A Black Market LitRPG

What the fuck is an exosuit spine doing here? Kyle Hawthorn was stunned, but he quickly controlled his expression, aware that Master Xen was watching him. He twisted his facial expression to one of disappointment, sighing audibly.

“Sir Hawthorn, is there a problem with the items?” Master Xen asked gently.

“No, there’s no problem. It just was not what I expected at all.” Kyle took a deep breath, calmed himself and sat back down.

The rest of the auction flew past him as his mind raced through all the possible implications of what the exosuit spine represented. The system mentioned that it was an ancient exosuit spine… does this mean I’ve travelled into the future in some way?

Kyle ran through plenty of possible scenarios, but each one of them did not seem to solve the issue of there being Galactic Era technology on the planet. Some scenarios did have merit in them, but until he gained more power and was able to explore the planet’s surroundings truly, he would have to withhold making assumptions and snap judgements. Ancient ruins in Versia… I must make a visit myself one day.

Either way, with the exosuit spine, he now had a good reference to potentially make his own exosuit. Just because he came from the Galactic Era as a crime lord did not mean that he knew immediately how to make an exosuit from scratch. Many humans in the Galactic Era relied on cranial implants to store such detailed information, so it was expected for him to forget while he was here.

Master Xen tried to make small talk with Sir Hawthorn a few times, but Kyle was so engrossed in his thinking that his eyes were simply glazed over, as though Master Xen did not exist any longer. It wasn’t until Master Xen reached out with a hand that Kyle suddenly violently reacted and entered a defensive posture, assuming it was an attack.

Master Xen quickly pulled his hand back, worried. “Sir Hawthorn, it’s almost near the end of the auction. The handgun is going up now.”

“Good,” Kyle replied stoically, resuming his calm demeanour. Master Xen continued observing Sir Hawthorn, aware that the statues must have affected him in some way. A curse? Or perhaps Sir Hawthorn is a non-human in disguise?

[The final piece of the auction is a true rarity, a clear-cut innovation in the method of gunsmithing, arctech designing and firearms. Behold, the world’s first repeater handgun!]

A luxurious cloth was pulled off a pedestal, revealing the exquisite handgun in all its glory.

[The name of this handgun is Oriental Bloom. Behold the intricate carvings on the surface of its barrel. A master arctech designer has made this handgun, so naturally, fail-safes are in place if the owner attempts to disassemble it. However, the handgun is still the first the auction house has seen that can fire more than one burst at a time!]

“That’s bullshit; everyone knows arctech guns can only shoot once every thirty seconds. Any faster would be a clear waste of arcite fuel or extremely exhaustive on the user. Many guns don’t even have the material required to withstand the force!” One of the audience members scoffed in response.

The host did not mention anything, instead grabbing the handgun from the pedestal and taking aim at a straw dummy target that was rolled out by the workers. In quick succession, the host fired the handgun three times, the recoil extremely high.

The projectiles blasted the straw dummy into chunks, with a few impacting the auction hall’s wall due to the high recoil and poor marksmanship of the host. Many of the audience members instinctively cowered from the loud bangs before gaping in awe at what just happened.

“…. Impossible…” The same audience member sat down with a defeated expression. However, the other audience members’ faces glowed up, knowing that they had a chance to own this gun for themselves. The prestige of wielding such a gun for oneself would be enormous.

[Bidding begins at half a million-]

“One million!”

“Two and a half million!”

Baron Cain was already upright in his chair, shouting at his entourage to double-check his accounts and to call the inquisitors. “That gun, it’s too coincidental!” The shipment from the factory had just been stolen a few days ago, and now a repeater handgun?

He leaned over the railing, trying to get a better look at the surface of the handgun. The carvings were unlike anything he had seen before, making it look as though it was from a completely different nation. However, it was too much of a coincidence. If he did not hold onto that gun, it could be a national disaster.

He quickly scribbled a message on the napkin, sending it to all the barons of the other sectors that were in the auction as well. I need the other barons to stay out of the way!

In another VIP booth, Sebastian sat with the leader of the Ardent Cretin, Ares. “Sebastian, we need to get that gun! Having that gun would boost our firepower and enable us to have better-negotiating rights with the enforcers.” Ares was already grinning widely, thinking about what would happen if everyone in his gang had this gun.

