Chapter 4: Martial Market

Adam walked toward the tall, slate-gray building, its glass doors sliding open and shut in a constant rhythm as people streamed in and out.

Every one of them carried an air of quiet menace, broad-shouldered men and dangerous women whose mere presence rippled with power.

Their steps were confident, their eyes sharp. Their profession martial artists.

It was almost laughable when he thought about it.

Before the Mission Hall was established, seeing a martial artist in Sector 516 was something you could only hope for through a TV broadcast or sheer luck.

But now, they were as common as air.

The once-desolate sector had turned into a hub of strength and opportunity, all because of a single building.

Adam stepped through the sliding doors.

The inside was just as chaotic as the outside, an organized storm of voices and footsteps.

To the right, the reception counters were packed with martial artists collecting or submitting missions.

The hum of conversation mixed with the faint metallic scent of weapons and the sharp tang of essence-infused air.

But Adam wasn’t here for a mission.

His gaze turned left, to the Martial Market.

That side of the building was an entirely different world.

Rows of stalls and glass-cased counters stretched into the distance, each one displaying everything a martial artist could desire, blades, armor, cultivation resources, and even martial techniques.

The Mission Hall Market was the beating heart of the Alliance’s economy, holding a monopoly so vast that the owner of a single hall was likely a thousand times richer than the wealthiest man from the memories Adam had inherited.

Adam’s eyes narrowed slightly as he made his way deeper inside.

If I’m right… they should have it here.

He turned down one of the aisles, scanning the signs, Weapons, Techniques, Potions, Items, until his gaze landed on one that made him smirk.

Corpses.

Bingo.

Monster corpses had countless uses, they could be used as materials for forging, potion-making, or even food for martial artists.

Their flesh brimmed with essence, making them both dangerous and valuable.

But the moment Adam laid eyes on the first carcass displayed in the transparent stasis case, a strange wave of disgust hit him.

It wasn’t simple nausea, it was deeper.

A vile, crawling hatred that boiled up from somewhere he couldn’t name.

His hands clenched unconsciously.

This feeling again.

It wasn’t fear.

It was loathing.

A disgust that went beyond reason, so strong that for a fleeting second, he felt that leaving the creature dead was too merciful a punishment.

Adam shut his eyes and drew a slow breath. As the rage faded, leaving only a faint tremor in his chest.

Calm down, focus.

He exhaled and forced the tension from his body before stepping closer to the aisle.

For now, he had a theory to test.

****

The aisle was lined with stasis cases, each one containing a different kind of monster, wolves with ashen fur and bloodied maws, kobolds with scaled hides and jagged claws, goblins whose twisted faces were forever frozen in snarls, and many more grotesque forms.

The dim-blue glow of the preservation fields gave the hall an eerie atmosphere, like a silent museum of nightmares.

Most of the monsters here were Unranked Level 1, the weakest of the monsters.

A few, however, carried tags marked Unranked Level 2, their presence rare and costly.

Monsters were graded according to the rifts they emerged from, and every rift was categorized into nine levels.

Level 1 through Level 9.

Each level was then subdivided into six classes: Unranked, Normal, Abnormal, Hell, Abysmal, and Extinction.

Sector 516 had advanced to a low-tier Sector after the sector’s rift disaster nine years ago.

So the rifts that appeared here were usually Unranked Level 1, with the occasional Unranked Level 2 showing up once in a while and those were disasters in their own right.

Each corpse was suspended in a transparent case, with their bodies being preserved within the containment field.

Adam’s gaze swept across them, his mind already elsewhere.

I’ll need to get my hands on one.

His theory wasn’t something he could confirm by simply looking.

He needed physical and direct contact.

Adam’s thoughts drifted back to talents.

From what he understood, talents were bound to the soul and not the body.

And if the soul truly anchored the connection, then death— the destruction of that soul, should logically sever it.

If a person holding a sword dies, and that sword remains in their grasp can it still be called equipped when the person is nothing but a corpse?

That was the question haunting him.

If death unequips the soul’s hold, then the object, or in this case, the talent, should remain, free to be taken.

When a man dies, his weapon doesn’t vanish… someone else can always pick it up.

If his logic held true, then perhaps the same applied to talents.

And if so.

Adam’s pulse quickened slightly at the thought.

As he moved closer to the nearest case, its glass surface gleaming faintly under the light. He crouched slightly, inspecting the control panel at its base.

“Now how do I open this thing?” he muttered under his breath.

Before he could try anything reckless, a soft, melodious voice chimed from behind him.

“Sir, how can I help you?”

Adam froze, turning instinctively.

The sight that met him made his mind stutter for a second.

Standing there was a woman, but not a human one.

She had a long, orange fox tail swaying lazily behind her and a pair of sharp, fur-tipped ears poking through her ginger hair.

Her eyes were auburn, and gleamed with inspection as they studied him.

The uniform of the Martial Market clung perfectly to her form, emphasizing every curve, an obvious tactic designed to keep customers distracted.

Adam blinked, momentarily thrown off.

It’ll take a while to get used to this.

The fox woman tilted her head slightly, her tone polite yet curious.

“Sir?”

****

{Authors Note}

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