Night had already cast its veil over the Black Market district—
that forgotten segment of Clouded Jade City, where sunlight reached only as a faint thread slipping between decaying wooden roofs. The alleys were narrow, the smells heavy, and the faces that passed by were nothing but reflections of stories no one wished to hear. And yet… in this place, secrets were bought, souls were traded, and abilities that changed destinies were forged.
In one of the side passages, two men walked with cautious steps.
The first was a huge man in his early thirties, his broad shoulders cutting a path ahead of him with unnatural confidence. His name was Timo. The second, younger and far more anxious, kept glancing around as if expecting an assassin to leap out from every dark corner.
Timo spoke in a low voice as he advanced:
"Should be somewhere in this area."
His companion swallowed hard and asked, barely masking his fear:
"Do you… do you really think the rumors are true?"
Timo lifted his chin, his eyes sweeping through the shadows steadily.
"No one inside the White Raven's territory carries a title for nothing. If someone famous shows up in the Black Market, the Raven knows about him. And he might be watching too."
Both men froze for a moment at the mention of the name.
The White Raven wasn't just a title.
He was a real shadow that ruled the market—
never appears, never seen, and no one dared anger him.
The companion muttered:
"So… this person everyone is searching for… the Son of Mist… he really exists?"
"Most likely," Timo answered seriously. Then added,
"That vendor who appeared a year ago and sells unknown formations… we need to see him."
The two men continued deeper into the market.
On the other side, in a relatively deserted corner, stood a small shack, its wood decayed and its lights dim—yet it was marked by one thing: a faint circular mist surrounding it, swirling, then fading.
That mist was a sign everyone knew: the Son of Mist is here.
Inside the shack, a fifteen-year-old boy sat behind a modest wooden table. His clothes were loose and black, and a hood hid almost his entire face. Only a pair of pale, gray eyes were visible—eyes closer to those of the dead than the living.
Whenever Asher was the one controlling the body…
those eyes dimmed until they looked completely lifeless.
But whenever control returned to Eil, they regained their warmth and clarity.
Around the boy was a small spiritual formation created by Asher himself, fused into the fabric of his clothing. A formation that emitted a thin mist capable of deceiving the spiritual sense of anyone approaching. No one could discern the boy's strength, or his cultivation level, or even his real age and appearance.
He was nothing but a shadow watching with emotionless eyes.
On the table before him hung several delicate spiritual formations:
– A formation to strengthen breathing.
– A formation to enhance energy absorption.
– A formation to calm the mind during meditation.
– A formation to purify bone marrow.
Formations the market had never seen before.
A full year had passed since Asher began taking the Bone-Melting Pill. His progress had been fast—faster still when the Ren family began providing the pills officially four months ago. He managed to temper his body completely:
Skin: 100%
Muscles: 100%
Bones: 100%
Blood and tendons: 100%
Organs: 60%
A level only the prodigies of the great sects reached…
and yet, no one suspected a thing, because the mist hid everything.
Inside the shack, silence reigned.
But inside the mind, another conversation was taking place.
"Asher… do we always have to wear these clothes? I feel like they're choking me."
"If our real face appears, everything will be exposed, and we'll be killed. We're not ready for that yet."
"But the mist gets into my nose, brother!"
"There is no real mist, Eil."
"But I can feel it!"
"That's because you're stupid."
"ASHER!!"
Asher smiled faintly under the hood, though nothing showed outwardly.
The wooden doorbell rang as a massive man stepped inside—Timo.
The air froze for a heartbeat, his brother creeping in behind him, ready to bolt at any moment.
Timo stared at the mist, then at the dead gray eyes, feeling a chill he couldn't hide.
He stepped closer and asked:
"Are you… the Son of Mist?"
Asher did not move.
He did not speak.
He simply stared.
Eil whispered anxiously in their shared mind:
"Say something, Asher!"
"Silence intimidates them."
At last, Asher spoke in a low, slightly distorted voice:
"What do you want?"
Timo tried to suppress his tension as he answered:
"We heard you sell formations unlike any other. We came to buy."
"The price is in spirit stones."
Timo nodded immediately and set a medium-sized pouch of stones on the table.
He pointed to one formation:
"My son is eleven. He needs this formation for bone-marrow purification."
Asher stared at him for a moment and said bluntly:
"Weak."
Timo's brother gasped, stunned.
But Timo lifted a hand, silencing him.
He asked,
"Why is he weak?"
"Because he hasn't started tempering his bones yet."
The younger brother froze.
Timo stared at the gray eyes, speechless.
"You… you can tell that just by looking?"
Asher didn't answer.
Silence was his reply.
Eil whispered:
"You're scaring them too much…"
"Good."
Timo said,
"I want three of this formation."
"Five medium stones."
Timo hesitated… only for a heartbeat, then paid immediately.
He took the formations carefully, then said:
"Thank you… Son of Mist."
The two men hurried out, almost running, as if something unseen were chasing them.
After they left, Eil exhaled loudly:
"We were terrifying…"
"We must be," Asher replied calmly.
"But why did you say the child was weak? Now they'll worry!"
"Because it's true."
"You're harsh."
"And you're too kind."
The two fell into silence for a moment.
Asher finally said:
"But we're still weak too. Don't forget that."
Eil answered with a serious tone:
"We won't stop, Asher."
"We won't stop."
Asher lifted his head toward the door.
The night was far from over.
And the Black Market did not reveal its secrets easily.
The name Son of Mist… was spreading more than it should.
And this kind of fame… attracted something far greater than customers.
Something… or someone…
or a shadow moving above them all.
---
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