Round 25: Betrayal Within (Part 1)

The moment he stepped through the portal, 47 felt as though some unimaginable force was pulling him infinitely apart—every gear and component in his body shared this sensation, as if he were crossing beyond physical space, into a chaotic void where the concept of “distance” held no meaning. 47 was certain this was different from the mechanism of cosmic wormholes. In his own era, even though people could create and destroy entire galaxies, they remained utterly clueless about the mysteries of time and space. Scientists proposed numerous theories and even resorted to unimaginable amounts of energy for experiments, but the results in laboratories paled in comparison to the actual creation of cosmic pathways that mirrored the stable high-dimensional distortions formed by nature’s incredible powers—just as killing a person differed vastly from creating one.

Everything was twisting and changing. The reality of physical existence blurred under the influence of magic, yet it maintained a strange order, carrying 47 to his destination. Macroscopic order and microscopic chaos flowed together under magic’s influence; consciousness fragmented into countless shards, forming a screaming torrent. It seemed every floating metal particle was thinking independently, leaving 47 with no idea how long the teleportation had lasted—whether it was an instant or an eternity. This absurd feeling made him wonder how ordinary people could endure such a world collapse, while he himself was doomed to wander forever in a realm that was neither mental nor real.

The feeling vanished—the spatial teleportation was over. 47 remained unchanged, neither turned into a fly nor anything else. He stepped onto the slightly damp stone floor outside the portal, looking around at the darkness. The teleportation had been completely normal, just like all the successful teleportations performed by magicians before him. Such a degree of spatial distortion and energy transformation yet failed to blow up the entire Deepwater City—so it seemed undeniable that this thing called “magic” was truly incredible.

Moriel had no idea what 47 was thinking, nor did she experience as many strange sensations as he did. Consciousness fell, then awakened—just a fleeting moment like a brief nap. Kani snapped her fingers, and several oil lamps on the wall slowly lit up, casting dim light that filled the chamber.

“This must have cost you a lot, right?” Moriel stepped out of the magic circle. Such a portal-creating spell circle only worked when activated by the user using specific incantations and artifacts. It wasn’t limited to transporting only the caster themselves, and though it could only move between two magic circles, its convenience and speed made it valuable—though its creation and maintenance came at a high price.

“Indeed,” Kani said. She walked toward the chamber door, carefully checking for any signs of tampering with the spells and traps on it before carefully unlocking the complex lock and opening the door with an inviting gesture.

47, of course, didn’t hesitate.

Nancy followed behind with two large bags on her back, holding a poisoned sword in the other hand. Inside the bags were the goods to be traded today—mainly two types: Pain Water and Abyssal Foot powder, which were far more potent than common substances like Devil Grass, and of course, their prices were vastly different. The drugs they carried today accounted for almost all of Kani’s inventory, worth a fortune enough to buy an ordinary merchant house in Deep Flow City. Moreover, aside from mages, almost no one could obtain these items.

“Be careful!” Kani snapped at Nancy from behind. “If you damage even a little bit of it, I’ll show you what real hell is!”

“Is it too heavy? Let me help you carry one,” Si Qi Shi said to Nancy. He rarely showed courtesy, and whenever he did, no one appreciated it.

As expected, Nancy recoiled, her attitude firm.

“No need.”

They emerged from the basement into a plain residential house. The old furniture was covered in a thick layer of dust, suggesting it had been unoccupied for a long time. There were some messy footprints outside, likely left by thieves who had visited—yet none of them noticed the secret door hidden behind a magic illusion on the wall.

“It seems this tavern isn’t very busy,” Si Qi Shi observed around him, but sadly, no one appreciated his joke.

“Is there no one living here as a cover?” Moriel found the messy environment uncomfortable, especially since every move Si Qi Shi made raised even more dust.

“Who can be trusted in this world?” Kani walked to the window and peeked outside through the cracks in the wood. “There’s always someone willing to pay more than you… It doesn’t matter. This place isn’t used often anyway. Come, this way.”

The four of them wandered through the labyrinthine buildings in the dock area. Some places were so narrow that only one person could pass through. The noisy voices came and went, muffled by the crude buildings, as if they were in another world. Kani led them through extremely secluded alleys. The occasional people they encountered were either drunk sailors or beaten-up men left beside trash piles, or poor fools who could only spend a few silver coins to have fun with street prostitutes in corners. The air was filled with the foul smell of rotting garbage, making Moriel feel this was a long and disgusting journey. Kani used an invisibility spell to conceal their figures and voices, so Si Qi Shi even reached out and gently patted the head of a burly man who was panting happily with his pants down. As a result, the man immediately collapsed unconscious on the woman beside him. The prostitute thought he was about to ejaculate, so she pushed him away, pulled up her skirt, and ran away without even bothering to check his pockets.

