CHAPTER 40: CHAPTER 40: D RANK ADVANCEMENT

Frank sat cross-legged on his apartment floor, still wearing the same half-torn jacket from the night of the ritual.

He hadn’t spoken to Juliet in hours. She was sleeping on his couch, boots still on, blade under the blanket.

He didn’t blame her.

They were both still rattled—but alive.

He stared at the open Trade System window projected in front of him. Data pulsed. Orders ticked upward. Notifications buzzed faintly in the corner.

[New Sales: 19]

[Customer Review: "Product arrived faster than my cousin’s funeral. 5 stars."]

[Pending Rank Evaluation Available – Caution: Threshold Detected]

Frank raised an eyebrow. "Threshold, huh?"

He tapped the panel.

[Trader Rank: E] → Promotion Option: D]

[Requirement: Show consistent market growth, survive minimum of three ranked dungeons, and handle three cross-realm exchanges.]

[Status: 2/3 complete.]

He leaned back, arms behind his head.

"One more exchange," he muttered. "That’s it."

The system pinged again.

[Notice: Cross-Realm Buyer "Zaruun" has left a pending trade challenge.]

Frank smirked. "Of course he has."

His thumb hovered over the ACCEPT button for a second... then moved away.

Not yet.

He flipped to his inventory board, skimming through his categorized stock:

Skygrapple v2 units – low stock

Healing patches – stable

Anti-pressure talismans – slightly radioactive

Charm seeds – still too suspicious to list

One cursed scroll labeled "Do Not Touch" – flagged, again

"I should really throw that out," Frank muttered. He didn’t.

Instead, he clicked open a new section:

[Tier D Preparation: Tactical Expansion Draft]

He began dragging products into the panel. Categorizing for hunter-type clients, realm specialists, bulk buyers, and questionable mercenary guilds.

As the interface glowed softly in front of him, Frank let his mind wander.

He’d survived a mimic, dueled a warlord, fled a cult ritual, and got flashbanged in a tunnel with a sarcastic bounty hunter who was now drooling on his couch pillow.

And yet... here he was.

Alive.

Still trading.

Still building.

He tapped the screen once more.

[Submit D-Rank Evaluation?]

He paused.

Then smiled to himself.

"Time to stop playing small."

Click.

Frank packed in silence.

Well—quiet, at least. His system wouldn’t shut up.

[NOTICE: Rank Evaluation Dungeon will begin upon confirmation.]

[Type: Adaptive-Encounter]

[Environment: Unknown until entry]

[Difficulty Scaling: 1.6x Normal F-Rank Threat Level]

[Note: Trader evaluations prioritize creativity, adaptability, and value manipulation.]

"Which is system-speak for: ’We’ll throw you somewhere stupid and see if you can hustle your way out,’" Frank muttered, shoving a folded pressure talisman into his side pouch.

He crossed the room to his gear shelf.

Grapple kit.

Three modded flare beads.

Compact breather mask.

Backup charm capsule with emergency teleport... maybe.

Five snack bars labeled "suspicious but edible."

He stared at the last one.

"Leaving these. Last time I ate one, I saw a goat in a suit offer me stock advice."

[Inventory Adjusted.]

"Thanks."

He stood in front of the wall mirror, pulling his coat tight. It still smelled like ritual smoke and rooftop dust, but it was familiar. It made him feel... solid.

Juliet snored faintly from the couch.

Frank turned to glance at her.

"Don’t wake up until I’m back," he said under his breath. "No solo hero stuff. That’s my job this week."

He flicked his wristband once more, and the evaluation portal lit up in his living room—a slow spin of dull violet light and contract glyphs circling the frame.

[BEGIN EVALUATION?]

Frank took one last breath.

Then muttered, "Alright, let’s see what the universe thinks I’m worth."

And he stepped through.

Juliet woke with a groan and a stabbing pain in her shoulder.

"Ugh... no more stone floors," she muttered, shifting upright.

Then she blinked.

The apartment was empty.

Too empty.

No Frank pacing. No complaints about inventory categories. No stupid humming while restocking charm wrappers.

"Frank?" she called out, rubbing her temples.

Silence.

Then she saw it—a faint flicker of purple residue in the air near the coffee table. The kind system portals left behind.

She cursed.

"You portal-hopping lunatic..."

Her wristband buzzed with a delayed notification.

[Message from Frank Hagan: Hey. Off to evaluation. Don’t panic. Probably won’t die. Keep the couch warm.]

She stared at the message for a long beat.

Then grabbed a throw pillow and screamed into it.

Frank landed with a thud.

Not hard—but definitely undignified.

He pushed himself to his feet, brushing dust off his sleeves. "Okay. Not lava. Not ice. That’s already a win."

He looked around.

He was standing in what looked like a merchant’s marketplace—except everything was off. The stalls were crooked. The air was too still. And every vendor had... no face.

