Black Market District - The Sunken Garden - 5:51 AM
The dealer who called himself "Merchant" sat in a booth at the back of the underground bar, counting money.
Real paper money, not digital credits. The kind of currency that left no traces.
Across from him, a woman in a hood waited silently.
"Information like this doesn't come cheap," Merchant said, not looking up from his counting. "You understand that, yes?"
"I understand." The woman's voice was flat. "You have the Damascus files?"
"Fragments. About 40% of the complete Protocol." Merchant finally looked up, revealing a face covered in burn scars. "Enough to identify active seed recipients. Enough to know their weaknesses. Not enough to know where the full archive is stored."
"Who's selling?"
"That's the interesting part." Merchant smiled, showing gold teeth. "I don't know."
The woman leaned forward. "You're the best information broker in Seoul. You expect me to believe—"
"I expect you to believe exactly what I'm telling you." Merchant's smile vanished. "The data appeared in my dead drop three days ago. No message. No seller contact. Just the files and a note: 'Distribute to highest bidders. Keep 20% as commission.'"
"Someone's using you."
"Obviously. But their money spends the same as anyone else's." Merchant pushed a data chip across the table. "Damascus Protocol, partial archive. Forty million credits."
The woman didn't touch the chip. "How many copies have you sold?"
"You'd be the seventh."
"Who were the others?"
"Confidential. But I can tell you this—they represented six different factions. None of them were happy to learn others had the same information."
The woman finally took the chip. "The data's legitimate?"
"I verified it against three independent sources. It's real." Merchant resumed counting money. "Whatever's about to happen, it's going to be bloody. Multiple factions moving on the same targets. Someone's orchestrating chaos."
"Why?"
"Wrong question." Merchant looked up again. "You should be asking: who benefits from every major faction fighting over Primordial seed recipients?"
The woman stood. "You have a theory?"
"I have many theories. None of them make sense." Merchant gestured at the chip. "But in three days, I suspect we'll find out. Assuming we survive that long."
The woman left without another word.
Merchant watched her go, then pulled out his own communicator. He typed a message to an encrypted number:
SEVENTH COPY SOLD. BUYERS ARE MOBILIZING. ESTIMATE CONVERGENCE IN 60 HOURS.
The response came immediately:
EXCELLENT. PHASE TWO BEGINS. CONTINUE DISTRIBUTION.
Merchant deleted both messages and resumed counting money.
He'd been in the information business for thirty years. Seen countless schemes, betrayals, power plays.
This was different.
Whoever orchestrated the Damascus leak wasn't just selling information. They were weaponizing it. Turning knowledge into a trigger for mass conflict.
The smart play would be to close shop and disappear for a month.
But Merchant hadn't become Seoul's premier information broker by making smart plays.
He signaled the bartender for another drink and waited for the eighth buyer to arrive.
---
Crucible Initiative - Training Ground 4 - 6:15 AM
Yoo stood in the center of the empty training ground, eyes closed, breathing steady.
He'd been awake all night. Not from the seed's interference—that had stabilized at 53% integration. Just from habit. Sleep felt like wasted time.
Around him, twelve practice dummies stood at measured intervals. Each one represented a different monster type from the Bronze-tier bestiary.
Akasha Archive, simulate combat scenario. Multiple Bronze 15 threats, random attack patterns.
"Acknowledged. Simulation beginning in 3... 2... 1..."
The dummies activated. Not actually moving—Crucible's training equipment couldn't replicate true combat. But Akasha Archive could fill in the gaps, using Yoo's enhanced perception to create a mental overlay.
In his mind's eye, the dummies became real monsters.
He moved.
First dummy—Beast-series, lunging attack. Yoo sidestepped, hand snapping out to strike its throat. In reality, his palm hit reinforced padding. In his mind, the creature collapsed.
Second dummy—Spirit-series, ranged attack. Yoo dropped low, rolled, came up inside its guard. Strike to the core.
Third, fourth, fifth in rapid succession.
His body was still Iron 19, but his processing speed had doubled since the seed integration began. He saw attacks before they fully formed. Read patterns in muscle tension and weight distribution.
"Current efficiency: 87%. Sixteen wasted movements in sequence. Processing revised combat path."
Akasha Archive overlaid the optimal solution in his vision—ghostly afterimages showing perfect positioning.
Yoo adjusted. Repeated the sequence.
Efficiency: 89%.
Again.
91%.
Again.
"That's enough."
Yoo stopped mid-strike. Turned.
Instructor Han stood at the training ground entrance, arms crossed. She looked tired—more tired than usual. Her uniform was rumpled, like she'd been up all night.
"You've been training for six hours," Han said. "Without rest. Without water. You're going to collapse."
"I'm fine."
"You're still Iron rank. Your body can't handle this pace."
