Why did that woman latch onto *him* first? George was walking in front, so why didn't she hit on him instead? Did "newbie" have his name written all over his forehead?
George was probably laughing under that hood. Thunder couldn't see his face, but those twitching shoulders gave him away.
"We're busy," George said to the woman. "Come back later."
She stepped off without a fight, but not before giving Thunder a long, knowing look. She giggled and whispered, "So shy! Don't forget me when you're done. I'll make sure your first time's unforgettable!"
Thunder turned red. He felt like he'd just walked into a trap.
After she left, George gave him a meaningful look. "You handled that well."
"Handled what?" Thunder glanced down at himself. Thank the gods for oversized robes. That woman had definitely felt something.
"You didn't get angry or hit her," George said. "Most people here would've either gotten mad or jumped at the offer."
"I don't hit women," Thunder replied.
"You better not. Not here. This place is run by Faeril's biggest underground gang. They control the brothels, the gambling dens—everything. If you play nice, they leave you alone. Push too hard, and things go bad fast."
"You *knew* that woman would come onto me, didn't you?" Thunder narrowed his eyes. "You didn't even warn me!"
"Forgotten," George shrugged. "Been a while since I came through."
It was clear George knew this place well. As they walked, he pointed out different shops—exactly what Thunder expected: an underground black market. Anything illegal to buy or sell in public could be found here.
"That's the poison shop," George said casually. "If you ever need something nasty, come here."
He was lumping Thunder in with the kind of people who killed for coin.
In this place, the only law was the black market's rules.
They stopped at a shop marked by an iron hammer sign. The name, *Durgan's Thunder*, screamed dwarven pride.
Inside, the smell of molten metal filled the air. Shelves were stacked with gleaming weapons. Armor sets hung along the walls.
Behind the counter stood a broad-shouldered smith, cursing as he swung a hammer. He looked up. "What do you want?"
"Selling some gear," George said. Then he motioned to Thunder.
"Let's see it!" the smith barked. He slammed his hammer onto the table, eyes sharp and impatient.
Thunder stepped forward, pulling out the greatsword from his satchel. He laid it on the counter.
The smith grabbed it, swung it a few times, then studied the blade closely. "Steel's good. Craftsmanship's okay. Edge's messed up—whoever sharpened this was an idiot. Three thousand gold."
Thunder glanced at George. George nodded. Price was fair for the slums.
Next came the massive battle axe—3,500 gold.
Two daggers from the small assassin-type girl—800 gold total.
A bow from the archer—1,000 gold.
Then two sets of armor: light armor from the agile swordsman, heavy plate from the axe brute—4,000 combined.
This crew must've been loaded. Their gear wasn't cheap.
Thunder kept handing out items. One by one, the smith priced them. George double-checked each. All clear.
At last, Thunder pulled out the mage's staff. He'd already removed the crystal core.
The smith took one look and tossed it back. "Not interested."
"What? Why?" Thunder was shocked. Maria had said it was worth at least 30,000 gold.
"You think a blacksmith buys magic staves? What the hell would I do with it?" the smith growled.
"Different shop," George tugged Thunder's robe. Thunder flushed. Rookie mistake. Totally embarrassing.
"That's it," Thunder muttered. Everything from Silver Snake was sold.
Total? **12,300 gold coins.**
Thunder swallowed hard. He'd worked his ass off for missions that paid half that—6,000 total. And now… boom. Overnight, more than double.
Life's funny, huh?
Pocketing the coins, Thunder followed George out of Durgan's Thunder, and into a nearby magic shop.
Just as Maria guessed, the staff was worth about 30,000 gold. The store owner offered 17,000 for it.
No questions asked.
Thunder took the deal.
Final count? **29,300 gold.**
Will Thunder manage to keep his new fortune safe? Or will someone in the slums come after him next?