Starfall wore white from collar to sole. His coat, his gloves, even his boots carried the same pale hue as his skin, as if cloth and flesh shared a single origin. At his chest rested the emblem of the Extraterrestrial, a small pin that caught the morning light like a silent warning.

  He descended toward the harbor while the city still shook itself awake. Cheng waited below, patient as stone. Burgess had already gone ahead to the docks.

  Cheng told him how the night had ended. He and Burgess had been left asleep at the bar until dawn, untouched, undisturbed. No one had dared wake them. Yet there was no bitterness in him, no resentment for being abandoned. That was the way things were around Starfall.

  Outside the lodging house, young women gathered in clusters. They stood too close to one another, whispering, gasping, staring. When Starfall emerged, some cried out openly. Admiration mixed with fear, and neither could be hidden.

  Cheng frowned at the sight and motioned for his men to clear the street. Starfall stopped him with a raised hand.

  “Let them be.”

  They walked on, the crowd parting just enough to let them pass.

  “Did any of them catch your eye?” Cheng asked as they moved toward the harbor, his tone light, almost teasing.

  Starfall considered the question longer than expected. “No,” he said at last. “I do not yet know what kind of woman I would choose.”

  Cheng laughed softly. “Then avoid the women of District Six. I am certain your father would have someone far more suitable prepared for you.”

  The smile left Starfall’s face.

  He stepped close, fingers pressing briefly against Cheng’s chest as he leaned in. His voice dropped to a whisper, calm but edged with steel.

  “Do not speak my father’s name. Here, there is only me.”

  Cheng stiffened. No apology came, only understanding.

  A heartbeat later, Starfall’s expression softened. The Pale Dragon smiled again, as if nothing had passed between them.

  The harbor opened before them, louder and more crowded than it had been the night before. Morning revealed its true scale. Crates were dragged, lifted, broken open. The docks breathed like a living thing.

  Starfall’s transmitter pulsed against his ear.

  Lucretius.

  Cheng noticed at once and stepped away, giving distance without being asked.

  “Starfall,” came the Fallen Knight’s heavy voice. Beneath it, the low howl of Jenghis bled through the channel. “You understand your mission.”

  “Everything is already carved into my mind,” Starfall replied, easy, almost careless.

  “Do nothing stupid,” Lucretius warned. “Leroy and I are watching.”

  “Yes, yes,” Starfall said, irritation slipping into his voice.

  The line went dead without farewell.

  Starfall continued on with Cheng. They moved through Dock One and Dock Two, observing the flow of trade.

  Yet his eyes kept drifting elsewhere.

  Dock Four.

  A tall iron gate sealed it off from the rest of the harbor. Barbed wire crowned its height like thorns on a crown. Armed guards patrolled its perimeter with hounds at their heels, alert and restless. Some wore the insignia of the Sorcerer Faction. Others bore the stance and discipline of Weapon Masters.

  It was not a place meant to be seen.

  And that alone made it impossible for Starfall to ignore.

  The Heir of the Star did not rush his first days.

  Starfall chose patience over spectacle. He blended in, played the courteous overseer, and filed meticulous reports to be sent back to his father and council. By day, he observed. By night, he vanished into taverns and dim halls, drinking long past the hour when others collapsed. Cheng and Burgess could not keep pace with him. More than once, they sent subordinates in their place to accompany Starfall, who never seemed capable of drunkenness.

  The reports pleased Lord Star. They arrived on time, quite well explained and restrained, revealing enough without raising suspicion.

  By the second month of Starfall’s watch, a pattern emerged. Dock Four could not be entered directly. The path lay elsewhere. One had to pass through District Four first, then slip inward from the shadows.

  District Four of the Mainland was a place even the Council avoided. Only several of Weapon Masters rule there. It was a refuge for criminals, swindlers, and failed superhumans. Those rejected by factions. Those cast out. They lived steeped in bitterness, clinging to the edge of the radiant continent, unwilling to fall entirely into obscurity.

  This truth was no secret. All Realm knew it.

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  Because of his spotless reports, Starfall was granted leave. Both his father and Lucretius approved it without hesitation. Starfall used that permission not to rest, but to disappear.

  He darkened his white hair and stained his pale skin until his lineage vanished beneath common tones. He dressed plainly, without insignia or ornament. He left without telling Cheng or Burgess.

  His transmitter stayed behind, resting quietly in his lodging room.

  Starfall traveled on foot, guided only by a limited map and fragments of information gathered from strangers. Eight hours passed beneath his boots before the land changed. When he arrived, there was no grand sign, no warning gate.

  This was District Four.

  It was not terrifying at first glance. The streets stood intact. Lights burned as they did elsewhere. Yet despair lingered in the air like rot beneath fresh paint. People loitered with hollow eyes, selling items concealed in their sleeves and pockets. Goods changed hands too quickly, too quietly.

  Starfall paused when he recognized Cryon batteries among the wares. Relics of Grade C. Even Grade B. Unregistered.

  Wild dogs ran freely between alleys. When Starfall smiled at the locals, they returned his gesture with narrowed eyes and crooked grins. Though the main roads were lit no differently from other districts, the weight of the people twisted the atmosphere into something heavier, something sour.

  This place is poor, yet it bleeds wealth, he thought.

  Where do they steal such things? Or do they simply not know how to sell them?

  Curiosity rooted itself deep.

  He turned into a dead-end alley.

  Five men stepped forward, knives glinting dull in the half-light. Starfall did not slow.

  “Uncles,” he said calmly, his gaze flat. “Where might I find someone important here?”

  “There is no authority,” one of them answered with a grin.

  They lunged.