Sebastian frowned, thinking deeply before shaking his head. “No. Baron Cain is most likely going to go all out for this. I will send a message to him saying that we will not contest him for it. Acquiring that gun is a death sentence for our gang.”

Ares was about to protest, but Sebastian shot him a death glare. “We agreed to let me handle the auction. Are you already not satisfied with the proceeds from the slaves?”

“Fine, have it your way.”

As all of this was happening, the audience became even rowdier, with the bid reaching fifteen million.

“Seventeen million!” A loud voice echoed from an adjacent VIP booth, coming from a wealthy gentleman flanked by three guards. Waves of murmuring rippled through the crowd, with those in the know able to recognize his voice through the mask.

“Shit, it’s the leader of the Veiled Angels!”

“Eighteen million.” Another gentleman was sitting on the opposite side of the hall in a VIP booth as well, smirking at the other. The men standing behind his seat were clearly the Violet Demons, their mouths twisted in a sinister smile against the leader of the Veiled Angels.

Despite them being in such close proximity to each other, neither of them made any moves to try and kill the opponent. Even though they were at war in the West Sector, the auction house in the Central Sector was a neutral zone. The gangs were not about to flout the unspoken rules established by the ruler of the auction house – offending him meant offending the city of Raktor itself.

Before the leader of the Veiled Angels could raise the bid any further, a clear voice from one of the VIP booths stunned the entire audience.

“Twenty-five million rakels.”

Master Xen’s eyeballs nearly popped out of their sockets. He was already shocked when the Violet Demons bid eighteen million, but now the handgun was worth twenty-five million rakels. Xen glanced at Sir Hawthorn’s face, who had no reaction at all, simply leaning back in his chair, relaxing.

[Twenty-five million rakels! Do I hear any other bids?!] The host was naturally celebrative, reaching a personal milestone.

The floor was silent, each of the previously rowdy members becoming quiet. Twenty-five million rakels were enough to buy an entire mansion in the Central Sector.

Only those of nobility, the barons, could have that much money to spend on an exquisite handgun. As much as a technological improvement as it was, twenty-five million rakels were just far too much.

Already Sebastian was thinking of ways he could send men to infiltrate Baron Cain’s lodging to try and snatch the pistol. The same idea was running through all of the major gang leaders’ heads, only to be disrupted by a foreign voice wafting in from booth six.

“Thirty million rakels.” Sir Hawthorn suddenly spoke.

Baron Cain was temporarily stunned before the realization of what just happened caused him to crush his glass in anger. “Who’s that fucking peasant in booth six? Is he a foreign baron? You!” He pointed at one of the employees of the auction house. “I want a verification that booth six has enough to pay for this, or is he just jacking up the price for no reason!”

The host was equally stunned, completely lost for words now, until an employee ran up onto the stage, whispering into his ear.

[Ahem, thirty million is an unexpected bid. Please hold while our employees confirm that the individual in question does have enough.]

Master Xen was flabbergasted before pinching himself slightly to assure himself it wasn’t a dream. “Sir Hawthorn, I hope you’re not artificially inflating the bid price with no assets to back it up. The auction house does not take kindly to fake bids.”

Sir Hawthorn did not say anything, simply exposing the interior of his suit to reveal side holsters in the inner pockets where two more of the same type of handgun rested. He took out one of them, tossing it to Master Xen, who nearly dropped it, exclaiming in response.

Master Xen examined the carvings, noticing that the design was radically different. It was as if an alien species had carved this out instead of humans. The moment three employees came into the booth to check, Master Xen quickly dismissed them. “He has more, MORE than enough. The bid is valid!” Even if the price was reduced, two of these handguns could go for ten million each, minimum.

There were no complaints from the auction house. If the bid closed at thirty million, Sir Hawthorn would still have to cough up the remaining million rakels. Either way, the auction house made money from the 10% cut, so they continued the auction.

[Uhm… It seems that the individual does have enough to support the bid. The bidding shall now resume.]

“WHAT!?” Baron Cain was outraged. As rich as he was, outbidding thirty million was not a small purchase in any shape or form. However, he could not risk losing the gun as well; he needed it to trace the culprit, who may or may not have reverse-engineered the technology. “You! Tell me the name of the individual in booth six!”

“Sir, under the direct orders of Count Leon, the auction house will not divulge the personal information of any individual without their express permission, including you, sir.”

“Fine! Thirty-five million rakels!” Baron Cain placed a bid in desperation.

