At minimum, a Beyond Mortality-grade arcane artifact whose true nature is a palace? This is the first time I’ve seen an Eldritcha this large!

  Its primary function is—transfer. Within a range of at most one district, it can establish no more than twenty transfer points, sending in or sending out those who meet the conditions. Perfect as a covert trading hub.

  Its name is—Havier’s The Displaced Castle. Its drawback is that the owner may be randomly transferred to anywhere within the city of Wynchester at any time…

  Random transfer at any time? Javon had been a little envious—until now. In an instant, not a trace of that feeling remained.

  If the drawback isn’t sealed—or there’s no special method to cope—then the castle’s owner is living in misery. At any moment he could be buried deep underground… flung into the sky… or tossed into a wall, a tree branch, even a steelworks’ furnace.

  That owner must be terrifyingly hard to kill.

  He left the corridor and stepped into the castle’s main hall. A gigantic glass-and-crystal chandelier hung overhead, scattering light in a riot of colors. On the hall’s walls were wanted notices—uncannily similar to the ones in Hunter Bar.

  ‘These are… wanted criminals of the occult world?’

  ‘They don’t look any different from the ones in Hunter Bar.’

  Javon lifted his gaze and immediately saw a portrait.

  A man with a prominent brow ridge, eyes brimming with savage malice. Beneath the portrait was a description:

  Victor·Caro! Suspected Beyond Mortality being. Perpetrator of the Hugues Bank Massacre. Methods exceptionally brutal… Bounty 15,000 pounds! Leads: 100 pounds. If interested, contact the castle’s owner, or report directly to the police.

  Fifteen thousand pounds—so this is the price of someone suspected to be a fourth Sephiroth?

  Javon passed over Victor and looked at the next notices.

  Magician Lucivar. Sephiroth tier unknown. Judged not to have opened the fourth Sephiroth. Methods bizarre… Bounty 5,500 pounds!

  Javon swept his eyes across the hall. Plenty of transcendent had already arrived.

  Each had set out a long table—Essence materials, talismans, firearms… Some tables were stacked with books and ancient parchment scrolls. In one corner, the space had been arranged like a salon, where a dozen transcendent were gathered in conversation.

  With a single glance, Javon confirmed that there were more than two hundred transcendent in the hall.

  No wonder—this is a royal capital’s hidden gathering. Still, there aren’t many Beyond Mortality beings. Everywhere you go, the jump from the third Sephiroth to the fourth is a brutal barrier.

  He drifted casually to a wooden table selling books and let his eyes skim. The redwood tabletop held volumes of every material—there were even bark scrolls.

  ‘Interested?’ The vendor was a witch with teeth black as lacquer. She smoked a long, slender pipe, her face marked with exotic tattooing. ‘This is native witchcraft from South Indenis. I’ve heard it holds extremely uncanny power in the hands of tribal shamans—once caused massive casualties for our armies.’

  Javon’s gaze passed over the bark scrolls. At the very top were characters written in a strange language.

  And that language—he didn’t recognize it.

  ‘Voodoo—South Indenis’s local tongue.’ The black-toothed witch explained smoothly. ‘If you can’t read it, I’ll throw in a dictionary as a bonus. It belonged to a sailor—he died in a native war…’

  She tapped ash from her pipe. ‘As for what’s written on the bark, it describes a secret rite. You dig out your eyes, perform a sequence of procedures, then install them again. After that, they’ll see more—your intuition will rise…!’

  ‘No interest.’ Javon waved her off.

  In the occult world, seeing more was not always a blessing. You might see what you were never meant to see—and die on the spot.

  ‘You’re young…’ The witch didn’t give up. With her slim pipe, she pointed to a pink-covered book. The cover art was suggestive, inviting endless imagination. ‘Then this—The Pleasure of Pursuing Secrets—will suit you perfectly. It may belong to Sanguis, but if you learn just a few of the formulas and spells inside, you’ll win the favor of the opposite sex with ease—and keep your vigor forever!’

  ‘Sounds tempting.’ Javon smiled faintly and turned away.

  Most esoteric transmissions in the occult world were traps. If the book truly worked as she claimed—strong effect, minimal aftermath—it would have sold out long ago.

  He had originally meant to rely on Essence identification to see whether he could pick up a bargain.

  But… he discovered that every item had been priced in a way that matched its status—and some were priced high.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Javon shifted his path and walked toward another long table.

  Two women tended this stall. One had flaming red hair and wore tight leather—voluptuous, with watery eyes full of languid allure.

  The other was shorter, wearing a roomy black robe that framed a delicate face. A strand of gold hair curled mischievously on her forehead.

  They don’t mind showing their faces. Either they’re strong, or they have backing strong enough to protect them…

  Javon stopped at their table, scanning the piles of ore, Ethereal Realm creature tissue, and various Essence remains.

  ‘Sir—our prices are the lowest in the entire hall.’ The red-haired woman brightened the moment she saw a customer linger. ‘I’m Lily. This is my sister, Jessica.’

  Javon gathered several tainted materials into a neat pile. His foul bullets needed replenishing. At the same time, he deliberately mixed in some ordinary materials—if he bought only tainted stock, people would notice.

  ‘All right. These.’ He withdrew his hand. ‘How much?’

  When he finished, the sisters could barely hide their delight—faces that screamed fat lamb.

  ‘Total…’ Jessica, with the golden curl, counted on her fingers. ‘Nine hundred…’

  ‘Nine hundred ninety pounds.’ Lily threw him a wink. ‘And I even gave you a discount, sir.’

  ‘Fine.’ Javon didn’t bargain. He paid at once.

  The sheer nonchalance of it made Lily’s eyes shine even brighter.

  Inside Havier’s The Displaced Castle.

