Advent of the Three Calamities-Chapter 615: A long journey [2]

The Mirror Dimension was a treacherous place.

The living conditions were almost impossible, with monsters lurking everywhere, and the distant ball of white that scorched everything beneath.

And yet...

Despite the brutal living conditions, civilizations and empires still managed to exist, and even thrive, in this unforgiving world. But naturally, the same brutality that allowed them to rise swiftly also ensured their downfall came just as fast.

Virith-Anash was different, however.

Located at the edge of the Crimson Sea, one of the 7 major seas of the Mirror Dimension, the city was one of the central hubs that connected to the Remnant South, where the Eclipsed Maw was located.

Built even before the Era of the Shattered World, the city was as old as they came.

A dry, metallic scent lingered over the small city that sat between jagged cliffs and the endless red waters. It was a smell of rust and salt, mixed with the blood of all the beasts and humans that had died in the sea.

...But of course, that wasn't the primary reason for its red color. That mainly stemmed from the type of algae that rested beneath the water.

Ships crafted from dark wood and gleaming mirror-glass docked at the harbor, the crimson water lapping against their sides. Nearby, a large bazaar sprawled out, its colorful stalls nestled against faded white marble buildings that seemed to blend seamlessly with the harsh light of the white sun overhead.

"Buy one, get one free! Purchase from our stall for the freshest and highest quality items!"

"Fresh Orkney meat! Come and get your meat!"

"...Come get your rune paper here! We provide fresh rune paper!"

"Freshly sewn clothes over here!"

The bazaar was lively, with voices screaming continuously as the merchants tried to sell their goods.

There was no better place than Virith-Anash to sell goods.

...All looked good on the outside.

However, all was not well. A closer look revealed the desperation etched on the faces of some merchants as they peddled their wares. Their pale faces and sweat-slick brows betrayed the tension beneath their forced smiles.

"Fifty percent off! Buy it now!"

"Buy one, get one free! Purchase one good, you get one for free!"

"Sixty percent off!"

Their voices grew louder with the passing of time, their faces paling, and the tension on their faces tightening.

"Come! Get your goods!"

"...I'm just 100 Solas short! So long as anyone can provide me with that much money, you can have anything you wish from the stall!"

"Someone!"

Despite the cries of some of the merchants, nobody paid close attention to them. Their pleas were a common occurrence within Virith-Anash.

And then—

Dong! Dong—!

The deep, resounding toll of a bell echoed through the air, reverberating as the massive black church at the heart of the city trembled with each chime.

The merchants despaired, and the windows of several houses closed.

Then came the Emissaries—cloaked in black, their beaked masks like vultures descending upon the dying. They radiated an aura of dread and fear as they walked through the bazaar.

At their helm was a man in a gray robe, his mask matching the others, but his presence was different. An overwhelming aura of pressure radiated from him, making the air around him feel thick.

Their steps seemed to drain the very air from the surroundings, and a suffocating silence descended upon the bazaar. The men in black moved from stall to stall, and with each stop, the merchants anxiously handed over sacks that seemed to be filled with gold.

"....."

The silence carried through with each transaction as the men in black continued to collect payment from each merchant.

Everything seemed to be proceeding smoothly, until...

"That's not enough."

A hoarse voice suddenly echoed, and all eyes fell on the trembling merchant.

"No, how could it be.... I was..."

"...You're missing a total of 75 Solas."

"Ah, let me check... I might have..."

Trembling, the merchant tried to look around his stall for any change while looking around, a clear look of despair appearing on his face.

And then—

"Do you have the money?"

"I..."

"Okay."

Nodding, the men dressed in black moved around the stall, leaving the merchant no room for retreat as his face turned completely pale.

"No, wait! Wait! Give me some time! I will have the money! Just give me some time! I've always paid on time! Please!"

The merchant's screams pierced the silence of the bazaar as the men in black closed in on him, grabbing him from all sides. Without hesitation, they followed the lead of the figures in gray robes, lifting him and carrying him away.

"Noooo!! I can pay! I can pay!!"

His screams continued to pierce through the surroundings, but they were only met with pitiful glances as he was brought away.

Such a scene was common in Virith-Anash.

Anyone who failed to pay the Emissaries of the Goddess of Light, Panthea, was met with such a fate.

...It was only through her protection that the city was able to remain standing.