  Starfall did not stain his clothes. His fists moved with clean precision. In moments, all five lay broken and groaning on the street. He dragged them into a nearby bar, demanded a private room, and paid without argument.

  When the men woke, they found themselves unbound. A glass stood before each of them, filled with liquor.

  Starfall sat across the table, composed. He gestured for them to drink.

  “Now,” he said softly, threat woven into every syllable. “Who holds power in this district?”

  They stayed silent.

  He pressed them with words, not pain. Time passed. Their fear grew, but their mouths remained shut. Starfall had no desire to torture.

  At last, he reached into his pocket.

  The emblem of the Extraterrestrial rested in his palm. He placed it on the table. His name was etched into its reverse.

  The men froze.

  They knew the symbol. Apologies spilled from them in broken voices, fear and reverence tangled together.

  Starfall smiled, slow and sharp.

  “Since you know my reputation,” he said, “we can trade. Give me information, and I will give you money."

  One of the thugs finally spoke.

  “There is no authority here that anyone truly recognizes,” he said carefully. “Even the official district head is weaker than one of the Weapon Master gang leaders stationed here. His name is Alexander Walker. Most call him Axel, but he has been absent for months.”

  Axel is one of the nine Weapon Master syndicates leader alongside with Cheng, Burgess, Lisa, Balthazar, and Captain Zaragoza. Also the most mysterious.

  Disappointment flickered across Starfall’s face, brief and controlled. He leaned back, his voice dull with feigned boredom.

  “Then why does the Council refuse to touch this place?”

  The man hesitated. He did not answer at once. He chose his words as if laying stones across a river.

  “It is not that they cannot act, Lord Starfall. I think Lucretius or Amaterasu could break this district in a single day. They simply choose not to.”

  Starfall straightened. The air in the room shifted. His gaze locked onto the speaker, sharp and intent.

  “Why?”

  “Because District Four,” the thug said quietly, “is the heart of the black market of All Realm.”

  The words struck harder than steel.

  Starfall’s eyes narrowed. “Then explain this to me. Why would the black market exist on the same continent where the Council rules?”

  Another man answered, his speech loosened by drink. “Protection, Lord Starfall. By keeping it on the mainland, no outside force dares to interfere. Who would challenge a market that exists beneath the Council’s shadow?”

  Starfall’s jaw tightened.

  “And my faction,” he said, anger simmering beneath confusion. “The Extraterrestrial. Do they know of this?”

  The oldest among them drained his glass before speaking. His voice carried no mockery, only weary honesty.

  “Lord Starfall, to speak plainly, we are more surprised that you did not.”

  For a moment, Starfall stood frozen.

  Then he turned and left the room without another word, taking only directions to the black market with him.

  The thugs sat in silence after he was gone. Understanding dawned quickly. A noble of the wealthiest House, wandering District Four alone and without protection, was not ignorance.

  It was opportunity. Moreover Starfall forgot his promise to pay them.

  They rushed from the bar and scattered into the streets, each carrying the same secret, each eager to sell it to whoever was willing to pay this information with highest price.

  Starfall moved quickly toward the underground levels. The entrance to the black market lay beneath the city, hidden in plain reach. Its gate was always open. No names were asked. No identities demanded. Yet the welcome was an illusion.

  Guards armed with heavy weapons stood at every approach. Among them were Weapon Masters carrying relics of unknown classification, their presence alone enough to warn away the reckless.

  The market itself was formed of wide chambers aligned in a long corridor. Each room was sealed with one way glass, like an interrogation cell. From the outside, visitors could observe the goods within before choosing to enter. The place throbbed with quiet motion. Starfall noted several nobles among the crowd, disguised as he was, cloaked in anonymity and caution.

  There were auction halls and exhibitions of mythical creatures deemed unworthy of the Elementalist factions. Sorcerer fake potions sat in rows, crude mixtures that looked unstable even at a glance. Cryon batteries changed hands openly. Cogworks mechanics displayed strange machines whose purposes were unclear and likely illegal. Along the walls, posters offered the services of Weapon Master assassins, their identities promised to remain forever hidden.

  In his pocket, Starfall’s fingers closed around the Crystal of Zerulyth. It pulsed faintly at his touch, as if responding to the chaos around it.

  “All Realm is truly insane,” he murmured, smiling to himself.

  Elsewhere, one of the thugs reached Cheng.

  The information was sold quickly. Too quickly.

  Cheng’s face drained of color the moment he heard it. He activated his transmitter at once.

  "Burgess, we are doomed,” he said sharply. “Starfall went to District Four alone.”

  Burgess’s voice roared back like a caged lion. “That bastard. What do we do? Tell the First Brother.”

  “No,” Cheng snapped, pacing. “Leroy already has too many fires to put out.”

  “Then we tell Lord Star,” Burgess replied. “I’ll head to the Stargate now.”

  “That idea will get us both killed,” Cheng said coldly. “I will follow him myself. You stay at the harbor. Act as if nothing is wrong.”

  Burgess hesitated, then agreed.

  Cheng gathered several subordinates and ordered them to disguise themselves. Thick cloaks were pulled tight, concealing the combat uniforms that marked them as elite troops. The thug who had delivered the news shifted nervously beside him.

  “Brother Cheng,” he said, voice shaking. “What about my payment for the information?”

  Cheng tied his headband slowly before answering. “How many others know?”

  “Five,” the man said quickly. “They dress like me. If you meet them, please share with them too.”

  “Good,” Cheng replied. “Thank you for the information.”

  He struck the thug without warning. The man collapsed unconscious to the ground. Cheng gave a brief gesture, and his subordinates scattered into the streets.

  This secret could not be allowed to travel any farther.