They stepped into an open square. The place was covered by destroyed minerals and structures.
All around, there was sagging roofs and between was leaning buildings. Some hooded figures lingered at makeshift stalls built from scavenged wood and rusted metal.
This was no ordinary market.
The "merchants" moved little, their faces hidden in shadows, hands gloved as they exchanged goods with silent efficiency. On the cracked counters lay strange assortments.
Shards that glew with inner light, herbs bundled in fraying twine, jagged runes etched into metal plates, rusted weapons with faintly glowing edges and relics that looked too old to belong to any living world.
The stalls themselves were crooked, wedged between fractured walls or set on collapsed steps.
A few had been built right into the hollow shells of buildings, merchants stood half-hidden in the darkness inside.
More inside of the Bazaar, a faint chime rang out, followed by the muffled sound of a deal being struck.
Tom slowed his steps, scanning the hooded figures. He didn't like that how many eyes seemed to follow them. He was very cautious about the surroundings.
He drifted close to Grace and others. His voice barely above a whisper. "Don't trust everyone you meet here except us, ourselves. If we want to figure out a way to leave this place, we need to work together."
His gaze flicked briefly toward a nearby stall where a merchant's gloved hand lingered over a dagger's hilt a second too long. "Some will smile while they measure where to stab you. Don't take any risky action, call for help."
Grace gave a small, unnoticeable nod.
The group moved cautiously between the stalls, but the sense of being observed never left.
One merchant leaned forward. Their hood slipped just enough to reveal a pale, inhuman grin before they melted back into shadow. Another ran long fingers across a row of red-glowing stones, watching Tom with undeniable patience.
Two coins clinked somewhere behind them and a sudden laugh came. A humorless sound that made more than one of them tense.
Tom's hand rested lightly on his dagger. He had a feeling the Black Bazaar was a place where a single wrong glance could be more dangerous than any creature in the dark.
Group walked past a stall where the smell of fresh bread was spreading its greatness in air.
A hooded person stood behind it, hands folded, waiting if anyone buys something.
On the stall's old wood lay a few round loaves. They were small and hard-looking yet soft.
Tom stopped. "How much?" he asked.
The hooded person's voice was low. "Ten coins for one loaf."
Tom looked at his pouch, then back at the bread. He took out thirty coins and placed them on the counter. "Three."
The coins clinked on the desk. The hooded person slid three loaves toward him. "They heal fatigue," the voice said. "Slowly. Don't expect more."
Tom gave a short nod hurrily scanning the stall while pretending to smile.
He held one loaf up in front of him. His system menu blinked open with a low sound only he could hear. A small window popped up.
[ Item: Rough Bread ]
[ Restores Fatigue slowly over time. ]
Tom tapped the menu. The bread shimmered in his hands, then vanished into nowhere. Then reappearing in his item slot. He checked the menu again.
[ Rough Bread x3 ]
He glanced at the others, who were watching from a few steps away. "It's safe. We can share food and save it." he said simply.
The hooded person said nothing more. The group moved on, further into the Bazaar.
The timer still ticked, 31:01.
As they turned down a narrow side street, Tom noticed a torn poster clinging to the cracked wall of a collapsed shop. The paper was weathered and brittle, covered in strange symbols he could not read.
Before he could call anyone over, his visions began to see darkness, only. The familiar glowing screen appeared, its letters forming clearly this time. Translating the unknown words automatically.
[ Currency System ]
[ Coins are the most common currency. Used for simple trades and basic items. ]
[ 1,000 Coins = 1 Gold ]
[ 100 Gold = 1 Diamond ]
[ Gold is rare. Used for valuable trades and rare goods. ]
[ Diamonds are the highest currency. ]
Tom glanced at his pouch. After the bread purchase, he had only 70 coins left. The amount looked even smaller now.
The screen flickered once before fading away, leaving the poster's strange symbols behind.
Grace stepped closer, eyeing the wall. "Looks important...." she murmured.
"Yeah." Tom replied, tucking the coins away. "But right now, it's just a reminder we're hopeless."
Herbs wrapped in cloth changed owners. Shards that glowed faintly were weighed like precious stones.
Nobody shouted. They acted like they were in a normal market where every trade was like a normal Tuesday. Every movement cautious, as though the place itself demanded silence.
Tom moved slowly, tracing eyes at the lines of broken stalls and the figures behind them. Most wore deep hoods that hid their faces, their movements sluggish but deliberate.
He stopped at one of the smaller stalls, where an old man leaned against the counter. The man's hood was frayed and every few breaths came with a harsh, dry cough.
Tom studied him for a moment before asking, "What are you selling?"
The old man chuckled weakly. "Not much. My hands shake too much these days to keep a good stock." His voice was low but there was a strange impact in it.
Tom hesitated. Something about the man felt different. "Can I ask…. who are you?"
The old man shifted his position. His cough rattling again. Then, with slow movements, he pulled back his hood. His face was thin, skin drawn tight across his bones but his health seems to be in good shape, despite his frail body.
"Young one." he said, "you think everyone here in the town is just part of the game, don't you? Just…. background pieces. NPCs."
Tom didn't answer, but his silence was enough for the answer.
The man leaned closer. "No. I came here the same way you did, lad. Woke up in a white chamber, with no memories or clue. That was two years ago. I've been here ever since."
