(Central Market — Sand City)
(Day 2 of the Trial by Mercy)
Smoke filled the room.
Cigars.
Mr.Green Cigarettes lit all around.
Incense.
Hot spice.
Old wood.
Money.
The chamber sat high above the Central Market, hidden behind false merchant walls, private stairs, and enough bought silence to bury a nation.
Below them, Sand City was still alive.
Vendors shouting.
Caravan bells knocking.
Oil popping in pans.
Spice smoke curling through alleys.
Coins changing hands by the second.
But above all that—
The Family sat down to eat.
And talk war.
A round blackwood table filled the center of the room, polished so dark it reflected candlelight like still water.
It was covered in food.
Not random food.
The kind of table only rich criminals or kings could afford.
Copper trays of Rajistani lamb glazed in red desert spice and cumin.
Chun jade noodles steaming in porcelain bowls, slick with sesame oil and scallion.
Britannian steak cut thick and bleeding beside black bread, mustard, and red wine.
Janoahian fire-skewers still smoking over aura-coals, glazed in pepper oil.
Vinlan salt-fish cakes beside pickled root and frostberry cream.
Tsarian rye, smoked sausage, and hard cheese sitting heavy at one end of the spread.
Africanus pepper rice with palm stew and honeyed plantains shining under butter.
A silver dish piled with peeled glow oranges from Americana.
Coffee.
Wine.
Tea.
Liquor.
Everything expensive.
Everything touched by somebody else's labor.
Eight people sat around that table.
Seven Chairs.
And the Don.
Saint Vin from Britannia cut into his steak first.
Slow.
Annoyed.
Like even the meat had wasted his time.
"The war has been losing us too much money."
He chewed once.
Twice.
"That Yobokari bastard has killed most of our clients in Dune, Sand, and now Dust City."
Across from him, Big Brother Jow from Chun sharpened his tanto.
Shhk.
Shhk.
Shhk.
"Four billion tola is not easy to replace."
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
"This young boy has to go."
Shhk.
"Chun jade, noodles, silk — everything is falling behind in exports."
His eyes stayed on the blade.
"Less buyers. More fear. And threats from the Guild Mint have clients scared to purchase at all."
Scarlet of Janoah exhaled smoke through a long black cigarette holder.
She sat with one leg crossed over the other, checking herself in a pocket mirror while the room talked murder.
"We should not be rash."
Her lipstick was perfect.
Her voice was steadier than her nerves.
"Yes, Yobokari is young."
She snapped the mirror shut halfway.
"But he has shown he can strike multiple places at once, conquer two cities, and consolidate his gains while everyone else is still reacting."
Her eyes lifted.
"That is not a child."
Santiago peeled a glow orange in one long strip, grinning through half the room's tension.
"Don't get your panties in a bunch, chachi."
Scarlet gave him a flat look.
He kept smiling.
"That boy doesn't have the wealth or the knowledge to keep up with The Family."
He popped a slice into his mouth.
"If he did, he would've found us by now."
His eyes slid to the head of the table.
"Isn't that right, Don?"
The room shifted.
Every Chair looked the same direction.
Don Lorenzo Kozimo sat in silence.
Black suit.
Gold rings.
Cigar between his fingers.
The kind of man who looked more dangerous when he was relaxed.
He let the smoke sit in his mouth before speaking.
Then he exhaled slow.
"Why would I worry about a dog if the dog only knows how to bark?"
Nobody answered.
"I worry about coin."
A tap of ash into a silver tray.
"Paper."
A beat.
"Metal."
His rings glinted in the candlelight.
"The things that actually make the world move."
He leaned back.
"Besides."
Another pull on the cigar.
"It's already done."
Saint Vin stopped chewing.
Lorenzo's eyes stayed half-lidded.
"I already put the word out."
The room held still.
"Fifty million tola."
A pause.
"For Yobokari Morningstar."
His mouth barely moved.
"Dead or alive."
Then a voice came from the corner of the room.
A woman's voice.
Smooth.
Playful.
Too comfortable.
"Isn't fifty million a little low?"
Every head turned.
A hooded woman sat in the window.
One leg bent.
One hanging loose.
