"A wise cultivator does not seek loyalty — they purchase it wisely and guard it with silence." — Ancient Chaos Sect Adage
The Enchanted Palace stood high under the afternoon sun, its jade roofs gleaming and its banners fluttering in the golden light. From above, it looked like a celestial temple — radiant, grand, and perfect.
But below its polished marble floors, beneath the gilded stairs and the crystal halls, another world existed — one darker, truer, and far more alive.
The Black Market of Asterion.
Miralyn stood by the balcony railing on the third floor, a delicate cup of tea in her hand, her violet eyes following the figure of Crystal as she descended the hidden stairway leading below.
From this distance, her face was unreadable — but her gaze was sharp, the faint curve of her lips betraying a mind that missed nothing.
"She's changed," she murmured softly, her tone thoughtful. "But into what?"
The wind tugged at her silver hair as she watched until the dark staircase swallowed Crystal's silhouette completely.
Behind her, footsteps echoed.
Lyra entered the balcony garden, her white robes still dusted from her earlier encounter. The sun had risen higher now, casting warm light over the third-floor gardens — a masterpiece of spirit flora.
Flowers with petals of starlight shimmered beside trees that hummed with gentle spiritual energy. Butterflies made of qi drifted lazily through the air, their wings leaving faint trails of chaos mist.
Lyra paused among them, taking in the calm.
The scent of lotus and spirit grass filled her lungs. The pain in her neck and back still lingered from Raven's attack, but she ignored it, kneeling to touch the cool marble path.
The warmth of the light, the soft hum of life — it was peaceful. Almost painfully so.
She smiled faintly, though her eyes carried no joy.
"Peace suits this place," she whispered, "even if the people in it do not."
The servants watering the flowers bowed as she passed. They all knew who she was — the useless daughter, the one born without a chaos world.
But Lyra didn't seem to care. She never had.
If anything, she looked… content.
To others, her calmness seemed weakness. To her, it was freedom.
"Chaos energy," she murmured, glancing at her palm as a butterfly landed on her finger. "You all worship it like it's the only path to life. Maybe one day, someone will prove you wrong."
The butterfly dissolved into light and drifted away on the wind.
And somewhere below, in the black market's shadowed depths, that "someone" was already moving.
Crystal descended the narrow stairway, her boots clicking softly against the steps. The deeper she went, the fainter the sunlight became, replaced by the glow of red spirit lanterns hanging from chains.
Each step carried her away from nobility — and closer to reality.
The Black Market of Asterion wasn't like the noisy bazaars above. Here, the air was thick with smoke, the scent of incense and greed intertwined. Merchants whispered deals behind closed doors. Rogues, mercenaries, and wanderers lounged at corners, each wearing expressions that told of too many battles and too few victories.
The sounds were low and constant — murmurs, the clink of coins, the faint hum of chaos qi being traded like wine.
It wasn't the most honorable place in Asterion. But it was the most honest.
Mari walked close behind, her wide eyes darting around nervously. "M-My lady… are you sure about this? This place—"
"—is where I'll find what I need," Crystal interrupted gently.
Her voice carried no hesitation, only calm certainty.
Mari hesitated, clutching her pouch tighter. "But you're the General's granddaughter! If anyone sees you down here—"
"They won't," Crystal said. "And even if they did, it wouldn't matter. People only see what they're paid to."
They passed a row of vendors selling everything from spirit herbs to forbidden weapons. Crystals that shimmered with captured qi pulsed faintly in glass cases. At one stall, a man whispered incantations over a chained beast, its eyes glowing faintly red.
Mari flinched. "This place feels cursed…"
Crystal smiled slightly. "That's because it's real. No one pretends down here."
Finally, they stopped before a small, unimpressive stall wedged between two towering shops. The sign above it read simply:
"Mercenaries for Hire — Discretion Guaranteed."
An older man sat behind the counter, smoking a long pipe that smelled faintly of burning herbs. His eyes, though half-lidded, were sharp — the kind that had seen every kind of person walk through this market.
When he noticed Crystal, he raised a brow. "Not every day we get nobles down here. You lost, little miss?"
Crystal met his gaze without flinching. "I need five men. Skilled, quiet, and loyal enough not to sell their employer to the highest bidder."
The man chuckled, setting his pipe aside. "Loyalty's expensive these days. Gold or blood — which do you have more of?"
"Both," Crystal replied smoothly. "But I prefer to pay in coin."
The man's smile widened. "Heh. Spoken like a true merchant of survival."
Mari tugged nervously at her sleeve. "My lady, you can't be serious! You have the Asura Fort — hundreds of soldiers trained under your family's banner. Why hire mercenaries?"
Crystal turned her head slightly, her eyes glinting with faint amusement. "Because loyalty that's given is weakness, Mari. Loyalty that's earned is dangerous."
Her tone softened just a little. "Every loyalty has a price. But a person who values their job more than money…"
She paused, glancing back at the mercenary seller. "…is worth buying twice."
The man laughed quietly. "There's an old saying down here, noble lady — 'There is honor among thieves.' Guess you've heard it before."
Crystal's lips curved in a small smile. "I've lived it."
That answer made even Mari stare at her, startled.
She'd known Lady Crystal her whole life — spoiled, temperamental, proud. But the young woman standing before her now wasn't acting like a pampered noble. She was sharp, cold, and strangely… wise.
The kind of wisdom one only earns by dying once.
Mari hesitated, lowering her voice. "My lady… what are you planning? Why do you need guards at all?"
Crystal didn't answer immediately. She looked around — at the flickering lanterns, the endless stalls, the strangers passing by without meeting eyes.
For a moment, she looked almost nostalgic.
Then she smiled — a small, quiet smile that carried no warmth.
"Call it…" she paused, thinking, "…mutiny."
Mari blinked, startled. "M-Mutiny?"
Crystal laughed — a soft, melodic sound that somehow made the old shopkeeper shiver.
"Yes," she said. "Mutiny against fate."
With that, she turned and walked away, her cloak catching the dim red glow of the lanterns as she disappeared into the crowd.
The shopkeeper watched her go, his hand frozen mid-motion on his pipe. "Mutiny, huh?" he muttered. "Now that's a word I haven't heard in years."
Mari followed close behind, still confused, still nervous — but part of her couldn't shake the feeling that her lady wasn't joking.
Whatever Crystal was planning… it wasn't just rebellion.
It was the beginning of something greater.
Something dangerous.
Far above them, Miralyn still stood at the railing, sipping her tea.
She looked down toward the faint light glowing from the depths of the market, where Crystal had vanished moments ago.
Her lips curved faintly. "Mutiny," she repeated, amused. "Interesting choice of word."
Her reflection shimmered faintly in the polished glass of her cup — and for just a moment, it wasn't her face looking back.
It was someone else's.
Someone older.
Someone who smiled like death itself.
"The first act of rebellion is not against others — it is against the weakness within." — Teachings of the Wandering Sage