**Chapter 48: The Intergalactic Market**
**Day 1,229 (Mid-Morning Standard Galactic Time).**
**Location: The Perseus Arm – Station 9 (The Grand Bazaar).**
**Current Status: Retail Therapy.**
**Mood: Opulent.**
The warp tunnel collapsed behind us with a sound like a thunderclap inside a vacuum.
One moment, we were in the slipstream, a tunnel of violet light and distorted physics. The next, reality snapped back into place, and the Human Fleet—a ragtag collection of retrofitted destroyers, magic-infused cruisers, and Damon's personal dreadnought, *The Brick*—hung suspended in the void.
"Stabilizing engines," Zero announced through the fleet-wide comms. "Welcome to Station 9, Architect."
I stood on the bridge of the *Indomitable Spirit*, looking out the viewport.
I had expected a space station. Maybe something like the ISS on steroids, or a spinning wheel like in the old movies.
I was wrong.
Station 9 wasn't a station. It was a hollowed-out moon, stripped of its crust and filled with a neon-lit cityscape that spanned the entire interior. A force field shimmering like oil on water kept the atmosphere in, while thousands of ships—some organic, some crystalline, some looking like flying gothic cathedrals—swarmed around the docking spires.
It was massive. It was chaotic. It was beautiful.
And to my **[God's Eye]** passive perception, it looked like a giant loot pinata.
"Look at the mana signatures," Ren whispered, standing beside me. He was gripping his Void Staff tightly. "There are entities down there with power levels over 400. Thousands of them."
"Merchants," I corrected him. "Mercenaries. Travelers. This is a Safe Zone, Ren. Put the staff away."
"Safe Zone?" Damon snorted, walking onto the bridge eating a protein bar. "There's no such thing. Just places where you haven't pulled aggro yet."
I smiled. "Fair point. But today, we aren't here to conquer. We're here to update the patch notes."
I raised my hand, interfacing with the System.
Since the integration with the Galactic Net, my administrative privileges had expanded. I wasn't just the Admin of Earth anymore; I was a registered node in the universal network.
"Zero," I commanded. "Push the update to all human players in the fleet."
**[Executing Patch 2.1...]**
**[Synchronizing Earth Economy with Galactic Standard Credit (GSC).]**
**[New Feature Unlocked: The Galactic Exchange.]**
**[New Skill Auto-Learned: Universal Translation (Tier 1).]**
A ripple of blue light washed over the fleet. Thousands of players—soldiers, mages, and the crafting guilds we had brought along—suddenly saw their HUDs flicker and expand.
"Let's go shopping," I said.
***
**The Docks**
**Location: Hangar Bay 42-Alpha.**
We beamed down.
Teleportation technology was standard for high-tier civilizations, but Earth's version was... spicy. Instead of a gentle dissolve, we arrived in a thunderous crack of displaced air and golden sparks.
I materialized first, wearing my **[Architect's Robes]**. Ren appeared to my left in shifting shadows. Damon slammed down to my right, cracking the metal floor plates with his sheer weight.
Around us, the hangar was bustling.
Aliens of every shape and geometry were moving cargo. I saw gelatinous cubes floating on anti-grav pallets, insectoid creatures chittering over crates of plasma cells, and a being made entirely of vibrating sound waves arguing with a docking master.
The moment we arrived, the noise stopped.
Heads (and sensory stalks) turned. The crack of our arrival had drawn attention.
A docking official—a four-armed reptilian wearing a vest that said 'Port Authority' in three languages—slithered over. He looked annoyed.
"You broke the noise ordinance," the lizard hissed, his translator collar buzzing. "And you damaged the floor. That is a 500 Credit fine, primitive."
Ren stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "Watch your tone—"
I put a hand on Ren's shoulder.
"Credits," I mused.
I opened my inventory. I still had the **50 Billion Credits** from the sale of the Void Core.
I flicked my wrist. A holographic transfer window appeared.
"Here," I said.