Forty-Seven rubbed his face; this wasn’t the effect he wanted. Moriel wore a fiercely angry expression and struck him on the head with his staff: “Don’t touch anything anymore… don’t touch anything at all!” After winding their way around, they finally reached the back door of the Cat’s Paw Tavern. It was a very remote dead end, nestled between messy buildings. When they first arrived, a pile of leftover bones was thrown from some window upstairs. It was a place even murderers would be too lazy to use as a crime scene, so filthy that there wasn’t even a spot to commit a murder. At the end of the alley was an oily old wooden door, stained and worn out, with only half of the sign still attached, so dirty that it was barely recognizable—only vaguely suggesting the shape of a cat’s paw.

Forty-Seven rubbed his face again, not because of heat or itching, but because he now felt it wasn’t so cool having this thing stuck on him. Moreover, drug dealing wasn’t as glamorous as he had imagined; it was actually sneaky. What was there to fear? If the police showed up, they’d just fight them—after all, that’s what movies showed. Still, he remembered Moriel’s warning not to touch anything, so he reluctantly allowed Kani to go ahead and knock on the door.

Kani’s knocking was rhythmic, clearly a prearranged signal.

There was no response from the back door of the Cat’s Paw Tavern. Instead, a wall in a nearby recess opened. This trick excited Forty-Seven a bit, but his interest faded when he saw a drunk bartender instead of a man in black wearing sunglasses.

The bartender squinted to clear the way, and Moriel and the others entered one after another. As Forty-Seven passed by, the bartender rubbed his eyes again. His bulging, pale, distorted face wasn’t due to his vision being distorted by alcohol after all.

The narrow corridor was dim and dirty. Through the wooden walls, faint sounds of patrons having fun could be heard. They hadn’t entered the tavern’s front hall—no wonder. After all, such things wouldn’t happen in public, with half-naked dancers and beer being consumed in front of everyone.

The room, of unknown size, was pitch black, except for an oil lamp burning on a table in the center, casting light on a gloomy face beside it that kept swaying. Moriel and the others also sensed dozens of breaths spreading through the darkness around them, making the entire room feel like a theater—with a stage illuminated by spotlights, audience in the shadows, and a spectacular show about to begin, everything in place.

“I told you this tavern isn’t doing well,” Forty-Seven said, scanning the room and taking in all the idiots lurking inside clearly.

“Do we really need to save on lamp oil for such a big operation?” Moriel complained as she walked toward the table in the center with Kani. Before the gloomy figure beside the table could react, she pulled out a chair and sat down. Under the light from that table, everyone’s gaze focused on Moriel’s tattooed, beautiful face, their eyes filled with hostility and suspicion.

Nancy stood behind Kani, while Forty-Seven glanced around, casually dragged a chair over to another table nearby, and sat down next to the two men in the shadows. He then slammed the iron box in his hands onto the ground with a dull thud.
“Go on, ignore me,” Forty-Seven waved at the people whose attention he had drawn, sitting there in a domineering manner. Though he was actually just an observer, he acted as if he were the top leader in the room. He also smiled at the two men sitting beside him. Fortunately, the dim lighting prevented those clearly nervous guys from being scared into taking action by his grim, deathly face.
“Ms. Kani, I don’t recall you mentioning you had another Red Robe Mage partner,” said the figure sitting at the same table as Moriel, sizing her up. “That’s not in accordance with the rules. She can’t be your bodyguard like those two warriors, can she?”
“Oh? Would the servants of the Eternal Dark Days be afraid of two women?” Moriel poured herself a glass of wine without hesitation. “There are at least twenty of you here.”
“Hey, Parkman, my friend. What does it matter? We’ve been friends for a long time. And with such a big deal this time, it’s not too much for my friend to come and check things out in person, is it?” Kani placed her hands on the table, her arms resting on the edge, looking like a magic apprentice in class: “…She’s a very important partner of mine.”
Due to Moriel’s subtle signal, Kani didn’t reveal her name.
The Chirek believer named Parkman stared at Moriel rudely. While most Chirek believers were sardonic and gloomy, this Mr. Parkman seemed even worse. Dark circles under his eyes suggested he hadn’t slept in months, his chapped lips indicated he hadn’t drunk water for months, and his emaciated cheeks and yellowish hair made one suspect he suffered from severe malnutrition. Sitting nearby, Forty-Seven thought maliciously that this guy must consume all the drugs he bought himself every time.
“Yes… such a big deal,” Parkman’s voice was deep, hoarse, and thick with a nasal accent, sounding like he had a cold. But given his appearance, it was possible he had lung disease as well. “Where’s the goods?”
Kani gestured toward Nancy.
The warrior untied the two large bags on her back and placed them on the table. Inside were tightly packed square boxes and cylindrical metal tubes. Parkman reached out, and somehow a dagger with a black glow appeared in his hand. He untied the ropes, picked up a box at random, and pried open its lid. Inside were dark yellow crystalline powders—emitting some indescribable but extremely unpleasant smell.
Parkman picked up a little with the tip of the dagger and brought it to his nose. Then, as if punched hard, he fell backward, leaning against the chair, his neck stretched back desperately, his face twisted in apparent agony, with the joints in his body creaking loudly—a truly terrifying sight.
“This guy can’t wait anymore, can he?” Forty-Seven thought to himself.