"My body adapts." Yoo grabbed a towel, wiping sweat. "Each session increases tolerance. The seed accelerates recovery. I heal faster than I damage."
"That's not how human physiology works."
"I'm 53% human. Perhaps that's the issue."
Han's expression flickered. Not quite anger. Something closer to resignation.
"Come with me. Director wants to see you."
Yoo followed her out of the training ground, into corridors that smelled like antiseptic, a place reserved for liscenced drug dealers. Other Crucible personnel moved past them—researchers, guards, administrators. None met his eyes.
Are they afraid of me, he noted. Or they've been ordered not to interact.
"There was an incident," Han said as they walked. "Last night. In Sublevel 9."
"What kind of incident?"
"The kind that makes powerful people nervous." Han's jaw was tight. "And when powerful people get nervous, they start making decisions. Violent ones."
They reached an elevator. Han pressed her palm to the scanner. The doors opened immediately—priority access.
"Am I in danger?" Yoo asked.
"You've been in danger since Kaelthas chose you." The elevator descended. "But now the danger has a timeline. Three days, maybe less."
"Three days until what?"
Han didn't answer immediately. The elevator passed Sublevel 1, Sublevel 2, Sublevel 3 where Yoo's cell was located.
They went deeper.
Sublevel 9.
The doors opened onto chaos.
Armed guards everywhere. Investigators scanning walls, floors, ceilings. A medical team wheeling something covered in white sheets past them on a gurney.
A body.
"Dr. Chen worked in Archives," Han said quietly. "Twelve years with Crucible. Loyal. Careful. Someone cut his throat and left him to bleed out on the vault floor."
Yoo watched the gurney disappear around a corner. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you're smart enough to figure it out anyway." Han led him past security checkpoints, deeper into the investigation zone. "Better you hear it from me than piece together fragments and draw wrong conclusions."
They stopped outside the vault. Through the open door, Yoo could see blood on the floor. A lot of blood.
"Files on Primordial seed recipients were leaked," Han continued. "Not stolen—leaked. Someone's distributing information to multiple factions deliberately. Your information. Location, rank, integration percentage, estimated value. Everything."
Yoo's mind processed this rapidly. Multiple factions receiving same data. Deliberate distribution. Killed anyone who knew
details.
"Someone wants factions fighting over seed recipients," he said. "Create chaos. Use the conflict to—"
"We don't know what the end goal is yet." Han cut him off. "But you're the highest value target in the Damascus Protocol. Eight billion credits. Every faction in Seoul just learned exactly where you are."
Yoo looked at the blood again. Dr. Chen had died for this information. Or died trying to protect it. Or died because he knew too much.
"The cooperation agreement," Yoo said slowly. "It's compromised."
"Effectively, yes. We can't guarantee your safety here anymore. Too many people want you. Too much money at stake." Han turned to face him directly. "Director Kwan is considering options. Transferring you. Increased security. Early termination of the agreement."
"Or letting me die in the crossfire and studying the results."
Han didn't deny it. "That's one option he's considering."
Yoo studied her face. Platinum 43. Skilled fighter. Currently exhausted and stressed. "You're here to gauge my reaction. See if I'll panic. Try to escape. Give Director leverage."
"I'm here," Han said carefully, "because someone should tell you the truth before you walk into a knife without knowing why."
They stood in silence for a moment. Around them, investigators worked. Taking samples. Recording data. Building a picture of how Dr. Chen died.
"Three days," Yoo said finally. "What happens in three days?"
"We found evidence of a ritual. Something called the Serpent's Eye. It requires specific components and a... convergence point." Han glanced at the investigators, lowering her voice. "Whatever ritual uses the Damascus data, it culminates in three days. Multiple factions are racing to prepare."
"And I'm part of the ritual?"
"You're the ritual's target. Or one of seven targets." Han handed him a data chip. "This is everything we know so far. Read it. Memorize it. Then destroy it. If Director finds out I gave you this—"
"You'll be reassigned or executed." Yoo pocketed the chip. "Why take the risk?"
Han looked at the blood on the vault floor again. "Because Dr. Chen was my friend. And because whatever's coming, you deserve a fighting chance."
She walked away, leaving Yoo standing outside the vault.
He waited until she was gone, then pulled out the chip.
Akasha Archive, prepare analysis.
"Acknowledged."
But before he could insert it into a reader, a hand grabbed his shoulder.
Yoo spun, body automatically shifting into combat stance—
"Easy." The man who'd grabbed him was old, maybe sixty, with silver hair and Gold 38 rank signature. "You Yoo Seung-yoon?"
"Yes."
"Good." The man smiled, but his eyes were cold. "We need to talk about the next three days. And why you're going to help us whether you want to or not."
His hand tightened on Yoo's shoulder, grip like a vice.
"Come quietly. Or I break your arm and carry you. Your choice, kid."