2026-07-05 02:58:18"Who just used a godtier artifact in my territory?"
The cold, authoritative voice echoed from the end of the alley, parting the crowd of merchants and buyers who scrambled away in fear. Aster swallowed hard, slowly turning toward the source of the sound while keeping a firm grip on the junk wooden comb in his right hand.
However, before Aster could even spot the owner of the voice, an absurd sight unfolded right before his eyes.
The three burly thugs from the Black Snake Gang who had been threatening him moments ago suddenly dropped to their knees. Not out of pain, and not from the pressure of magical gravity. They knelt because... they were embarrassed.
The fierce red dragon tattoos on their necks—which were actually lowlevel Blood Curses meant to increase physical strength—suddenly faded and unraveled, transforming into small, cute, and symmetrical daisy patterns. Their spiked leather armor, reeking of sour sweat, instantly morphed into clean, lavenderscented pastel linen tunics with perfectly ironed pleats. Their messy, greasy hair was now neatly slicked back with a precise center part, glistening as if they had just walked out of a highend salon.
The thin man with burn scars on half his face—the gang leader—stared at his own hands, now clean and wellgroomed with neatly trimmed nails. Tears streamed down his face, washing over skin that was now smooth and spotless.
"I... I feel so clean," the thin man sobbed, his voice trembling with emotion. He looked at Aster with a gaze full of regret and profound respect. "Forgive me, Wise Merchant. My evil intent and rough words earlier were truly unkempt, impolite, and deeply detrimental to the environment's aesthetics. I feel emotionally filthy."
The man handed a pouch containing fifty gold coins to Aster with both hands, bowed ninety degrees with an incredibly graceful posture, then turned and walked away with his two subordinates, their steps light and rhythmic, as if they were on their way to reenroll in agricultural school.
Aster stared at their retreating backs with a blank expression, then glanced down at the wooden comb in his hand.
System, Aster screamed internally. Did you just translate the concept of 'Deconstructing All Forms of Chaos' as 'Tidying Up Appearance and Emotions'?! You turned blackmarket thugs into lavenderscented metrosexuals!
The system in his head just blinked slowly, displaying calm green text.
[Chaos successfully deconstructed. Aesthetics and emotional order have been restored to optimal levels.]
"Interesting. Very interesting."
Calm footsteps finally arrived in front of Aster’s stall. A young man with slickedback blonde hair and a goldembroidered blue silk robe stood there. Behind him, two burly guards with highlevel mana auras stood on alert. In the young man's left hand, he held a small, halfopen sandalwood box, revealing a fragment of a cracked black stone that looked worthless.
Aster’s eyes locked onto the black stone instantly. His heart felt like it stopped beating. The Cracked Stone. The Heart Scale of the Earth Dragon. Valerius Clydes had actually bought it from another merchant at the edge of the market!
"Vale? Aster Vale?" Valerius narrowed his eyes, staring at Aster’s face, which was halfhidden by his oversized hood. A condescending, mocking smirk curled his lips. "The scholarship student from some godforsaken village who always sits in the back of my class? What are you doing in this rat’s nest? Stealing leftover scraps from the black market dumpsters?"
Aster quickly hid the wooden comb behind his robe, putting on a flat, expressionless face. "Good evening, Lord Clydes. I am simply searching for some rare materials for my Crafting assignment."
Valerius laughed dismissively, his eyes sweeping over Aster’s stall, which was nothing more than an empty black cloth on the ground. "Rare materials? In this dark corner? You really are a terrible liar, commoner."
Valerius’s gaze suddenly turned sharp and suspicious. He looked toward the alleyway where the Black Snake Gang thugs had just left with graceful steps and the scent of lavender. "I sense lingering fluctuations of causal anomaly here. You used a highlevel mindaltering artifact on those thugs, didn't you? You forced them to surrender with soulcontrol magic?"
"I did not use soulcontrol magic, Lord Clydes," Aster replied in a very polite and calm tone, even though cold sweat began to trickle down his back. "It was just an ordinary wooden comb from my village. They suddenly realized the importance of cleanliness and etiquette. Perhaps their conscience spoke to them."
"Do you think I'm stupid?!" Valerius snapped, his icemana aura beginning to freeze the air, causing Aster's breath to come out in white puffs. "No ordinary wooden comb can erase the Blood Curse of the Black Snake Gang and turn them into palace servants! Hand that artifact over to me now. It must be a stolen artifact from the Clydes family vault!"
Aster let out a soft sigh. Deception disguised as art. It’s the only way.
"Lord Clydes," Aster said, looking straight into Valerius's eyes with a gaze he intentionally made appear mysterious and condescending. "That comb is indeed no ordinary item. It is the 'Comb of Purity from the Mythological Era,' a relic said to be used by ancient priests to cleanse the soul of mortal sins. I found it in the ruins of an underground temple. If you force the issue, I fear you will not be able to bear the karma of such a holy object."
