Ignis was in a good mood today. After delivering an order to the Blacksmith Association, his phone chimed with a series of notification tones, and his account balance swelled immediately.
However, the money wouldn't stay his for long. A message had arrived from Markus—the autocannon he had his eyes on had finally been delivered.
Orders of that size didn't come often. Ignis knew it would be quite a while before anyone requested him by name again.
Humming a tune he'd picked up from a street performer, Ignis strolled along. The melody was fierce and lively, exactly to his liking. He'd even scanned the performer's code on the spot and sent him a generous tip.
The performer, seeing Ignis's lavish generosity, immediately offered to take song requests for this big spender. But Ignis wasn't familiar with the popular songs here, so he simply told the man to sing whatever he wanted.
The performer, buoyed by the sizable tip, sang his heart out, drawing a crowd of onlookers. While the man was fully immersed in his performance, Ignis quietly slipped away.
Boarding the metro bound for Grey Street, Ignis took out his phone. The New Eridu metro network had full internet coverage—and fast, too—so almost everyone in the car was staring down at their screens.
Ignis scrolled through the Inter-Knot and other sites, searching for any news about the Mountain Lion Gang. But since his last encounter with Jane Doe, they'd gone completely silent—vanished as if swallowed by the void.
Of course, it was also possible that every Proxy or Hollow Raider who'd crossed paths with them had been killed, leaving no survivors to tell the tale.
The Vision Corporation case had cooled down recently. Perlman still hadn't said a word, and the New Eridu Public Security had no useful information to disclose.
The current trending post featured Nicole in a women's suit and pencil skirt, glasses perched on her nose, looking every bit like a career lawyer. She was giving an interview—but the public wasn't paying attention to her discussion about Canvas Street residents' concerns. Instead, they were fixated on her figure and gossiping about how broad the Cunning Hares' business ventures must be.
Still, seeing Nicole like that was refreshing—a new flavor compared to her usual "sweetheart beauty" demeanor.
That sly rabbit had hundreds of faces and thousands of disguises, and the number of fools deceived by her charming looks wasn't small. The comments under the post were full of people cursing her as a witch, using rather filthy words.
Ignis, however, considered that a true compliment. After all, the Cunning Hares did the kind of dirty work that inevitably made enemies. If you pissed people off and still lived to see another day without anyone hunting you down—that was skill. Let them curse; for all he knew, Nicole had probably scammed half of them anyway.
Suddenly, his communicator pinged—a new friend request. The ID and avatar were both default. Ignis frowned. His account hadn't been leaked, nor had he enabled location-based searches. So how the hell did this person find him?
At least clients from the Blacksmith Association usually left notes in their requests. This one left nothing. Ignis immediately declined and blocked the contact.
But that didn't help. Several more requests from similar accounts appeared in quick succession. Ignis started to wonder if his phone had been hacked. He switched his account to private mode, allowing only outgoing requests.
The odd activity made him alert. He prided himself on keeping a low profile—his attention was focused on gathering intel about the Mountain Lion Gang and improving his combat capability. He shouldn't have drawn the eye of any particularly troublesome group.
Then Ignis felt it—someone was watching him. Turning his head, he spotted a Thiren with a ram's head quickly averting his gaze. The man wore a studded leather jacket and, like Ignis, sported sunglasses underground. Judging from the decorations, he looked like some kind of biker punk.
Even after seeing all sorts in New Eridu, Ignis found the ram-headed ones rare—and certainly never one that tall.
Although his citizen ID listed him as a Gorilla Thiren, real Gorilla Thirens were much shorter than him. After all, you couldn't exactly write "Son of Vulkan" on an official ID, could you? Still, he wasn't sure if this world even had draconic or lizardfolk races.
Lost in thought, Ignis looked up—Grey Street had arrived.
The black market looked the same as ever: chaos in order. Since his brutal clash with the Mountain Lion Gang days ago, most people kept their distance from the Salamander. After all, he had taken down over a hundred gang members single-handedly, leaving half of them dead, and had walked away with only two bullet wounds as if nothing had happened.
Rumor had it he wasn't even human—just an artificial intelligence unit disguised in human form.
Otherwise, how could anyone explain such superhuman endurance and strength? Some compared him to the synthetic E800 model from the old film [Terminus 2].
As Ignis stepped off the metro, he sent a message to Markus. From afar, he spotted the man immediately—his purple mushroom-shaped afro impossible to miss.
"Finally, you're here," Markus said, waving the towering Ignis into his shop. "Get inside, I've been losing my mind waiting for you."
The moment Ignis stepped in, Markus gestured to the guards by the door. They nodded, withdrew inside, shut the door, and even lowered the blast shutters.
