The sun had slowly risen over District 9, casting long shadows across the beds.
Julien woke up not to the sound of cuckoos but to the groans of the injured and the smell of dirty bodies.
'Fuck this life.'
His right arm was still a useless dead weight at his side, a constant reminder of his debt.
"Status window."
[Debt Alert] Total Due: 532.4 Credits. Time Remaining: 14 Hours, 12 Minutes.
The interest was compounding faster than he had calculated. He needed to find a way to pay it back.
He dragged himself out of bed, his stomach growling in hunger. Julien ignored the ration bar the officer had given him; it tasted like shit and sadness. He only focused on his plan.
'Where do I sell?'
The obvious answer was the Guilds. The 'Crushing Dark' or the 'Azure Knights.' They had so much money to burn. They bought potions in bulk.
Julien pictured himself walking into the Crushing Dark headquarters.
"Hello, I am an unregistered F-rank refugee with no medical or potion license, no background, and a magical inventory that produces SSS-grade items from thin air. Would you be interested in buying my stock?"
He snorted.
They wouldn't buy from him.
They would lock him in a basement, take out his brain, and farm him for inventory for the rest of his short life.
"No Guilds," he muttered, grabbing his jacket. "And no official shops. They check IDs and tax records."
He needed someone desperate and reckless. And most importantly, someone who didn't ask questions.
He needed testers.
Two hours later, Julien stood on the outskirts of the "Hoven."
The Hoven was the chaotic buffer zone surrounding the E-Rank Gate known as The Rotting Gardens. Unlike the sanitised, corporate-controlled A-Rank gates downtown, this place looked like a circus.
Makeshift stalls sold rusted weapons. Healers charged extortionate rates for basic spells. And everywhere, "Strike Teams"—ragtag groups of testers hoping to make it rich—were searching for supplies.
Julien pulled his hoodie up. He looked just like them, which made him feel kinda sad.
Perfect camouflage.
'Not my proudest moment.'
He found a spot near the extraction point, the area where hunters exited the gate. He leaned against a crumbling brick wall, watching the teams stumble out.
'Trying to hit the mysterious drug dealer pose.'
Most of the hunters who exited were fine, carrying the goods straight to the guild.
Julien wasn't interested in them. He was looking for the miserable people.
"Help! We need a medic!"
A shout could be heard through the noise.
A team of three ran out from the shimmering blue portal. They weren't cheering. All three were dragging a fourth man, a guy in steel armour whose leg was a mess of torn meat and blood.
"He's bleeding out! Get a healer!" one of them screamed, his face pale.
The crowd parted, but nobody moved to help.
A woman in white robes, a tester healer, stepped forward, looking bored.
"Restoration is five thousand dollars. You need to pay upfront. Or two E-Rank cores."
"Five thousand?" the leader of the group yelled. "We didn't clear the dungeon! We don't have that kind of cash on us! Help him first, we'll pay you later!"
The healer crossed her arms. "No service without money. The guild rules are clearly explained. You know how it goes, boys."
The injured man on the ground groaned, his face turning grey. "Mike... it hurts..."
The leader, Mike, looked around wildly. "Please! Someone! I have a dagger! It's worth three grand! Take it!"
The healer shook her head. "Cash or Cores. I don't run a pawn shop."
Julien pushed off the wall, moving to the crowded area.
Target acquired.