Valerius fell silent for a moment. The words 'Mythological Era' and 'relic' clearly touched his aristocratic greed. However, the arrogance of the Clydes family would not allow him to be refused by a commoner.
"Karma?" Valerius snorted in disgust. "An aristocrat knows no karma. Guards! Break this commoner's legs and take whatever is behind his robe!"
The two burly guards immediately drew their swords, a thick red mana aura enveloping their steel blades. They stepped forward, cornering Aster against the damp stone wall.
Aster panicked. He had no time to negotiate. His eyes darted to the sandalwood box in Valerius’s left hand. If he didn't get that Cracked Stone tonight, he would die in Chapter 50. He had to seize it, or at least cause enough of a distraction to escape with the stone.
Aster’s hand reached into his robe pocket, touching a small, rough object he had fashioned that afternoon from dead tree twigs and sulfur stolen from the Alchemy workshop. A wooden match. His intention in making this match was only for emergency lighting in dungeons or dark caves.
System, please give me something that can help me run! Aster prayed internally, striking the match head against the stone wall.
Srekk.
A blue screen flickered wildly with a blinding orange hue.
[Item: Junk Wooden Match (Quality: F)]
[Absolute Compensation Implanted.]
[Concept Implemented: Ignition of Absolute Confession.]
[The fire does not burn physical matter. The fire burns 'Falsehoods' and forces the 'Truth' to be revealed.]
A tiny paleblue spark ignited at the tip of the match. The flame did not emit heat; instead, it released a wave of light that pierced the eyes and struck directly into the soul of anyone within a tenmeter radius.
The blue light washed over Valerius and his two guards.
Silence for one second.
Then, the guard on the left suddenly dropped his sword, clutched his head, and shrieked in a highpitched voice. "I ACTUALLY CAN'T SWIM! I WEAR DUCK FLOATIES DURING ACADEMY LAKE TRAINING!"
The guard on the right fell to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably while pounding his chest. "I STOLE YOUNG MASTER VALERIUS'S BIRTHDAY CAKE LAST NIGHT AND I BLAMED THE SEWER RATS!"
Valerius Clydes froze. His deathly pale face turned bright red, then purple, then green. His mouth hung wide open, trying to hold back the curse of truth, but his lips moved beyond his control, shouting his darkest secrets at a volume that could be heard throughout the entire black market alley.
"I STILL SLEEP HUGGING A PINK BUNNY DOLL! I WEAR MY MOTHER'S CORSET BECAUSE I'M AFRAID MY STOMACH IS BULGING! AND I ACTUALLY DON'T KNOW HOW TO READ MAGICAL MAPS, I ALWAYS GET LOST IN DUNGEONS!"
The entire black market, which had been silent, now exploded in shocked whispers and muffled laughter. The merchants and buyers looked at the heir of the Clydes family with a very different expression—a mixture of disgust, pity, and pure amusement.
Valerius fell to his knees, covering his face with both hands, crying hysterically as his pride was crushed to pieces in front of hundreds of criminals and dark mages. The sandalwood box in his hand slipped and fell to the stone floor, splitting open and rolling the Cracked Stone toward Aster's feet.
Aster stared at the match in his hand as it slowly went out, then looked at the Cracked Stone now resting right at the tip of his shoe. This... this is the most absurd faceslapping in the history of fantasy novels, he thought, nearly laughing out loud.
Without wasting time, Aster leaned down and picked up the Cracked Stone. It felt cold and heavy, its surface rough and cracked, just like trash. However, Aster knew this was his ticket to survival.
But, just as his fingers touched the stone, another hand wrapped in dirty bandages suddenly emerged from the shadows behind a pillar, grabbing Aster's wrist with a grip that was incredibly strong and cold.
Aster looked up, his heart jumping into his throat.
From within the darkness of the alley, a pair of sharp, exhausted crimson eyes stared back at him. Kaelen Drago stood there, his cloak torn and smelling of blood, looking at Aster with an unreadable expression.
"Don't touch that stone, Aster," Kaelen whispered, his voice hoarse and urgent, ignoring Valerius who was still crying on the floor. "If you take it tonight... the Law of the World will kill you on the spot."