Like she'd been there all night and had just finally decided the room was worth speaking to.
"I mean…"
She made exaggerated money signs with both hands.
"For a man who just challenged the world?"
Her head tilted.
"I'd think his price tag would be priceless."
Grand Wadadi from Rajistan slowly stood.
His chair scraped back across the floor.
"Who are you, child?"
His voice was low.
"And how did you get into this secure location?"
The hooded woman smiled.
"It's not so secure if I'm just chillin' here."
Jow moved.
Fast enough to make Saint Vin's wine jump.
One blink—
And his tanto was at her throat.
The woman looked down at the blade and smiled wider.
"Oh, baby."
A little laugh.
"Careful."
Her eyes came back up.
"We wouldn't want anybody cutting themselves."
Jow's jaw flexed.
He grabbed her hood.
Ripped it down.
Long black hair spilled over a fitted black jacket, glossy under the candlelight.
A white shirt open at the collar underneath, the dark tie loosened just enough to feel disrespectful.
A black choker at her throat.
Silver jewelry climbing one ear in stacked piercings, dropping in thin chains.
Rings flashing on her fingers.
A pale crossed marking over one cheek like a scar someone had decided to make beautiful.
Her mouth curved like she already knew she was the worst thing in the room.
A cigarette resting easy between her lips.
Like this was her room now.
Like all eight of them had just gotten invited to die in it.
She smiled.
Slow.
Bright.
Predatory.
"Shinshōkan Herika," she said. "At your service, baby."
Scarlet's face drained.
"No…"
Her cigarette trembled.
"That's Herika Williams."
Saint Vin's knife lowered a fraction.
"The Queen of Poisons…"
Scarlet swallowed hard.
Sweat gathered at her temple.
"If she's here…"
Her eyes snapped toward Lorenzo.
"He already knows about us."
Herika pointed at her and grinned.
"Bingo."
She slid one hand into her jacket pocket like they were all friends now.
"As the great Red Prophet consolidates his country and his power, we have no need for people like you."
Her eyes moved around the table.
"And we'd love to make an example out of anyone who thinks they're above the Red Order."
A beat.
"Or above the Prophet himself."
Jow pushed the tanto harder against her throat.
"Then I'll kill you now."
His arm moved.
Then stopped.
His hand twitched.
The blade never cut.
Scarlet's eyes widened.
"Jow?"
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
His jaw shook.
Herika looked at him with fake concern.
"Yeah, Jow."
She leaned slightly into the blade.
"What's wrong, baby?"
Jow collapsed.
Hard.
His tanto clanged against the floor.
Foam spilled from his mouth.
His body convulsed once.
Then again.
Santiago shot up.
"You bitch!"
He lunged.
"Earth Mu—"
He dropped before he could finish it.
Knees first.
Then face.
His whole body jerked against the boards.
Herika looked down at him and sighed like he had embarrassed himself in public.
"Aww, baby."
Grand Wadadi's eyes sharpened.
He moved.
"Wind Muti: Exit."
A violent gust tore through the room.
Smoke got ripped out the windows.
Candles died.
Curtains cracked.
Plates slid.
Loose paper flew.
The room cleared in one breath.
Wadadi planted his feet and raised his hand.
"I've seen hits like this before."
His voice stayed low.
"People dying before they even understand they've been attacked."
Herika smiled.
He kept going.
"There are only a few ways to introduce poison into the body."
His palm tightened.
"And doing the math…"
His eyes locked onto hers.
"I rounded it down to gas."
Herika clapped twice.
Excited.
"Ding ding ding."
Her smile widened.
"You got it, baby."
Then it sharpened.
"But knowing the answer…"
She spread her hands a little.
"What good does that do you?"
Wadadi's robe snapped in the wind.
"Enough to make you regret walking in here."
He raised his hand higher.
Wind and aura compressed into something heavier.
Denser.
Then fired.
A pressurized blast ripped across the room.
Herika's eyes narrowed.
"Gas Muti: Herika's Fog."
A thick pale mist flooded the chamber instantly.
Wadadi's wind tore through most of it and blasted it out the window—
But Herika was gone.
Everyone looked around.
Saint Vin backed up.