  After parting with the enthusiastic sisters, Javon sought out a steward in a black tailcoat and a gold mask.

  ‘Honored sir—how may I serve you?’ The steward bowed. Every movement was flawless, like a servant trained for generations in an ancient noble house.

  ‘I heard… there are rooms and stalls for rent inside this castle?’ Javon asked.

  ‘Yes. Rooms in this castle are rented out to the public, with safety guaranteed by the castle’s owner—Honored Mr. Havier.’ The steward replied with impeccable courtesy. ‘You may rest as you please, but you must not conduct sacrificial rites or other dangerous experiments. Also, you may not shelter criminals…’

  Who would brew potions or forge arcane artifacts inside someone else’s arcane artifact? That would be handing your secrets directly to the owner.

  Javon mocked inwardly, then said aloud, ‘I want a temporary stall.’

  ‘Ten pounds per day.’ The steward produced a ledger-like book and a quill. ‘And… sir, your name or codename?’

  ‘Elvander.’

  It was the identity he had fabricated for the wine-eyed Skinmask—a “craftsman” of the transcendent world.

  ‘Understood, Mr. Elvander. Please allow me to escort you to your booth.’

  After taking the fee, the steward complied readily. It made Javon suspect that the line about not sheltering criminals was little more than polite noise.

  The tailcoated steward led him into a corner of the hall, then lifted his right foot and stamped the floor.

  A brand-new wooden table appeared.

  ‘Within the castle, only those who possess a table may trade. That is the rule set by Mr. Havier.’

  The steward bowed again and departed.

  Standing behind the table, Javon took out talismans, potion bottles, and several arcane artifacts from The Flesh-Eater’s Pack and arranged them neatly.

  ‘If you want to fish,’ he murmured, the corner of his mouth lifting, ‘how can you do without bait?’

  The talismans and potions came from the unlucky dead of a previous tomb expedition—common goods that wouldn’t draw attention.

  As for the arcane artifacts, Javon used three he had made himself on a whim.

  He had confidence. Even though his corner was out of the way, stalls selling arcane artifacts were rare in this hall.

  A man in black hurried past, only to pause after a single glance, his eyes fixed on a blood-red pendant at the center of Javon’s display.

  ‘Th-this… is that an arcane artifact?’

  Even asking, he sounded as though he couldn’t believe it.

  ‘Yes.’ Javon’s tone was casual. ‘It’s called Sanguine Devotee’s Offering. Extraordinary-grade. It casts an invisible hex on you that boosts stamina—three times per day. It also releases fallen flame—also three times per day. The drawback is that it requires flesh as feed.’

  He clicked his tongue, sounding disdainful. Remains from ordinary members of the Lotus-Eater circle could only be made into trifles like this.

  But the man in black couldn’t tear his gaze away.

  Arcane artifacts were always in demand in the occult world. As long as the drawback could be endured, many transcendent wanted one—or even several—to enhance their power or patch their weaknesses.

  What’s more, some transcendent feared the madness hidden in advancement and dared not advance, yet still craved new abilities. An arcane artifact solved that problem.

  ‘How… how much is it worth?’ The man’s voice turned urgent.

  I’ve never sold an Extraordinary-grade arcane artifact before.

  Javon recalled the bounties he had seen, made a rough calculation, and said, ‘Two thousand pounds.’

  ‘Deal!’

  ‘Wait—wait for me… I’ll scrape the money together right now!’

  He bolted, and Javon immediately understood: ‘Looks like I priced it low. Still—doesn’t matter.’

  That exchange drew more customers to Javon’s little stall.

  A few minutes later, the man in black returned, dragging an old man with him.

  ‘This is Master Gantiss. If he confirms that Sanguine Devotee’s Offering matches what you described—both its effects and its drawback—then we’ll finalize the deal!’

  ‘Fine.’

  Javon handed over the crimson necklace and studied Gantiss.

  White hair, white beard—yet broad-shouldered and powerfully built, in a gray cloth robe.

  The old man accepted the pendant and examined it closely.

  A transcendent with appraisal ability—and an Artisan? Isn’t this the very fish I wanted to hook?

  Javon kept his face still, watching Gantiss inspect the pendant.

  Only when the man in black shook him several times did Gantiss seem to come back to himself. He nodded.

  ‘The effect matches what you described.’

  ‘Excellent.’ The man in black happily counted out a thick stack of banknotes and handed them to Javon. ‘Check them. Make sure they’re real.’

  ‘Mm.’ Javon took them, glanced once, and slipped them straight into his pocket. ‘Trade complete. It’s yours.’

  The man in black clenched his fist, exhilarated. To him, the artifact was superb—most importantly, its drawback was mild.

  ‘You can tell it came from a skilled Artisan’s hand.’ Master Gantiss returned the pendant with reluctance, then looked at the other two arcane artifacts Javon had displayed. ‘Young man—could you introduce those as well?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Javon pointed at a pure-white medal. ‘Suncrest Medal. A permanent arcane artifact. After you inject Essence, it grants purification comparable to the second Sephiroth. If you soak it in one gallon of clean water, after three days you’ll obtain holy water saturated with Forged Light Essence. The drawback is that merely holding it will slowly raise your body temperature—until it cooks your brain. So it can’t be held long-term.’

  He pointed at the next item.

  ‘Shadow Cloak. A permanent Extraordinary-grade arcane artifact. Using it grants you the ability to slip through shadows. The drawback is that long-term use will gradually shadowify one of your organs. However, that falls within the category of treatable.’

  ‘Both are quite good.’ Gantiss nodded.

  The man in black stared at the Suncrest Medal and the Shadow Cloak and immediately felt his first decision had been hasty.

  Perhaps the Suncrest Medal suited him better—

  But he no longer had enough pounds.