booming, gravelly laugh that echoed out of the shaded stall.
"You're a fiercely ambitious one, lass! I love the spirit. But I hate to break it to you, the outer foundation walls of the Citadel aren't standard masonry. They're built out of heavily reinforced volcanic obsidian. Standard commercial charges won't do a damn thing to 'em. But..."
He paused, a wicked, proud grin spreading across his face beneath his scarred eye.
"I happen to have a highly specialized explosive just for you."
Chris reached beneath his heavy wooden counter and carefully hauled out a uniquely crafted, sleek blue dynamite cylinder, its surface intricately embedded with glowing, high-grade mana stones.
"This right here is my absolute biggest project yet, before I ran this shop, I was a professional military dynamite designer. I custom-forged this beauty specifically to blast through deep-ocean tough corals, the kind of dense, hyper-compressed underwater reefs that standard mining explosives can't even scratch. Geologically speaking, those deep-ocean tough corals share the exact same structural density and crystalline makeup as the Citadel's reinforced obsidian walls. This will blow a hole clean through 'em." Chris whispered proudly, running a thick finger over the glowing blue casing.
He slid the blue mana cylinder across the counter toward me. I stared at the glowing device, feeling the subtle vibration of compressed magical energy humming beneath the surface. I had my lockpicks, I had my map, I had my target's DNA, and now, I had a weapon capable of shattering the most secure fortress in the region. The puzzle pieces were finally falling into place.
Just as my fingers wrapped around the sleek blue cylinder, Chris suddenly tightened his grip, halting the exchange. His jovial demeanor vanished, replaced by an expression of intense, hardened seriousness.
"Well, I didn't want to get involved in your dangerous schemes, lass, so I'm gonna tell you one thing right now. If you get caught inside that island, don't you dare tell a single soul that you're working with me. I've been through that hell before, and I'd rather die than return there. I have a loving family to take care of now." Chris muttered, his voice dropping to a barely audible whisper.
He locked his single eye onto mine, ensuring his warning hit home.
"Because of the sheer risk, I'm giving this to you at a premium price. One gold coin."
I hesitated for a brief second. A gold coin was an astronomical amount of money for a single explosive charge. But as I stared down at the glowing mana stones embedded in the blue casing, I knew I had absolutely no choice. This wasn't just a weapon; it was my definitive insurance policy to escape a maximum-security tomb easily.
I reached deep into the hidden compartments of my leather purse and pulled out a heavy, gleaming gold coin. This specific coin had a history, it was part of the payment given to me by Olive back when I traded my entire haul of premium neospider silk. It was incredibly handy to have on me now.
I slid the gold coin across the wooden counter. Chris snatched it up, inspected the coin's weight, and finally let out a relieved sigh, sliding the custom explosive completely into my hand.
"Thanks, lass. Good luck out there. You're gonna need it."
"Thank you," I nodded silently in my mind, offering him a sharp, grateful look.
Moving with practiced, stealthy precision, I slid the blue coral-blasting dynamite beneath the heavy, dark folds of my canvas cloak, strapping it securely against my frame alongside my purse. With the genetic profile of Keane Leon locked in my archive, the paperclips resting safely in my stomach, and a high-grade military explosive hidden under my arm, my tactical preparation was officially complete.
This dynamite was my guaranteed way out. I pulled my hood low over my scarred face, stepped out of the shaded vendor stall, and began walking directly toward the busy Pier District. It was time to find the authorities, trigger the city's zero-tolerance laws, and let them willingly escort me into the jaws of the Dodorant Citadel.