[Welcome to Evaluation Instance #D-2477: "The Marketplace of Merit."]

[Objective: Conduct three trades, overcome one negotiation trap, and survive buyer rejection.]

[Bonus: Upsell the unsellable.]

Frank blinked. "You people are insane."

The first vendor, dressed in faded silks and missing a mouth, slid something across the counter: a jar of invisible bees.

A scroll appeared in the air:

[Trade Request: Will you take this cursed hive and return a fair exchange?]

Frank stared at the jar.

The jar buzzed menacingly.

He took a step back.

Then smiled faintly. "Oh yeah," he muttered. "I’m definitely ranking up today."

Frank stared at the jar of invisible bees.

It buzzed faintly in his hand. He could feel the movement inside—restless and angry. The label read:

"Do not drop. Do not open. Definitely bees."

"Great," Frank muttered. "A death rattle in a jar."

He looked up. The faceless vendor raised a scroll:

[Will you trade this cursed product for value equal to its weight in secrets?]

Frank rolled his eyes. "What kind of currency is secrets? I can’t barter with gossip and bad decisions."

The system pinged:

[Hint: Emotional weight counts.]

Frank paused.

Then smirked. "Alright."

He reached into his pack and pulled out a small, faded sketch—a doodle of his original store logo from Earth. A cracked mug, crooked crown, and the word "HAGAN’S" scrawled across it in messy pen.

"This was my first pitch," he said. "I made the flyer myself. Nobody showed. I threw the first batch of inventory in the trash."

He slid the paper forward.

The vendor stilled.

The bees stopped buzzing.

[Trade Accepted.]

[Trial One Complete: Value in Vulnerability]

Frank tucked the scroll away. "One down."

The next stall was colder. Covered in frost. The vendor—a towering hooded figure—slid forward a block of melting ice with a single, glowing stone inside it.

[Item: Forgotten Ember]

[Condition: Will melt and vanish unless exchanged for equal heat.]

Frank’s breath fogged.

He tapped his wristband and scanned his inventory.

"No heat items," he muttered. "Unless..."

His fingers hovered over a metal charm labeled "Thermal Coin – One-Time Warmth (Expired)."

He bit his lip. "Expired... but maybe?"

He slid the coin across the table.

The vendor picked it up.

The ice glowed.

Stopped melting.

[Trade Accepted: False Heat for Fading Fire]

[Trial Two Complete: Creativity Over Condition]

Frank smirked. "Still got it.

The third vendor didn’t offer an item.

He pointed at Frank’s bag.

[Trial Three: Upsell the Unsellable.]

Frank blinked. "You want me to sell you something from my pack?"

The vendor nodded once.

Frank opened his inventory.

Inside? A cracked charm labeled "Unstable Pebble – May Scream. Not Magical."

He grinned.

"Oh yeah. You’re gonna love this."

Realm: Skitterfang Hollow

Location: Goblin Market – Sector 9, beneath the Rotting Lantern Arch

The smell of burnt moss and sour ink filled the crooked alley.

Moggrel sat atop a twisted metal crate, one boot resting on a barrel of mislabeled healing salve ("Now With 14% Real Effect!"). His fingers tapped against a rune-etched communicator made from bone and chewed copper.

The signal buzzed once.

Then crackled to life.

Zaruun’s voice came through—controlled, clipped, annoyed.

"Moggrel."

The goblin grinned wide, all yellow teeth and slick oil-stained goggles. "Well, well. The honorable Zaruun, calling me. Must be serious if you’re willing to get your hands... metaphorically filthy."

"Spare me." Zaruun’s tone was dry. "You’ve heard the name Frank Hagan."

Moggrel’s grin didn’t fade. "Of course. Hard to miss when a no-name Earth trader flips a B-tier auction table upside down. Word is he swindled a dream-merchant, charmed a frost-elf, and made the Battleborn eat his own pride stew."

A pause.

Then:

"He humiliated me," Zaruun said flatly.

Moggrel cackled. "Even better."

Zaruun didn’t respond to the laugh. Instead, he said, "I want him tested. Pushed. Backed into a corner."

"And what, you’re hiring me as your honorable dueling proxy?" Moggrel licked one sharp tooth. "Sounds more like revenge than commerce."

"You’ll profit."

Moggrel’s eyes gleamed. "I usually do. What’s in it for me?"

"If you get him to sign anything foolish—keep it temporary. I want him frustrated, not dead."

Moggrel kicked his barrel over with a thunk. "I’m insulted. You think I’d kill a profitable idiot before wringing three debts out of him?"

Zaruun’s voice was cold. "Just don’t underestimate him."

The line buzzed.

"Underestimate?" Moggrel muttered, mostly to himself. He turned toward the black pit tunnel behind him where three goblin scribes were already scribbling up fake trade offers and enchanted coupons.

"No, no, dear Zaruun. I’m not underestimating him."

He cracked his long, bony fingers.

"I’m gonna make him owe me."