I Love The Black Market

The possible options available were rather enticing.

As someone who had never entered a dungeon before in their life, if we didn’t count that nonsense of a “trial,” they all looked quite fun.

My eyes scanned the options, occasionally looking back at Mr. B.

He seemed to be waiting on me to make my decision.

‘Look old man, don’t rush the process. Don’t rush greatness.’

It’s not like I hadn’t totally made up my mind.

One of the options had already been crossed out.

Ashcoil Basement.

I had never been a fan of horror genres.

The idea of walking around in a tight, dark dungeon with creepy crawlies didn't sound any more fun.

Granted, these were dungeons.

I needed to get used to experiences like this, since one day I'd eventually have to dance in that direction.

But today was not that day.

That meant only two options were left.

Mireglass Tunnels or Gobgrill Forest.

This was the current decision my brain was mulling over.

I was engaging in a philosophical debate that would leave scholars of the ages in a tizzy.

Which creatures were worse, goblins or slimes and leeches?

Both were mortal enemies of women, yet only one could take the crown.

I turned around toward my benefactor.

“Mr. B, which would you say is worse between slimes and goblins?”

“Mr. B?”

“Yes,” I said.

“That’s what I’ve decided to call you from now.”

I let the corners of my lips rise. “It’s catchy.”

The broker took a while to answer, as if giving my question real contemplation.

‘Damn. Didn’t expect him to take the question seriously.’

After about a minute, he returned a response.

“Well, if we’re talking statistically, which enemy is harder to deal with between slimes and goblins for beginning hunters, I’d have to say goblins.”

“Yeah, I thought yo—”

“But I know your silly brain isn’t thinking like any sane person,” he said, pointing at my grin.

“So, here’s an answer more fitting to someone on your brain chemistry level.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t like how confidently you said that.”

He shrugged. “Goblins are annoying, but they are predictable. They stab, they swarm, but when you give them a good enough beating, they'll scurry away."

"Slimes and leeches, on the other hand?” His mouth twisted.

“They don’t care. They have no fear response, so they'll stick to you, drain you, and make you regret every life choice that brought you there.”

“…So you’re saying slimes are worse.”

“I’m saying, they’re more psychologically damaging.”

I hummed thoughtfully, tapping my chin.

“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

My eyes drifted back to the listings.

Gobgrill Forest was tempting in its simplicity.

It had open terrain with clear sightlines. It was the sensible choice.

Which was exactly why it annoyed me.

Gobgrill sounded like the default dungeon you’d pick if you were trying to be normal.

And apart from the fact normal had not been going well for me lately, it was just too boring of an idea.

“Mireglass Tunnels it is,” I decided aloud.

Mr. B’s brow rose.

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

I pointed at Gobgrill’s plaque.

“Gobgrill feels too generic. Like… tutorial dungeon vibes. If I’m risking my life, I want it to feel slightly unique.”

He stared at me for a long moment.

“You’re turning it down because it’s boring.”

“I’m turning it down because goblins have the energy of middle school bullies. At least slimes are honest about being disgusting.”

Mr. B sighed in a way that suggested he’d aged three years in ten seconds.

“…Alright,” he said.

With that decision made, we started walking deeper into the black market.

That was when it really hit me.

This place wasn’t just a few illegal stalls in an alley. It was a whole ecosystem.

There were rows of vendors selling things I couldn’t even identify.

Bottles that glowed faintly, cloth bundles stamped with seals, weapons wrapped in paper.

People spoke in low voices, discussing hidden secrets.

And above it all, the air had this faint vibration, like the entire underground space was humming with mana.

“Okay,” I murmured, turning my head slowly.

“So this is what the Hunter Association cries about in their secret meetings.”

Mr. B smirked.

“They don’t cry. They just pretend it doesn’t exist until it becomes inconvenient.”

My gaze snagged on a stall lined with rings.

There were simple bands, ornate ones, and embedded stones that pulsed like they had a heartbeat.

I pointed. “What’s that?”

“Storage rings,” Mr. B said.

“They are ranked by capacity. Some are used to hold gear, whilst others hold monster cores. It's a very nifty tool for hunters; you should definitely consider getting yourself one.”