Tom blinked. The impact of those words settled heavy in his chest. Two years!?!
The old man coughed again, then continued. "There are two kinds of Players. The System decides which path we walk. Hunters.… and Homans."
Tom frowned. "Homans?"
The man nodded. "Homans don't fight. We don't hunt. We take other roles like herbalists, farmers, mechanics, builders and anything except Hunt. We live in the cracks of this world, playing the game sideways. Our quests are different. They test survival, craft, trade. Indirect. Harder in their own way."
"Hunters?" Tom asked quietly.
"Hunters face the deities and monsters, directly playing the game. They struggle for lives. They die for power. The System feeds them quests soaked in danger." The man's thin hand shook slightly as he lifted it. "Hunters burn out fast. Few last long. But Homans.… we vanish too. Our tasks break us in other ways. No path is kind here."
Tom looked around at the hooded merchants. Their silence, their weariness....
For the first time, he wondered how many of them were once like him. Lost, confused, waiting for something to make sense.
The old man lowered his hood again. "If I'm still alive. It's luck. Nothing more. All the companions I had in past are gone a long ago." His gaze locked onto Tom's. "Remember this. Every FACE you see or achieve could be another soul trapped like you. Don't mistake them for shadows."
Tom nodded slowly. The Bazaar no longer felt like a marketplace. It felt like a graveyard of choices.
Murmurs drifted like smoke between hooded figures. Somewhere nearby, a merchant wheezed laughter as he bartered away a rune stone.
Tom watched the group carefully. Some of them were finally loosening, trading for food, scraps of armor, even charms that might have been worthless.
The timid boy clutched a bundle of herbs to his chest as though it were gold. For a brief moment, it almost felt like they were travelers in some strange town rather than prey in a broken world.
A deep groan echoed overhead. The brittle snap of stone under strain. Tom's eyes shot upward.
One of the ruined buildings beside the stalls was leaning. Its cracked walls trembled, the last of its supports breaking apart.
"Move!" Tom shouted.
But the warning came too late for anyone to move.
Several people stood directly in the building's shadow, frozen in shock as the mass of stone and timber began to collapse. Dust filled the place and the earth itself shook beneath their feet.
Grace's breath caught in her throat. She didn't think. She only felt her Face surge beside her. The fox-headed figure blurred. Its shape stretched into a streak of light.
The world began to warp around herself on by its own.
Sound dulled. The roar of falling stone slowed into a drawn-out rumble.
The fragment of dust hung in the air like drifting snow. Even the desperate faces of the people about to be crushed seemed suspended unknowingly.
Grace's heart pounded. She didn't understand what was happening but her instincts screamed at her to keep moving. She focused on them, on saving them and her Face showed up.
In less than a millisecond, the certain figure dashed forward, weaving through the falling structure swiftly. One by one, the endangered people flickered out of sight. To everyone else watching from far, they simply vanished.
Tom blinked. He had been standing only steps away. The building's fall about to rush down over him. In the next instant, he was standing far away from the structure, unharmed.
Around him were the others who had been under the building's shadow, equally stunned.
The ruined wall slammed into the ground with a thunderous crash, throwing up a storm of dust and shards.
When the air cleared, crowd turned their heads. All those who had been in harm's way were safe. Standing together at a distance they hadn't reached on their own.
Every pair of eyes turned to Grace.
No one spoke, they were shocked and amzed. But they knew that She is the only one currently to do something like that if it wasn't a miracle or something.
She was currently the extraordinary one among because of having a "Face".
Her hands trembled slightly. Her expressions were in confusion. She didn't know how she had done it or why time itself had slowed for her?
Grace stood apart from the others. Her chest rose and fell too fast.
The fox-headed Face lingered at her side. Its faint glow fading but she could still feel it. Its presence pressed into her mind, heavy and overwhelming aura.
What was that? Why did time slow? Why did it feel like she wasn't herself anymore?
Her thoughts spiraled, one fear chasing the next.
What if she lost control? What if the Face turned on her? What if she was just a puppet now? Or she's turning into a.... monster?
She didn't notice Tom until he stopped quietly beside her. He didn't speak right away. He let the silence settle, the way someone does before touching something fragile. Then his voice came, calm and steady.
"You saved all of us."
Grace's eyes flicked toward him but she looked away just as quickly, her lips pressing tight. "I…. I didn't know what I was doing. It wasn't me. It was…. it was that thing."
Tom shook his head. "It was you. The Fate didn't choose someone else, right? It chose you and you are one of us. And you saved us by existing, cause as far I've known, every being here has a value to be created. Either it is positive or negative, one's justice is curse for another. You never knew a world that was not on fire, so you decided your job was to be the water for everyone else. That is the matter. But even ashes need rain sometimes. Let it fall on you too."
Her hands trembled but the words reached her. She let out a shaky breath, as if trying to believe him. Hearing his words, she felt a bit comfortable.
Slowly, her shoulders eased. She looked at him at last, really looked and for the first time since the Bazaar, a faint, hesitant smile touched her lips.
Tom smiled back, small but certain. Around them, others continued murmuring about the fallen structure incident.
For the first time since waking in this broken world, she didn't feel completely alone.
25:00—24:59—24:58.