**[Transfer: 50,000 Credits.]**
The docking official stared at his datapad. His slit pupils dilated until his eyes were entirely black.
"Five... fifty thousand?" he stammered. "Sir, the fine was only five hundred."
"Keep the change," I said, walking past him. "And ensure my fleet gets the premium fuel. The stuff you sell to the Type-3s. If I find out you gave us the watered-down hydrogen, I'll turn this moon into a donut."
I patted him on the shoulder. He flinched as if touched by a hot iron.
"Enjoy your stay, High Lord!" he squeaked, bowing so low his snout hit the floor.
We walked out of the hangar and into the bazaar proper.
"You overpaid," Damon grumbled. "I could have intimidated him for free."
"Money is a superpower, Damon," I said, looking at the sprawling market that stretched endlessly upwards along the curved interior of the moon. "And unlike my fists, it doesn't leave a mess to clean up."
***
**The Bazaar**
**Current Status: Cultural Exchange.**
The Station 9 market was an assault on the senses.
The air smelled of spices I couldn't name, burning ozone, and something that smelled suspiciously like blueberries. Holographic advertisements floated in the air, screaming about **[Hyper-drives]**, **[Slave Collars]**, and **[Soul-Binding Contracts]**.
But what interested me most was the *human* element.
I had brought three thousand players with me. The "Away Team." They were currently filtering into the market, eyes wide, systems pinging like crazy.
And the chaos had already started.
I stopped by a stall run by a nervous-looking human Alchemist named Sarah. She was surrounded by a group of tall, hairy aliens that looked like Wookies crossed with squids.
"It's called 'Coffee'," Sarah was explaining, holding up a bag of roasted beans. "**[Beans of Awakening]**. It restores Stamina and grants a temporary Int buff."
The aliens sniffed it. One of them nibbled a bean.
His eyes shot open. His fur stood on end. He let out a roar of pure, caffeinated ecstasy.
"POWER!" the alien screamed, vibrating. "I CAN SEE TIME!"
**[Transaction Complete.]**
**[Item Sold: 1kg Coffee Beans.]**
**[Price: 2,000 Credits.]**
Sarah's jaw dropped. "Two thousand? That's... that's like twenty thousand dollars back home!"
I chuckled.
"Zero," I whispered. "Note to self: Earth biologicals are narcotics to half the galaxy. Regulate the export tax immediately."
**[Acknowledged, Architect. The 'Caffeine Cartel' is being established.]**
We moved deeper into the market.
The System was adapting fast. The **[Galactic Exchange]** tab in my vision was scrolling with live data.
* **Selling:** Zorgon Scrap Metal (Earth surplus).
* **Buying:** Anti-Gravity plating, Fusion Cells, Skill Books.
It was arbitrage on a galactic scale. We were selling junk and buying magic.
"Boss," Ren said, his voice tight. "We have eyes on us."
"I know," I said.
I could feel them. Not the merchants. The predators.
In the shadows of the upper levels, stealth units were tracking us. Assassins. Spies. Likely sent by the Rim Coalition.
"Let them watch," I said. "I want them to see."
We arrived at the center of the Bazaar. A massive, open-air plaza dominated by a building made of black glass.
**The Gilded Auction House.**
"This is where the good stuff is," I said. "Drakon is a Warlord. Warlords love distinct, high-value items. If he's coming to this sector, he'll have agents here."
"We going in?" Damon asked, cracking his knuckles.
"We are."
The guards at the door were massive constructs, golems made of living obsidian. They crossed their spears as we approached.
"Invitation only," the golem rumbled. "Minimum liquid asset proof: 10 Million Credits."
I didn't break stride. I simply projected my credit balance onto the holographic display above the door.
**[Wallet: 49,999,950,000 Credits.]**
The golems froze. The display flashed red, then gold. The doors swung open so fast they nearly ripped off their hinges.
"Welcome, Honorable Guest," a disembodied voice cooed. "Please, take the Emperor's Box."