"Yeah, I'll probably do that some time down the line."

We walked a few steps further and I spotted another stall, this one with jars full of murky liquid.

Inside, something floated.

I pointed again. “And that?”

“You're an inquisitive one, aren't you?”

"Well, sorry I don't know everything."

He looked at my pouting face with a sigh, then continued.

"Catalysts. They're used for refining cores, boosting mana absorption, and making potions. Sometimes it’s just diluted monster bile with a fancy label. And other times it can be something containing mystical ingredients like dragon bones.”

"Dragon bones!"

"You'd have to be extremely lucky to find something which has legit dragon bones, though. Haven't seen such a potion in my lifetime."

“Wow, that's kinda crazy.”

“Welcome to the market.”

As we continued walking towards our destination, my eyes swept over a sign nailed into a post in front of what looked like a tacky bar.

NO FIGHTS. NO TRACKING. NO ASSOCIATION.

They were really serious about this whole fuck the association thing.

At this rate, the black market and I were going to get on extremely well.

I pointed at the sign. “They have rules?”

“Everybody has rules,” Mr. B replied. “Even criminals.”

“That’s comforting.”

“It’s not meant to be.”

Even criminals had a code of conduct, huh.

It wasn't something totally unreasonable when you truly thought about it.

But I would be lying if I stated that it didn't go against my expectation of criminals.

Y'know, the rule breakers, anarchy warrior types. I guess it was to make sure that there was no unnecessary chaos.

Shifting and sliding through the dense pack of walking people, we passed a group of hunters bargaining over a large, jagged crystal sitting on a cloth.

The crystal gave off a faint heat haze, like it didn’t like being exposed.

I slowed, thinking back to a similar image I had seen on the forum one time. “Is that a monster core?”

Mr. B nodded. “Yep. A bonafide raw monster core.”

My throat tightened slightly.

The whole modern hunter economy ran on cores.

Power, money, status, everything tied to what you could kill and what you could extract.

But hearing about something and seeing it for yourself were two completely different things.

The cores looked majestical.

Seeing one up close made it feel more real.

My fingers brushed the silver chain inside my pocket instinctively, as if the thought alone made me need something solid to hold onto.

Mr. B noticed.

“Someone is excited.”

“No.”

He didn’t call me out. Instead, he kept walking, voice more casual now.

“So,” he said, “you thinking about getting a party lined up for the dungeon? I can take you to the tavern spot.”

Did he say group? That was never in my plans.

I was solo to the core. If it could be done solo, why go in a group?

“Nope.”

He stopped so abruptly I nearly walked into his back.

I blinked up at him. “What?”

“You’re joking.”

“No, I'm not. I don't need a party.”

His face went blank, as if I had said the most stupid thing of all time.

“So you’re soloing your first dungeon.”

“Yes.”

“A water-based ruin.”

"Yes."

“With slimes.”

"Yes."

“And leeches.”

"Also yes."

He exhaled slowly, like his lungs were filing a resignation letter.

“Kid—”

“I’m not a kid.”

“—yeah whatever. The point is, people die in beginner dungeons.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” he said sharply. “You think you do. There’s a difference.”

I frowned. “Beginner means… beginner.”

“Beginner means the Association labels it ‘manageable,’” Mr. B replied. “

It doesn’t mean safe. You slip, you panic, you misjudge your stamina or your exit route, and you're done.”

We resumed walking, but his tone had shifted, the banter fading into something heavier.

“You ever wonder why the Association exists?” he asked.

“To be annoying and wear badges?”

He snorted. “Partly. But originally? Because eighty years ago, when the Towers and Gates showed up, the world didn’t have rules.”

My head tilted. “Eighty years… ?”

Being clueless about these things was frustrating.

Despite being an avid forum user, little time was spent on reading actual productive material.

It was just drama threads, highlights, rankings, and best builds.

'I really should’ve taken Dungeon History as an elective back in school.'

The regret hit immediately. Back then, I’d been too embarrassed to even consider it.

Getting bullied for having no powers meant I avoided anything remotely hunter-related at school just to dodge attention and the inevitable “what are you doing here?” comments.