"What's the meaning of this?" Ignis's hand went to the handle of his hammer.
"Relax—it's not about you," Markus replied, removing his exaggerated mirrored glasses. His eyes were bloodshot, and the dark circles beneath them looked brutal.
"What happened to you? You look like you're about to collapse." Ignis's tone carried a hint of concern.
"Ran into a bit of trouble," Markus said, pulling out a remote and pressing a button. A hidden door opened behind the counter. "Come on, check the goods first."
The merchant could barely walk straight, swaying with every step. Whatever had happened must've been serious—enough to turn the usually jolly man who'd laughed through Ignis's battle with the Mountain Lion Gang into a wreck.
They went through the hidden door and descended into the basement, where a firing range awaited. The autocannon Ignis had requested sat proudly on its mount.
"This thing wasn't easy to get," Markus said, patting the cannon's black surface. "Brought it in from the Outer Ring. Old-era tech."
Once a merchant starts telling stories, that means he's about to overcharge.
"I don't care where it came from. Let me test it," Ignis said flatly.
"I don't know what you plan to use it for—and honestly, I don't care. You could hang it in your living room for all I care. But I'll warn you: keep it out of sight from the Public Security." Markus lifted a five-round straight magazine and locked it into the feed port atop the receiver.
"This was originally an old anti-aircraft gun. The rounds are high-explosive incendiary," Markus explained, pointing at the distinct color of the warhead. "As promised, if you ever need custom ammo, give me the blueprints and the price, and I'll make it for you."
Ignis pulled back the bolt, chambering the first round.
"It's got an open-bolt hold function. If you want a bigger magazine, I can make one—but that'll cost extra."
The weapon was ancient, yet the sight still stood firm on the barrel. Ignis took quick aim and pressed the trigger.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Click!
He felt the recoil surge through his Mark X Gravis Power Armor. The cannon was a perfect fit—its power and weight just right. A 40mm autocannon was more than enough to shred most light targets, and even some armored ones. The kind of police-grade APCs used by Vision Corporation wouldn't stand a chance—armor-piercing rounds would punch through like paper.
"How much?" Ignis asked curtly.
Markus pulled out his phone, tapped in a number, and showed it.
The figure made Ignis's head spin—it was practically his entire savings. He half-suspected Markus had peeked into his bank account.
Noticing the change in Ignis's expression, Markus immediately started pitching the sale. "This is one of a kind! You won't find another like it in all of New Eridu. The Defense Force has long since switched to ether-laser weaponry. Real projectile weapons like this? Practically relics now."
"We paid a heavy price to get it from a group in the Outer Ring. Best I can do is a five-percent discount."
Ignis did the math. Even with the discount, he could practically build one himself for less—though that came with trial and error, and the hassle of ammo production. Still, it beat pouring his entire fortune into this one gun, especially when it didn't even come with shells.
"Well? What do you think, Ignis?" Markus asked as his phone buzzed with a new message.
He glanced at it—and his expression changed.
"If you're willing to—" Ignis began, planning to negotiate a lower price, but Markus raised a hand to stop him.
"I'll give it to you at half price," Markus said sharply, "and throw in two hundred rounds for free."
"What's the catch?" Ignis asked, instantly realizing there was more to this.
Markus sighed, slipped his phone back into his pocket, and put his mirrored glasses back on.
"My boss is in trouble," he said quietly. "The team we sent to fix it failed. You, however, might just be the man we need."
"If you help us, the cannon's yours at half price—with the ammo."
"What kind of job?" Ignis's tone hardened.
"Our convoy in the Outer Ring got hit. Guards and drivers—all dead," Markus said. "We know who did it. I need you to retrieve the cargo."
"Our people can't act openly, but we'll send a small elite team to support you. Simple terms: recover the goods, kill the bastards who took them."
It didn't sound too complicated—typical black market dispute, though there was definitely more behind it.
"What were you transporting?" Ignis asked. "Anything dangerous? Something that could threaten civilians?"
"No, no," Markus said quickly. "Just some exotic stuff—nothing life-threatening. A few oddities dug up from the Old City, bits of fashionable junk."
"Fine. When do we move?" Ignis said after a moment's thought. The savings alone were reason enough.
"Tomorrow night. I'll send you the rendezvous coordinates," Markus replied, patting the autocannon. "You can take it now—consider it a gesture of good faith. The ammo, too."
"I'll say this once," Ignis said, his voice firm as his hand brushed the cannon's cold metal. "If this job crosses my moral line, I walk. You'll still get your money—every credit of it."
Markus chuckled. "Relax, my friend. I might work the black market, but I'm in it for profit, not blood. If we weren't desperate, I wouldn't even be asking."