***
**The Auction**
**Item on Block: Planetary Core Fragment.**
The interior of the Auction House was like an opera house designed by a mad mathematician. Floating pods served as private boxes, circling a central stage where items levitated in stasis fields.
We sat in the highest box, overlooking the crowd.
The clientele was a "Who's Who" of galactic scum and villainy. I saw Hive Queens, Cyber-Liches, and beings of pure energy contained in containment suits.
"Why are we here?" Ren asked, scanning the crowd for threats. "Drakon is coming in a fleet. We should be in space."
"Drakon is a bully," I said, leaning back in the plush gravity-chair. "Bullies operate on reputation. I'm going to ruin his credit score before I break his face."
Below, the Auctioneer—a multi-limbed android—banged a gavel.
"Next item! Lot 404. A **[Star-Forged Claymore]**. Recovered from the ruins of the Titan Wars. Indestructible. Sharp enough to cut through a dimension. Bidding starts at 5 million!"
"Six million!" a voice shouted from a lower box.
It was a lizard-man in heavy red armor. The crest of the **Rim Coalition** was painted on his chest.
"That's him," Ren pointed. "Drakon's lieutenant. Krog."
"Seven million!" another bidder shouted.
"Ten million!" Krog roared. "By the order of Warlord Drakon, this blade belongs to the Rim! Bid against us, and the Warlord will visit your home world!"
The room went silent. The threat was real. Nobody wanted to provoke a Level 850 Warlord.
Krog grinned, showing rows of razor teeth. "Ten million. Going once..."
"One hundred million," I said.
My voice wasn't loud, but I used a touch of mana to carry it to every corner of the room.
Krog's head snapped up, looking at our box.
"Who dares?" he snarled.
"One hundred million," I repeated. "And I don't want the sword. I just want to use it as a toothpick."
The android auctioneer stuttered. "O-one hundred million... to the Guest in the Emperor's Box."
Krog slammed his fist on the railing. "Do you know who I represent? I am the Hand of Drakon! You are courting death, little fleshy thing!"
"Two hundred million," I said calmly.
The crowd gasped.
"Are you deaf?" Krog screamed. "I will flay you alive!"
"Three hundred million."
Krog turned purple. He tapped his comms, likely checking his authorization limit.
"Three hundred and fifty!" Krog yelled, sweating. "That is our limit! Yield!"
I looked down at him. I let a fraction of my **[Aura of the Sovereign]** leak out. Just enough to make the air in the room taste like ozone and imminent death.
"One billion," I said.
Silence. Absolute, crushing silence.
A billion credits could buy a small star system. I had just bid it on a sword I didn't need, solely to spite a lieutenant.
"Sold!" the Android shrieked before Krog could breathe.
The sword vanished from the stage and appeared in my inventory.
I pulled it out. It was a massive slab of celestial steel, humming with power. A Legendary-tier weapon.
I tossed it to Damon.
"Here," I said. "For peeling apples."
Damon caught it, grinning like a maniac. "Shiny."
Krog was shaking. Not with fear, but with incoherent rage. He pointed a trembling claw at me.
"You... you have humiliated the Coalition. Drakon is less than a parsec away. When he arrives—"
**[System Alert: Hostile Intent Detected.]**
The ceiling of the auction house suddenly dissolved.
Not dissolved by magic. Dissolved by impact.
A massive, jagged shape smashed through the station's roof, crushing the shield generator and venting the upper atmosphere into space. Emergency force fields flickered into life, sealing the breach, but the damage was done.
A ship—no, a drop pod the size of a skyscraper—slammed into the center of the auction stage, obliterating the android and the merchandise.
Dust and debris filled the air. A shockwave knocked the lesser patrons out of their pods.
I didn't move. My personal shield flared gold, deflecting the debris.
From the smoke, a figure emerged.
He was huge. At least twelve feet tall. His skin was grey granite, etched with glowing red runes. He wore armor made from the skulls of things that shouldn't exist. He carried an axe that leaked black smoke.