“All of the best! I dare say there’s nothing purer in all the Northlands—everything is crafted from carefully selected Abyssal Plants!” Kani was proud of everything: “And these Pain Waters—they’re the embodiment of pain, yet they bring you unimaginable pleasure…”
At that point, Kani seemed puzzled: “But aren’t you planning to buy Devil Grass and Hallucination Powder? How could the poor folks in Deepstream City afford such high-end items?”
“That’s our concern,” Parkerman said, seeming more energetic after calming down, his eyes even more eerie: “Old routine—white gold coins and gems to pay?”
“Of course!” Kani rubbed her hands together; she seemed completely immersed in the joy of making a profit.
A Shrike cultist came over, placing a bulging cowhide bag of moderate size on the table. Given how hard he was working, the weight inside must have been considerable.
Parkerman untied the bag’s opening, reached in, and pulled out a small round object, tossing it at Kani. It rolled through the air in a parabolic path toward the dwarf woman, shining with a brilliance as dazzling as the sun even in the dim room.
Kani caught it and examined it closely—its size and thickness were similar to ordinary coins, but it seemed to glow on its own, beautiful and bright, entirely white as if it were solidified light.
The dwarf woman caressed it affectionately: “Ah… no matter how many times I see it, it’s still so beautiful.”
“Then is it a deal?” Parkerman pointed at the two piles of magical drugs on the table. The Shrike cultist behind him immediately stepped forward to put them back in the bag, ready to leave.
“Wait a moment,” Morriel suddenly reached out to stop the cultist: “Mr. Parkerman, aren’t you going to exchange money for goods?”
“Oh? Ah.” Parkerman laughed heartily and pushed the heavy bag over. Kani even stumbled backward to stop its momentum. After catching the bag, she immediately peered inside; her face was illuminated by the reflection of the white gold coins.
“Though I haven’t asked yet…” Paq raised his glass: “But since things are going so smoothly, it’s worth celebrating!”
“Yes,” Morriel said, taking the white gold coin that Parkerman had thrown earlier and which Kani was holding. She held it in her hand for a moment: “From what I know about the Church of the Dark Sun, you’re quite rare for following business rules.”
This sarcastic remark made Parkerman’s expression change, but before he could say anything, Morriel threw the white gold coin back to him: “Please keep it as a memento of this successful deal.”
Parkerman caught the coin and suddenly smiled wickedly. He brought it to his lips, kissed it, and even licked it, as if he had defiled Morriel through such indirect contact.
Then he stuffed the coin into his clothes: “Of course. I’ll keep it well as a memento… beautiful lady.”

Watching Parkman put away the coins, Moriel also smiled. Yet she still didn’t take her hand off the bag containing the drugs. “There’s one more thing… I’d like to ask you for some information.”
“Information?” Parkman was surprised. A Red Robe Mage who had bases in almost every major city on the continent and countless spies would actually ask him for information? It would make more sense if he wanted some rare magical item or wanted to assassinate someone.
“Well, beautiful lady, what would you like to know?”
“O’Sullivan.” The name Moriel uttered made Parkman shudder. Even the one who had been watching, Number 47, sat up straight—there was still a score to settle with this brat who dared throw him into the sea.
“Is Sir O’Sullivan doing well?” Moriel asked, noticing Parkman’s increasingly dark expression. “Actually, I know him quite well. Is he in Deep Current City now? If possible, could I meet with him?”
Parkman’s gaze wandered, as he twisted the dagger in his hand. The atmosphere in the room suddenly became tense. The two men sitting with Number 47 had even drawn their weapons.
Suddenly, Parkman slammed the dagger onto the table.
“An old acquaintance? Are you Moriel of the Red Robes from Agus?”