[Thirty-five Million Rakels! Do I hear a counteroffer from booth six?]

All eyes turned to booth six, staring at the masked man who did not seem intent on bidding again. Baron Cain was even more incensed by the obvious ploy, cursing under his breath.

[Thirty-five million rakels, going once, going twice… sold to the individual from booth one!]

“GET THAT HANDGUN HERE AND CALL THE INQUISITORS NOW!” Baron Cain roared with ferocity. “Tell them I want all available enforcers under me to track that fucking cunt from booth six immediately!”

The auction house began to clear out an hour later, and the events of the night began to spread through the city.

Mason and Kitana were waiting in their own enforcer wagon, with Mason puffing his Euria pipe as per usual. Kitana tapped the leather seat under her, impatient as she stared daggers into the opening of the street.

[Sir, he’s on the move. One wagon is coming out of the auction house right now.] The arctech radio blurted out.

“You sure it’s him?” Mason asked.

[Yes, I visually saw him enter the car.]

“All right. Kitana, get ready. We’ll pull the car over the moment it enters the South Sector.” Mason grabbed the wheel of the enforcer wagon, turning on the arctech engine. The arcite fuel tank churned as the engravings along the base shaft lit up, slowly rolling the wagon forward.

Just as they started moving, a wagon came out from the auction house’s warehouse and onto the streets. Mason did not give chase immediately, simply moving along slowly as the target wagon sped off.

Only when the target wagon turned the corner did Mason begin to pick up the speed, staying at a comfortable distance. A few minutes passed without much incident as they drove through the safe streets of the Central Sector, but soon Mason had a frown on his face.

“This path… it seems he’s heading for the Ilysian Punks territory.”

“So it really is the Ilysian Punks who stole our guns?” Kitana assumed. “Looks like the tipoff wasn’t wrong after all.”

“Or it could be a ploy by the Ardent Cretins to incriminate their rivals. Wouldn’t hurt them to have one less competitor in the sector while we’re wasting time.” Mason warned.

They stalked the target wagon for a good two hours before the target wagon finally came to a stop at a residential building opposite a known Ilysian Punk hangout. Three individuals got out of the wagon, shifting the statues into the building. Mason stopped the wagon just around the corner, the two of them exiting the wagon and checking the surroundings.

Already people on the street were eyeing them, with a few Ilysian Punks spotting them and running off to inform their superiors. “Fuck, this is going to get dicey. Look, find out where those three individuals went. I’m going to their hangout to negotiate safe passage. Don’t want too much attention here.” Mason ordered.

Kitana nodded, gripping her arctech pistol while she observed the wagon and the building entrances. She slowly moved over without too much hassle, acting calm as she walked past the wagon, checking the inside of the wagon.

The wagon was completely empty, and unmarked, making it hard for Kitana to determine where the wagon came from. She found a handwritten note on the driver’s seat, picking it up. An Ilysian Punk shipment order.

She decided to patrol around the outskirts of the residential building, entering the alleyway.

As she cautiously stepped through the grime and trash that littered the floor, a cracking sound prompted her to raise her pistol, aiming at an obviously dishevelled squatter who was equally alarmed.

“Wh-what did I do? I’m not part of the punks, I’m not!” The squatter waved his hands wildly.

Kitana sighed, lowering her pistol and prompting the squatter to move along. The squatter bowed respectfully, timidly moving past her while taking great care to avoid touching her. As the squatter ran past her, Kitana turned to look at his back. Eyes of Truth.

As the words repeated in her brain, her pupils turned golden, and the world around her became a matrix of golden lines, breaking down things into their basic components. The dishevelled features of the squatter broke down to reveal a handsome young man, notorious as a gang leader. Kitana could see all the engravings present on the man.

Kitana immediately saw the true identity of the squatter but did not give chase. Optical illusion engraving on the suit – that’s new.

Kitana did not check the building any longer, instead heading out back onto the street to where the enforcer wagon was. It’s clear that they are the ones who made the handgun and probably used the military shipment as inspiration. It seems like they are the ones who have the final possession of it. Who knew that a small gang like theirs would have such capabilities? Kitana began to think carefully, weighing out all the possible future scenarios that would bring her the most benefit.

[Kitana, did you get them? At least tell me you found out who it was.] Mason barked over the radio.

“I did. It’s the Ilysian Punks. They are the ones who robbed the military factory.”