**[Boss Detected.]**
**[Name: Warlord Drakon.]**
**[Level: 850.]**
**[Title: The World Breaker.]**
Drakon stepped out of the crater. His presence was heavy, a physical weight that cracked the floor with every step. He ignored the screaming civilians. He ignored Krog, who was bowing on the floor.
He looked up. Straight at my box.
**"I SMELLED YOU,"** Drakon bellowed. His voice sounded like tectonic plates grinding together. **"THE ANOMALY. THE INFINITE ONE."**
He pointed his axe at me.
**"YOU SPEND GOLD LIKE A COWARD. COME DOWN. PAY THE TOLL IN BLOOD."**
Ren stood up, his shadows swirling violently. "Boss, he's here early."
"He is," I said, standing up.
I checked my internal clock.
**Day 1,229.**
**Growth Status: Active.**
I felt the power humming in my veins. The **Limit Breaker Serum** I had taken earlier was still active. My cooldowns were gone. My mana was infinite. And my patience for interruptions was at zero.
"Hold my coffee," I said to Ren.
I didn't take the stairs. I didn't teleport.
I simply stepped over the railing and let gravity take me.
I fell fifty meters, landing in the center of the crater, directly in front of the Warlord. I didn't bend my knees. The impact didn't kick up dust; it simply *erased* the kinetic energy because I willed it to.
I stood eye-to-chest with the giant.
Up close, he smelled of dried blood and burning stars.
"You broke the roof," I said, brushing a speck of dust off my robe. "I just bought this place. That comes out of your deposit."
Drakon laughed. It was a wet, ugly sound.
**"YOU ARE SMALL,"** he sneered. **"THE REPORTS SAID YOU WERE A GOD. YOU LOOK LIKE A SNACK."**
Drakon swung.
It wasn't a test swing. It was a killing blow. The axe, wreathed in Void Fire, came down with enough force to split a mountain. The air screamed as the sonic boom shattered the remaining glass in the auction house.
Time seemed to slow down.
I watched the axe descend. I calculated the trajectory. I analyzed the rune structure on the blade.
*Sloppy,* I thought. *Too much reliance on strength. No technique.*
I didn't dodge. I didn't block.
I raised one hand.
*Catch.*
My palm met the blade.
**BOOM.**
The shockwave leveled the first three rows of seating. Krog was blown backward into a wall. The ground beneath us vaporized, turning into a crater within a crater.
But I didn't move. My feet were planted. My arm didn't buckle.
I held the edge of the axe between my thumb and forefinger.
The Void Fire washed over me, hungry and cold, trying to consume my flesh. My **[Aura of the Sovereign]** ate it instead, turning the black flames into harmless golden sparks.
Drakon's eyes widened. For the first time in centuries, the Warlord looked confused. He strained, his massive muscles bulging as he tried to push the axe down.
It didn't budge. It was as if he had struck the core of a neutron star.
"Is that it?" I asked.
I applied a fraction of pressure.
*CRACK.*
The axe head—forged from the bones of a Void Leviathan, enchanted by dark sorcerers—shattered.
Drakon stumbled back, holding the broken handle. He stared at the shards of his weapon, then at me.
**"IMPOSSIBLE,"** he whispered. **"YOU ARE... YOU ARE LEVEL 100. THE SCAN SAYS..."**
"The scan is broken," I said, taking a step forward.
The air around me began to warp. The golden light in my eyes intensified, bleeding out into the real world, illuminating the dark auction house like a second sun.
"You came to test my limits," I said, my voice echoing from everywhere at once.
I clenched my fist. The air pressure in the room spiked. Gravity doubled, then tripled. Drakon fell to one knee, the floor cracking under him.
"But you made a mistake, Drakon."
I leaned in close, my face inches from his terrified, granite features.
"I don't have any."
**[System Alert: Combat Initiated.]**
**[Opponent: Warlord Drakon.]**
**[Odds of Success: 100%.]**
I pulled back my fist. Simple. Efficient.
"Let me show you what **Compound Interest** feels like."
**[Chapter 48 Ends.]**