Mr. B gestured vaguely upward, like the sky above the ground had answers.

“When the first gates opened, nobody knew what they were. People walked in thinking it was some weird phenomenon. They didn’t come back out.”

He said it casually, but the words hit like cold water.

“For the first few years, it was just death. Cities trying to contain it. Militaries trying to bomb what couldn’t be bombed. Monsters leaking out and whole districts getting wiped.”

I swallowed.

“And then people awakened,” I said quietly, piecing it together.

Mr. B nodded once.

“At first, it was rare. Just a handful. The process was random and arcane. There were no tests, just… one day you’re normal, and the next day you’re throwing fire out of your palms.”

That was… grim.

“The number of awakened grew,” Mr. B went on.

“Not fast, but steadily. More gates meant more death, more stress, and more awakenings. Eventually, awakened started outnumbering the unawakened in the hunter industry. Then guilds formed. Then the Association formed to regulate it. Taxes, licences, rankings, paperwork. Y'know, all the good stuff.”

'So that's how it is.'

We rounded a corner.

The stalls had grown fewer, replaced by reinforced arches and wide stone corridors marked with glowing signs.

A gate district.

He glanced at me sideways. “And now here we are.”

“Here we are,” I echoed.

It seemed that we had finally reached our destination.

In front of us, a massive blue circular portal guarded by blacked-out men stood with a majestic aura.

It was easily 10m high.

Soon I would be entering it.

I turned to Mr. B.

“How do you even… use your powers properly?”

Mr. B slowed again, turning his head toward me. “You don’t know?”

“I have an idea,” I said quickly. “I’m not completely clueless.”

“What’s your ability?”

I stiffened.

“It’s a secret,” I said immediately.

Mr. B’s mouth twitched. “A secret.”

He stared at me for a second, then nodded slowly.

“…Fair enough.”

That surprised me more than I wanted to admit.

“Then at least tell me this,” he said. “You know how to open your system menu?”

“My… what?”

He stopped walking again.

I stopped too, a little annoyed now. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“How have you survived this long,” he muttered, “without learning the most basic function?”

I crossed my arms. “I survived because I can run very fast when terrified.”

Mr. B rubbed his forehead. “Alright. Listen carefully. You don’t need to shout spells or do dramatic hand signs. Your system is linked to intent.”

“Intent,” I repeated.

“Think of it like… an app,” he said. “Your brain pulls it up when you focus on it. Try it.”

I hesitated.

Then I focused, trying to imagine the panels I’d seen earlier.

The alerts, the messages. All the key details.

A faint shimmer appeared in the corner of my vision, before transforming into a translucent interface.

I froze.

“Oh,” I whispered. “It’s like… actually there.”

When I had tried earlier, this piece of crap system didn't want to respond.

But now it was showing up perfectly fine.

"Stupid system. Stupid system. Stupid system," I muttered quietly under my breath.

Well, maybe it hadn't been that quiet. Mr. B stared at me as if I was delusional.

'You don't get it, dude.'

“...Just scroll through it,” he said.

I squinted, eyes tracking the floating icons.

STATUS.

SKILLS.

CORE.

LOG.

I tapped the CORE tab mentally.

A panel opened.

CORE LEVEL: BRONZE (UNSTABLE)

CAPACITY: ???

I blinked. “Unstable?”

Mr. B leaned in slightly, reading my expression.

“That’s normal for new awakeners,” he said. “Your core’s like a muscle you’ve never used. You push too hard, you tear it.”

“That sounds… unhealthy.”

“It is.”

"Anyway, if you go to your skills, it will give a basic outline of what you can do. As you battle more and try new things, you'll get more access to more spells."

So that's how it worked. I would have to check my skills once in the dungeon.

"Thank you," I muttered quietly.

Despite not telling him much, Mr. B had been incredibly kind and informative.

"No problem, kid."

Once the conversation ended, there was a brief silence.

He was the first to break it.

“I guess this is goodbye. That’s your Mireglass entry.”

My chest tightened.

The gate looked like disturbed water, pale blue light folding in on itself endlessly.

A small plaque beside it read:

MIREGLASS TUNNELS

ENTRY FEE: 7,500 YEN PER PERSON