CHAPTER 1062: TAVERN

The palace gates loomed wide as Adrius and Erend emerged into the open air. The sunlight that was starting falling down spilling across polished stone and tall banners fluttering in the wind.

The guards at the entrance shifted uneasily but bowed their heads without question, parting swiftly to allow the Archmage and Erend passage.

Once they were beyond the gilded gates, the streets of the capital sprawled before them.

The streets were bustling and lined with merchants shouting their wares, the smell of roasted meats and baked bread drifting in the air like always.

Children running between market stalls while wagons creaked under heavy loads of grain and cloth.

As Adrius stepped forward, his presence rippled like a silent wave through the crowd.

People noticed him immediately. Some of them have their eyes widening or whispers flaring briefly, but no one dared approach.

They recognized the Archmage at once, his long white beard and rune-stitched robes impossible to mistake. Even Erend, despite the illusion masking his true identity, drew lingering glances for simply walking at Adrius’s side.

Yet after the first look, most turned quickly away, pretending not to notice and resuming their business. None of them wished to risk drawing the Archmage’s anger with idle chatter.

The two moved steadily through the avenues, leaving behind the noise of the grand market and the bright sprawl of sunlight.

Adrius turned into narrower streets. His expression fixed forward with the precision of someone who had done this many times before. It has already been so long since he visited this black market, but he is still familiar with its way.

The lively cries of merchants faded into quieter voices.

The cobblestones grew uneven and cracked in places. The smell shifted from fresh bread to dirty and damp earth and smoke coming from woods burning. Shuttered windows lined the narrow lanes and lanterns hung unlit even in daylight.

Adrius finally slowed as they approached an abandoned-looking tavern at the corner of two intersecting alleys.

Its wooden sign was broken and just hanging by a single rusted chain and its door was shut tight as though it hadn’t been opened for years.

But Adrius moved without hesitation, stepping up to the warped frame and raising his hand to rap his knuckles three times in a precise rhythm.

There was silence for a few seconds. Erend just stood behind him and waited.

Then the faint grind of hidden mechanisms within the door could be heard. A thin line of light broke across the cracks as the door opened inward, revealing only shadows beyond.

Adrius glanced at Erend with a sharp nod. "The entrance to the black market lies beneath this broken tavern. Stay close and try not to kill anybody."

Erend scoffed and smirked. "I’m not usually killing anyone that easy."

"Yeah but they will try to kill you. So don’t kill them," Adrius said.

Erend shugged. "Alright."

Without another word, he stepped inside, the air instantly cooler and thick with the scent of stone and smoke.

Erend followed him in, the door shutting heavily behind them, sealing the world outside away.

Inside, the tavern was dim, lit only by the weak glow of a few oil lamps that swung lazily on their chains. Definitely on purpose.

The wooden beams above were blackened with years of smoke and the air was heavy with the scent of ale, sweat, and damp rot.

Only a handful of people sat scattered across the room. Rough-looking men and women hunched over tankards, their faces shadowed beneath hoods or marked with scars.

Their eyes rose the moment Adrius and Erend entered. They looked sharp and unfriendly, like wolves noticing intruders in their den. Some squinted with suspicion and the others narrowed their eyes in irritation at the disturbance.

One of the drinkers—a man with a bald head and a scar slashing down his cheek—let out a low grunt and spat on the floor. But no one dared say anything aloud.

The sight of Adrius’s robes and the unmistakable weight of his presence was enough to still their tongues, even though their stares lingered with mug-faced hostility. Adrius himself didn’t even bother to conceal his identity.

He didn’t give them a single glance. His stride was calm and unwavering as though the stares of thugs and cutthroats were no more than the buzzing of flies.

Erend followed silently, his eyes sweeping the room in quiet observation.

At the far end of the tavern, a thick wooden counter stood and behind it were a broad-shouldered man leaned with crossed arms.

His leather jerkin was worn and there was a jagged dagger resting at his hip. His face was lined with age, his eyes sharp and watchful.

When Adrius approached, the man’s expression shifted from guarded to slightly surprised.

"Well, well... it’s been years, Archmage," he said, his gravelly voice carrying through the still air. "Didn’t think I’d ever see you walk through this door again."

"Neither did I," Adrius replied flatly. "But here I am. I need to go there."

The man’s gaze flicked toward Erend, narrowing as if to measure him.

He grunted once, then jerked his head toward a reinforced door set into the back wall of the tavern. Two armed guards stood beside it, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords.

"You know the way hasn’t changed," the man said. "But I’ll walk you to the entrance all the same."

He moved out from behind the counter. The rough patrons who had been watching gave a few mutters under their breath, but no one dared interfere as Adrius and Erend followed.

The man rapped three sharp knocks on the reinforced door.

One of the guards stepped aside immediately, the other unlocking the bolt with a practiced motion.

The heavy door swung open, and a draft of cool air seeped out from the stone passage beyond.

"Down there," the man said. "Same as always. You’ll find the market waiting."

Adrius gave him a curt nod. "You’ve done your part."

Without hesitation, he stepped through the doorway, the sound of his boots echoing faintly as he began the descent into the underground.

Erend followed close behind, the door slamming shut above them, cutting them off from the tavern and its prying eyes.

The air grew colder, the walls narrowing into a tunnel of stone. Faint torchlight flickered far below, where the true black market waited.

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