The gates of the Tenth-Floor City loomed like the jaws of a beast. Beyond them, the air shimmered with ash and gold, thick with the scent of burning resin and the metallic tang of beast cores being refined.

Luciel stood by the half-lit market terrace, his cloak drawn against the rising wind. His dark eyes scanned the gathered traders — hostesses in veiled silks, hunters with blood still drying on their vambraces, and one woman whose composure seemed far too deliberate.

Liyi Yi.

She stood opposite him, her gloved hands folded at her waist, eyes cold and brilliant like green jade under lamplight.

"How many beast cores," Luciel asked quietly, "could you carry out of this city… without alerting them?"

Waldo and his men shifted behind her, exchanging looks. The name of the Tenth-Floor City carried weight — a fortress of power, greed, and surveillance. Few smuggled anything out of it and lived.

But Liyi Yi didn't flinch.

"Three advanced," she said. "Seventeen intermediate. Two hundred and thirty elementary. And another five hundred mixed — elementary and intermediate."

Luciel's brow arched. She had rehearsed that answer.

He said nothing at first, only calculated — the kind of silent arithmetic that could decide the fate of a city. His mind worked faster than his lips. Converted into evolution points, it totaled nearly seven hundred thousand.

Seven hundred thousand.

Enough to almost reach a seventh-level domesticated beast.

Almost.

He was still two hundred thousand short — and that missing fraction clawed at him like a hungry thing in the dark.

Luciel's gaze lingered on her, assessing. She's rich, he thought. And she's desperate.

The Moon Tribe, her lineage, had once been proud and wealthy, before war and famine carved it hollow. To think she'd gathered such wealth in beast spars… it meant years of hoarding, of quiet sacrifices.

He remembered his own struggle — scraping together barely two hundred thousand evolution points from the ruins of the Moon Tribe, enough to evolve only two sixth-level beasts. And even those had come at a cost written in blood.

"Is it not enough?" she asked. Her tone was calm, but her fingers twitched — a small, betraying gesture.

Luciel smiled faintly. "A little short," he murmured.

"I only have this much," Liyi Yi said, her voice lowering. "They've been gathering dust for years. If my father were still alive… perhaps I'd have traded some in the Prosperous City for spirit weapons."

Her words hung between them — the faintest shadow of grief masked by poise.

Luciel nodded slowly. His plan was forming — jagged and dangerous, but perfect.

"I accept your offer," he said at last. "But in return… you'll do something for me."

Her eyes lifted to his, the green reflecting the torchlight.

"What thing?" she asked, breath catching with the faintest trace of hope.

"I'll make sure you leave this city alive," Luciel said, voice smooth as steel, "after the deal is done."

Her lips parted. "That's it? Say the word — please."

He leaned closer. His voice dropped to a whisper.

"You'll help me trade some… things. Quietly. No one must know."

Liyi Yi's breath hitched. A faint flush rose to her cheeks — half from the closeness, half from the weight of implication.

Then she nodded. "Yes," she said softly. "No problem at all."

Luciel stepped back, his expression neutral again. "Good. Gather your belongings and wait for my signal."

She inclined her head. "Understood."

As she turned to leave, Luciel caught a last glimpse of her — green eyes that lingered longer than they should, before hardening into composure.

---

When she rejoined Waldo and the others, their stares met her like spears.

"What did he offer you?" Waldo demanded.

"Trade," she said lightly, adjusting the strap of her cloak. "Some seedlings. And… leaves from that glowing tree."

One of the hosts frowned. "Glowing tree?"

Liyi Yi nodded. "He called it the Star Tea Tree. Black Tortoise City's sacred plant. Brew its leaves, and it can extend one's life."

Murmurs rippled through the group.

"Extend life?" one man scoffed. "A pretty lie, that."

"Then why give it away for free?" she shot back coolly. "We'll know the truth once I taste it."

Her calm rebuke silenced them. Even Waldo hesitated.

He narrowed his eyes. "How many beast cores for one seedling?"

"Eleven," she answered smoothly. "Elementary and intermediate. Per seedling."

A sharp intake of breath cut through the air.

"Eleven? They lowered it?"

She nodded. "Each plant is one core cheaper for those who trade more. If you want less, you'll pay full."

Waldo exchanged glances with the others — greed and doubt twisting together in their expressions.

"How many did you trade?"

"One hundred," she said with a faint smile.

Their eyes widened.

"Are you mad?" someone hissed. "That's half the Yi family's stock!"

She said nothing — only turned away, her cloak whispering behind her.

"They've only two hundred seedlings left," she called over her shoulder. "If you wait, they'll be gone."

That broke them.

The crowd began to murmur — suspicion turning to panic, panic to hunger.

"I'll buy some," one man barked. "Before the rest vanish."

"We should wait," Waldo said sharply. "Maybe the price will drop to ten."

But another landlord snapped, "Better to plant early than die waiting for scraps."

Within moments, the market erupted into motion.

Luciel, watching from his stall, saw the first wave of hosts push forward — gold and beast spars flashing in their hands.

He hid his smile.

Mirean stood beside him, recording trades with ink-stained fingers, while the air filled with haggling voices.

"For thirty seedlings," one buyer said, "you'll reduce the price, yes?"

Luciel's expression remained cold, composed. "Those who trade thirty or more get one core off each. That's all."

He had planned something different at first — a larger con, a longer play involving the Thieves' Guild and a network of false traders. But with Liyi Yi's unexpected cooperation, the game had turned simpler, faster.

Most of the goods will be gone before the plan even begins, he thought.

The crowd thickened.

"What about the Star Tea?" someone asked eagerly.

Luciel gave him a look that could freeze stone. "Only those who trade one hundred seedlings or more receive a taste. The rest of you may dream."

The murmurs grew louder — envy mixing with greed.

"I'll take a hundred," Waldo said at last, voice booming.

"I'll take thirty," said another.

"Thirty for me as well."

"I'll take whatever's left!"

"Wait—share them!"

"Split it then, damn you!"

The arguments tangled like a web. Luciel barely hid his amusement. He lifted his hand — a gesture of finality.

"You can also trade for tomato seedlings," he said calmly.

"Tomatoes?" one man echoed. "I'll take thirteen."

"I'll take ten."

Within minutes, even the lesser goods were gone — swept away by the same fever that had claimed the beast spars.

Mirean, graceful even in the chaos, closed her ledger and smiled faintly. "Sorry, gentlemen. That's the last of them."

"Truly gone?" one man demanded, voice hoarse.

"Truly gone," she repeated, her tone dripping with polite finality.

Of course, it was a lie. There were plenty left in storage — but hunger made better currency than truth ever could.

Luciel watched the crowd scatter — satisfied traders, bitter latecomers, and a few who lingered to whisper schemes among themselves.

"Go," he said quietly to his people. "Let them gather more beast spars. The real game begins when they return."

The foreshadowing was set — the Thief's Plan, as he called it, already breathing beneath the surface.

The city's nobles would think they were buying life and wealth, but they were feeding a different beast — his.

And when the dust settled, Luciel would stand not with one seventh-level domesticated creature… but perhaps with two. Maybe three.

He turned his gaze toward the city's burning horizon, where the towers of the Tenth Floor glowed like molten blades.

The wind carried

the scent of star tea, blood, and ambition — the perfume of power itself.

Luciel's lips curved into a quiet smile.

"Let them chase salvation," he murmured. "While we take everything else."

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