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Chapter 145: Back to the Shop
Nine o'clock at night.The bell above the door of Vale Junk Shop rang. Ting.The sound was small, rusty, and slightly out of tune. But to Aster Vale, it was the most beautiful sound in the world. A sound that meant he was home. A sound that meant the workday was over. And most importantly, a sound that meant it was time to count his money.Aster stepped inside, closed the wooden door with creaking hinges, and locked the double latch. He did not turn on the main light right away. Moonlight filtering through the front window was enough to guide him to the rocking chair behind the counter. The chair creaked in protest as he sank his tired body onto its thin cushion.From inside his woven rattan bag, he pulled out a notebook, a pen, and a broken mechanical calculator with a snapped indicator needle. Then, he began taking out bags of coins.Clink. Clink. Clink.The sound of gold hitting the wooden counter was tonight's symphony. Aster lined up the piles of coins, sorted them by income sour
Chapter 144: Two Different Paths
The corridor connecting Floor One to the surface was still intact. The stone steps creaked under the footsteps of Helena and Kael—two figures who should have never walked side by side. The Grand Inquisitor of the Church of Sacred Light. The General of the Valdris War Faction. Two institutions that had stood on opposite sides for two hundred years.Behind them, four royal knights escorted them. Not escorting them as prisoners. Escorting them as... witnesses. As people who did not know what to do about two individuals who had just stopped being themselves.Sunlight poured in from above. Real sunlight. Not crystal light. Not the glow of moss. Not mirror reflections. Sunlight that was warm, honest, and reflected nothing other than itself.Helena stopped at the dungeon gate.The black stone arch towered before her—ancient symbols eroded by three hundred years, security seals that were now dark, a surface no longer glowing. The gate looked old. Tired. Like someone who had stood for too long
Chapter 143: From Cult to Community
Malachar did not walk like a Grand Priest. There was no cape billowing without wind. No eyes burning with the fire of conviction. No voice sounding like dry bones scraping together inside a cave.He walked like an old man who had just woken up from a forty-year sleep, realizing that all his dreams belonged to someone else.His steps were short. Hesitant. His old shoes touched the mirror floor without confidence—without direction. Where should he go? What should he do? Who was he, if not the Grand Priest of the Abyss Remnant Cult? Who was he, if not a hunter of God? Who was he, if not anything at all?The Cracked Mirror still lay on the floor. Its cracked surface now reflected the ordinary light of the Maze—a light that showed no souls, no truth, nothing other than the surface. But Malachar did not need to look at the mirror anymore. He had already seen it. And what he saw was still burning behind his eyes.A former bishop. Alone. Fired. Without friends. Talking to walls.Not a Grand P
Chapter 142: Toby, the Unwanted "Prophet"
He found a gap between two cracked mirrors—a narrow two-meter space hidden behind the reflection of light. There, far from the battle, far from the screams, far from poison daggers, mana nets, and giant fists slamming into the floor, Toby did the only thing he could do while the world was collapsing around him.He cooked.The Kerosene Stove burned with a small blue flame. Its bent chimney puffed out thin steam that smelled like chicken broth mixed with damp moss and a hint of ozone from the dungeon air. Inside the dented pot he brought from the shop, dungeon water boiled—water he scraped from the leaks along the Maze walls, water no sane person with an appetite would ever drink.Toby stirred the soup with a wooden spoon he had chewed on in three places. A greasy apron was tied around his neck—an apron he found in a supply sack when they first entered the dungeon. It was way too big for him, but enough to keep his fur safe from splatters.This was not the thick, black, asphalt-smelling
Chapter 141: Aster Faces the Three Leaders
Reinforcements arrived in four minutes and thirty seconds.A platoon of Aethelgard royal knights—forty men in silver armor with golden lion crests on their chests—entered Floor Four in a two-column formation. Their captain, a woman with a scar on her temple and eyes that had seen too much to ever be shocked by anything, swept her gaze across the Maze.And even she stopped.Twenty Valdris shadow soldiers sat on the floor. Weapons lay beside them. Masks unfastened. Empty eyes. Not fighting back. No need to bind them—they weren't even trying to stand up.Twelve cult followers knelt on the other side of the Maze. Their red eyes blinked with a confusion never before seen on the face of any cultist. Some were crying. Some were staring at their own hands. Some just stayed quiet.Kael's five guards lay near the shattered mirror wall. Unmoving. Breathing, but unmoving.And in the middle of it all, three people sat in front of a small cracked mirror. Crying.The platoon captain swallowed hard.
Chapter 140: The Last Line of Defense
The effect of the Rusty Shop Bell pulled everyone to a single point. The effect of the Dusting Broom erased intent from everyone within a ten-meter radius. But not everyone was within that radius. And not all intent could be erased.Kael's five personal guards stood at the edge of the Maze. They felt the pull of the bell. They felt the broom's erasing effect. But they were veterans of three border campaigns—their souls had been forged too hard, too many times, for the outer layer of their intent to be wiped away by a single sweep of a broom.And four of Malachar's followers—four of the twelve who had been brainwashed too deeply, for too long, for the chains on their souls to be loosened by a single wave of cleansing—stood up. Their red eyes glowed. Ritual knives were drawn.Nine figures moved. Not toward the mirror. Not toward the three crying leaders. Toward Aster.Toward the old man crouching on the moss, his back to the world, pressing the buttons of a broken calculator.Kaelen mov
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