Supplies

Parting ways with Silas, Max wove through the dimly lit market, his eyes scanning the countless stalls lining the underground bazaar. The scent of metal, leather, and something faintly herbal lingered in the air, mixing with the quiet murmurs of masked figures exchanging goods. This place was a hidden world in itself—one where identities didn't matter, only transactions did.

Reaching a currency exchange booth tucked between a weapons stall and a potion vendor, Max pulled out the sleek black card Silas had given him. The card was smooth to the touch, weighty in a way that signified its importance. He handed it to the employee behind the counter—a man in a plain gray hooded cloak whose face remained entirely shadowed.

The man took the card without a word and inserted it into a reinforced metal box sitting on the counter. A moment later—

Ding.

A soft chime echoed as a thin slit opened on the box, sliding the card back out. The employee retrieved it and handed it back to Max.

"How much?" the man finally asked, his voice dull and uninterested.

"900," Max replied without hesitation.

The employee nodded, placing the card into a scanner beside him. A faint blue light flickered over it before the screen confirmed the transfer. With a small click, the machine sealed the deal.

"Everything is set. Please enjoy your visit," the employee said, his tone monotonous, as if he had done this a thousand times before.

Max gave a slight nod, pocketing the card before quickly moving toward the bustling stalls. 

Max moved through the stalls at a steady pace, keeping a mental catalog of everything that caught his interest. The underground market had no shortage of rare and illicit goods—enchanted gear, alchemical concoctions, even monster parts preserved in jars. 

After a few minutes, he spotted what he was looking for—a vendor selling dimensional storage devices. A necessity for what he had in mind.

The merchant was an older man, dressed in a simple brown coat with reinforced leather gloves. The display behind him showcased a variety of storage artifacts, ranging from palm-sized rings to bulky metal crates inscribed with glowing runes.

Max already knew the problem before even asking. The bigger the storage, the higher the price. And he wasn't exactly working with unlimited funds.

Still, he had no choice. Carrying monster corpses one by one back to the dungeon entrance wasn't just impractical—it was an open invitation for someone to rob him blind.

"How much storage can 700 crowns get me?" Max asked, keeping his voice casual.

The vendor scratched his chin, considering. "700? Hm… that'll get you about 50 cubic meters."

Max nodded. It wasn't massive, but it was more than enough for an F-rank dungeon run.

"Perfect." He scanned his card.

The vendor gave a brief nod and handed him a small, black metallic cube no larger than a sugar cube. "Just pour a little bit of mana into it to open the inventory. Think of where you want the item to go, and it'll be stored automatically. Don't lose it—it's bound to you now."

"Got it." Max pocketed the cube.

Now, for the next issue—a weapon.

Nexus-issued weapons were strictly regulated and couldn't be taken off school grounds, which meant Max needed to buy his own. And if he was going to run a dungeon alone, he couldn't afford something flimsy.

He exhaled and glanced around.

Max navigated the winding paths of the underground market until he finally found what he was looking for—an armory.

The shop was tucked between two larger stalls, its entrance dimly lit by flickering lanterns. A faint scent of burning metal and oil lingered in the air, and the steady clanking of metal against metal echoed from deeper inside.

Stepping in, Max let his eyes scan the displays. Rows of weapons lined the walls, from swords to spears, some pristine, others showing signs of wear. He wasn't here for anything flashy—just something practical and cheap.

"Hello?" Max called out.

A burly man behind the counter, clad in a soot-stained apron, turned his gaze toward him. A blacksmith.

"Welcome," the man greeted, his voice low and gravelly.

Max didn't waste time with small talk. He moved toward the dagger section, picking up a pair of simple, unadorned blades. The moment his fingers brushed against them, a status window materialized in front of his eyes.

—

Iron Daggers

Rank: F

—

Basic, but functional. That was all he needed.

"Can I test them?" Max asked, giving them a light twirl in his hands.

"No," the blacksmith replied flatly.

"Yeah, figured," Max muttered, glancing at the edges. They weren't the sharpest, but for an F-rank dungeon, they'd do. "Do they come with a scabbard?"

The blacksmith grunted and disappeared into the back. A moment later, he returned, dropping a black leather scabbard onto the counter.

"Yeah," he said.

"How much?"

"100 crowns."

Max didn't hesitate. He handed over his card, watching as the blacksmith swiped it through a clunky, rune-etched register.

Ding. Transaction complete.

"Thanks," Max said, securing the scabbard to his belt and sliding the daggers into place.

The blacksmith simply gave a short nod before turning back to his work.

Max stepped outside, adjusting the strap on his storage cube. 

With his funds running low, Max turned his attention to essentials—food, water, and potions.

He made his way through the crowded market, his eyes scanning for an alchemy shop. It didn't take long before he spotted one, its entrance adorned with glowing vials and dried herbs hanging from the ceiling.