As such, donations were necessary.

Those who couldn't contribute to the city had no reason to remain within the city.

"Help! I can pay!"

"Wait, I'm only a few Solas shy! Can't you forgive me this once!?"

"Please!"

"No!"

As the merchants were hauled away, new faces quickly filled their stalls, as if they had been waiting in the wings, prepared in advance.

Such was the brutal life of those who lived at the edge of the Crimson Sea.

Soon, the emissaries arrived at a particular stall. It was a modest setup, adorned with a white cloth, and several dozen books lay neatly arranged atop it.

Amid the chaos, one man sat calmly in a white-clothed stall, a book in hand and a leg casually crossed. With sharp brows, silver-framed glasses, and a composed air, he looked less like a merchant and more like a misplaced nobleman.

And as if finally sensing the emissaries, he raised his head, a warm smile tugging at his lips.

"Ah. Good afternoon," he said warmly. "Interested in a book, perhaps?"

"....."

The surroundings turned deafly quiet, whispers suddenly filling the bazaar.

"Is he crazy?"

"...Did he seriously just say that? Is he looking to die?"

Nobody could believe their ears. Was someone so bold as to say something like this?

But very quickly, people realized the situation.

"It looks like he's one of the new merchants who recently took place. He probably wasn't able to reach the quota, and is trying to swindle his way out of the situation."

Some smirked upon hearing the voice.

"...He might as well just give up."

"Swindling the emissaries? Pftt."

A wave of pitying glances swept through the crowd, all directed at the book merchant. In the long history of Virith-Anash, only a rare few had ever managed to elude the grasp of the Emissaries—and those few were all legendary figures that now stood at the top of the Mirror Dimension.

How could such a man compete with such figures?

"You do not have the money?"

Breaking the silence was the hoarse voice of the leading emissary, his gray robe fluttering silently as his eyes beneath the mask sharpened.

A terrifying pressure suddenly bore down on the surroundings, several red runes manifesting over the mask of the gray-robed emissary.

"You were told the rules," he continued. "To come up short is to defy the Goddess of Light. Her light does not shine on the unworthy."

The men in black started to surround the merchant, who remained calm throughout the entire exchange.

The tensions escalated from that point.

And just as things were starting to turn dangerous, the merchant placed his book down and put on his glasses. That was when his face changed.

"What's this?!"

He had a shocked expression on his face as he looked around.

"Emissaries? Oh my..."

He quickly stood and reached beneath the stall, drawing out a heavy sack of coins.

"My sincerest apologies," he said, bowing slightly as he offered the bag to the gray-robed emissary. "I'm terribly nearsighted without these, and I was so immersed in my reading that I didn't see you arrive."

The crowd stared in stunned silence.

He then pointed toward his glasses.

"That... and I can't really see without my glasses, you see. I really do apologize."

"....."

Silence filled the space as they heard the merchant's words.

Seriously?

No one knew how to react. Especially since his words looked extremely convincing. He also provided the money necessary.

Plus, who in their right mind would do this just to provoke the emissaries?

"A mistake?"

The emissary did not move. He stared at the sack, then at the merchant, silent as death.

Then... looking towards the merchant, the runes on his mask started to fade.

"Pay an additional fifteen percent," the emissary said coldly. "And the offense will be forgiven."

The eyes of a few widened upon hearing the emissary's words. 15%!? That was a ridiculous amount.

It was already hard for many to get the normal quota, and yet...

"Oh, okay."

"Eh?"

"What?"

Everyone's eyes widened when they saw the merchant pull out another sack and hand it to the emissary.

"I really do apologize for what I did. I do hope that this makes you forgive my actions."

Throughout the entire time, the merchant maintained an elegant and refined demeanour, handling everything carefully and neatly.

"....."

The emissary stared at the money, seemingly lost in thought.

But then, brushing hands against the merchant, he grabbed the money and turned around.

"Your crimes have been forgiven. There will not be a next time."

"Ah, yes, of course."

The merchant lowered his head and apologized yet again.

The emissary paused again.

"You..."

His voice softly echoed.

"Your name."

The merchant looked up, his eyes shining faintly behind the lenses.

"Lazarus," he replied softly.

"A traveling merchant from afar."

And then, with a polite inclination of his head, his lips pulled further up.

"…Rest assured. Such an incident will never happen again. Of that, I promise."