Straightforward guy, that's what Thunder liked.
George didn't have the usual sleazy or snobbish traits most merchants had. Instead, he carried a bit of a江湖 (jianghu)—a kind of old-school, rough-around-the-edges vibe. Although Thunder had only met George once before, he trusted his instincts. He'd studied human nature under the Longhu Sect, and his gut told him George was an honest man. Someone who wouldn't betray trust.
Otherwise, he wouldn't have sold those enchanted scrolls last time.
Hearing George speak so openly, Thunder nodded without hesitation. "I came here because I need your help, and since you're so straightforward, I'll get right to it. I've got some weapons and armor to sell—decent quality—but I'm not sure where to move them."
"Big quantity?" George raised an eyebrow, looking at Thunder like he was some kind of black-market arms dealer. He felt more and more like he couldn't read this young man anymore. What *didn't* he sell?
"It's not much—just a few sets." Thunder replied. "But they're full sets. Like a light armor set with a greatsword for a warrior, or heavy plate armor with a battle axe, like a guardian knight would use."
George understood now. Even without details, he could piece it together. These weren't items you could just sell in any shop—they had to come from somewhere shady. Looking at Thunder again, George realized this kid was definitely not ordinary.
"No problem," George said with a chuckle. "Follow me."
His shop dealt in magical goods, directly catering to mages. But the gear Thunder brought wasn't really magical—except maybe the chestplate—so selling it through regular channels wouldn't work. This slum deal might be just the trick.
Inside a back room, George pulled out two large robes, handed one to Thunder, and put one on himself. Then he grabbed a couple of cloaks and draped them over their heads, hiding their faces.
"This feels weird," Thunder muttered.
George smiled. "Relax. This kind of look isn't strange around here. There are plenty of eccentric adventurers in Faeril wearing far weirder stuff."
Thunder remembered seeing a lot of odd characters at the Mercenary Guild. Some even wore face masks all the time.
"So, where are we going?" he asked.
"To the slums," George pointed east. "Every city has its underground networks. In Faeril, the slums are a hotbed of crime and opportunity. You'll find failed adventurers, local thugs, and sometimes even high-class mages like yourself passing through. It's the perfect place to sell things that can't be sold elsewhere. So even though it's called the slums, it's not exactly poor—it's just wildly unequal. The rich are very rich, and the poor are terribly poor."
Thunder had never been deep into the city—he lived in the countryside. Now he realized Faeril had a hidden side he'd never seen.
*A black market? Definitely.*
*Young onions are fresh and fragrant; old ginger is spicier.*
Following George, they twisted through streets and alleys. Thunder tried to memorize the route while noting landmarks. George moved like he owned the path, calm and confident.
After about half an hour, the scenery changed. Gone were the bustling shops and clean streets. Now, the buildings were falling apart, and the people looked tired and hungry.
As they walked deeper, the noise grew louder.
"When we get there, let me talk," George whispered as they entered a narrow alley.
"Got it," Thunder pulled his hood lower.
"This is the only safe entrance. The others are locked down tight. If you want through, you pay a fee."
Just ahead, two massive men blocked the way. Half-naked, muscles bulging, each held a cleaver. Their eyes scanned the crowd like predators hunting prey.
George stepped forward calmly. As he neared, the men crossed their arms, blocking the path.
"A little help?" George made a quick hand sign Thunder didn't recognize.
The men relaxed slightly but eyed Thunder suspiciously. "What about him?"
"My associate," George said. "He's here to sell something."
"Standard rule," one said, pinching two fingers together.
George nodded, handing each man a gold coin. They pocketed the coins without another word and stepped aside.
George motioned for Thunder to follow.
*That gesture… I should ask him about it later,* Thunder thought.
The moment he stepped into the slums, heat hit him, mixed with sweat and stench.
It was huge—much bigger than he imagined. Before he could take it all in, a woman in skimpy clothes approached. Her body barely covered, her chest bounced with every step. She pressed herself against Thunder, whispering in his ear, "Want some fun? Only one gold."
She rubbed against him, running her hands across his chest.
Thunder shot George a helpless look. He hadn't expected to be hit with *this* kind of offer first.
Will Thunder survive the dangers of the slums? Or will he lose more than just gold tonight?