Scarlet moved toward Lorenzo.
Then Wadadi looked up.
Herika stood on the ceiling.
Still smiling.
"Hi, baby."
She dropped.
Fast.
Too fast.
Her dagger slammed into Wadadi's shoulder.
Then dragged all the way to his neck.
A clean wet line opened.
Blood sprayed across the room.
His body hit the floor before the rest of him finished falling.
Scarlet screamed.
Herika landed lightly.
Then moved again.
Straight for Don Lorenzo.
Dagger aimed for his face.
"Don, look out!"
The blade stopped.
Two inches from Lorenzo's eye.
Herika's smile twitched.
Inside, something flashed.
What?
She pushed.
Nothing.
Why can't I stab him?
Lorenzo calmly lit another cigar.
Took one pull.
Then looked at her through the smoke.
"What's wrong?"
His voice was easy.
"I thought you were gonna end me, doll."
Herika smiled again.
This time sharper.
Interested.
Scarlet's hands lit up with fire.
"Oh no you don't, bitch."
Flames ran up her arms.
"Take this!"
Herika's eyes flicked toward Scarlet.
Then back to Lorenzo.
"Checkmate."
Lorenzo saw it a beat too late.
His eyes widened.
"No—!"
Scarlet threw the fire.
The room exploded.
Not the table.
Not the curtains.
The air.
Invisible flammable gas ignited all at once.
For half a second there was only white.
Then the whole top floor blew outward.
Stone walls cracked open.
Windows burst.
The ceiling lifted like something underneath had punched it.
The round table split in half, food, glass, blood, and burning wood flying across the room in one violent wave.
The blast ripped through the private chamber and out into the building around it.
Two guards posted in the outer hall disappeared in the fire.
A Silk accountant at the stairwell got thrown through a carved door and down into the landing below.
Then the pressure hit the Central Market.
The upper floor tore open over the street.
Fire and shattered stone blasted out above the stalls.
A balcony collapsed.
Three market-goers were thrown off their feet.
A fruit cart flipped over and rolled burning through the crowd.
People screamed.
Vendors ducked.
Stalls overturned.
Camels bucked.
Glass and hot stone rained down into the streets.
"What happened?!"
"Explosion!"
"Move!"
"Get back!"
Red Cloaks flooded the market below seconds later, masks on, blades ready, forcing civilians back and searching for survivors.
Above the wreckage—
Herika reformed out of pale gas.
Kōshin tight around her body.
Untouched.
Her hair still perfect.
Her suit clean.
Not one burn mark on her.
She looked over the smoking ruin.
"Now where did you go, Don?"
Elsewhere in the rubble, Lorenzo stood half-buried behind collapsed stone, Scarlet unconscious in one arm.
A broken wall hung over both of them.
It should have crushed them flat.
Instead—
A mirror-metal figure held it in place.
Tall.
Faceless.
Polished like living chrome.
Silent.
Reflective.
The kind of thing that had been standing beside Lorenzo a long time.
Long enough to know when to move without being told.
Lorenzo looked up at it and exhaled.
"If I didn't have this…"
His grip tightened on Scarlet.
"I would've died."
He gave the figure a small nod.
"Thank you, Stainless."
The Eidolon gave one quiet nod back.
Then pushed the wall aside.
Lorenzo stepped through the broken gap with Scarlet in his arms.
Still calm.
Still smoking.
"Let's get out of here before she notices I'm not dead."
Stainless moved with him.
Hours later, the ruins were still being searched.
Bodies had been found.
Jow.
Santiago.
Wadadi.
Others burned too badly to name quickly.
But not Lorenzo.
Herika stood in the broken remains of the upper chamber near sunset, one hand on her hip, the other holding a cracked piece of cigar she had found in the rubble.
She stared at it.
Then smiled.
"Shit."
A Red Cloak nearby lowered his head.
"He got away."
Herika's smile widened.
Not angry.
Interested.
"Nobu won't like that."
She looked out over Sand City.
"And the Prophet definitely won't like it."
The evening wind moved through the ruin.
Soft.
Hot.
Dusty.
Her perfume followed it.
Herika laughed under her breath.
"Time to go hunting."