Pushing open the door, he stepped inside. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with potions of various colors, some shimmering faintly under the dim lighting. The air carried a faint, herbal scent.

A shopkeeper glanced up from behind the counter.

"Looking for something specific?"

"Yeah, I'll take one low-grade healing potion and one low-grade mana recovery potion."

"That'll be 50 crowns total."

Max handed over his card, watching as the transaction went through.

—

Remaining Balance: 128 C

—

Pocketing the two potions, he left the shop and headed for a discount store.

It was smaller, packed with shelves stocked with ration packs, water bottles, and other adventuring necessities. The sign on the front read 'Bulk Bargains' in faded gold lettering.

Max quickly picked out ration packs and water bottles, getting as much as his remaining money would allow.

Ding. Transaction complete.

Stuffing everything into his dimensional storage, he gave a quick nod of satisfaction. 

With supplies taken care of, Max made his way toward the Dungeon Finders—the true heart of the underground market.

Arriving at the massive metal doors, Max took a moment to glance around. This entrance was similar to the one leading into the underground market, but far more fortified—thick steel, reinforced edges, and subtle glowing runes etched along the frame.

A pedestal stood in front of the door, holding a single red button.

He pressed it.

Buzz.

A brief pause. Then—

Whoup.

A black box emerged from a hidden compartment in the pedestal.

Max slid his card into the slot. A soft hum followed as the box scanned and verified his credentials. A second later, the card was ejected.

Then—

Clunk. Hiss.

The massive doors groaned as they unlocked and swung open.

Max stepped inside.

The air shifted instantly—cooler, quieter, heavier.

The interior was stunning.

It was like walking into a French château—but ten times the size. Towering ceilings, elaborate chandeliers, and vast marble floors stretched endlessly in all directions. Arching staircases led to higher levels, their intricate railings glinting under the golden lights.

Yet, despite its grandeur, the place wasn't a luxury estate. It had the aura of something far older.

And at the very center of the hall, stationed behind a lavish desk, sat a single receptionist.

As Max approached the receptionist's desk, he took in the details of the woman sitting behind it. She was neatly dressed in a formal black uniform, her posture straight, her expression neutral—efficient, professional, and completely uninterested in anything beyond her job.

"Welcome to Dungeon Finders. How may I help you?" she asked, her voice smooth but devoid of warmth.

"I'm looking to enter a dungeon," Max replied.

Without hesitation, she reached under the desk and retrieved a sleek black tablet, handing it to him.

"This contains the list of currently available dungeons. Please select one that fits your criteria."

Max took the tablet, his eyes scanning through the list. Each dungeon was labeled by rank, location, and current occupancy. Most of the F-rank dungeons were overcrowded with newbies, small guilds, and cautious explorers looking for easy profits.

Not ideal.

He kept scrolling until his gaze landed on one with noticeably fewer participants.

Knox Dungeon.

A low-entry F-rank dungeon with one of the smallest active player counts.

"This one," Max said, setting the tablet back on the counter.

The receptionist gave a small nod and tapped on her own device, bringing up the dungeon's contract. A thin sheet of enchanted paper materialized in her hands. She slid it toward Max.

"The terms are standard," she began, her tone flat. "Dungeon Finders takes a 10% cut of any loot acquired inside. There is also an entrance fee of 25 crowns. All equipment must be inspected before and after entry to prevent smuggling. You are permitted to stay inside for up to 30 days—after which, a search and rescue team will be deployed if you do not return."

Max skimmed the contract, though he already knew what to expect. Dungeon Finders had strict policies, but they were fair. They didn't care what you did inside, but they made damn sure you didn't cheat them.

Satisfied, he grabbed the black ink pen attached to the contract, signed his name, and slid it back across the counter.

The receptionist took the contract, gave it a brief glance, then slipped it into a dimensional storage device embedded in her desk. The document vanished in an instant, its details now officially logged.

"Follow me."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and led Max through a series of well-lit hallways. The interior of Dungeon Finders was nothing like the dark, crowded markets outside—it was clean, sleek, and efficient, built for one purpose: processing dungeon entrants as quickly as possible.

After a few turns, they arrived at a waiting area. Several people were already seated, some casually scrolling through devices, others sharpening weapons or checking their gear. The room was quiet, the tension thick. Everyone here had one thing in common—they were about to risk their lives.

The receptionist handed Max a small, white ticket.

Guest 9845126.

Gate 367.

"Wait until your number is called. Good luck." Her tone was as indifferent as ever.

Max took the ticket, tucking it into his pocket. "Thanks."

With that, she left, disappearing down the hallway.

Max scanned the room before finding an empty seat in the corner. He sat down, leaning back slightly as he let his mind settle.