Some hours before.

In the Arterix.

Azhriel walked down the quiet hallway the manager had pointed out. On both sides, identical doors stood in a neat row, each marked with a number and holding a broker inside.

He stopped at cabin number eight and knocked.

"Hm? Who is it? You can come in." A smooth voice drifted from within.

Pushing the door open, Azhriel stepped inside. A man with brown hair and yellow eyes was moving briskly around the room, slipping items into a suitcase.

He wore a tailored black suit that gave off a detective's air, topped with a matching hat that cast a shadow over his face.

The man glanced up, his sharp gaze meeting Azhriel's blue eyes. "Hm? And you are…?" Phantom asked.

"Hello, Mr. Phantom. I heard you're resigning today," Azhriel said calmly.

"Yes, I am. Though… is that any concern of yours?"

Phantom tilted his head slightly, his expression casual, but behind his eyes, his thoughts were already working, digging through his memory, trying to place the man standing before him.

"Oh, it very much is," Azhriel replied, his voice smooth and steady as he slid into the chair opposite without waiting for permission. "I have a deal for you."

Phantom was a man of few words. His name didn't hold much weight in the world yet—he was only just about to start his own business outside these walls.

But in the years to come, he was destined to become the leader of an information network so vast it would outshine even Arterix itself.

Of course… that was if fate stayed on its original course—if he never met Azhriel.

"What kind of deal, sir?" Phantom asked, lowering himself into his chair, eyes narrowing with cautious interest.

"First, let's make sure no rats are eavesdropping."

Azhriel snapped his fingers, and a faint ripple shimmered through the air. A basic sound-hindering barrier sealed the space, muting the world beyond the cabin walls.

"Now then," Azhriel continued, leaning forward slightly. "Mr. Phantom, I'm running short on time, so I'll be blunt—I want you to work for me."

Phantom blinked once. "What?"

"Yes, you heard me correctly," Azhriel said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "Work for me—or, to put it more simply, become my personal information broker."

Phantom's brow furrowed at the boy's audacity, the faint crease between his eyes deepening. Yet, he didn't dismiss the offer outright.

No one would wander into the Black Market just to spin an empty bluff.

The very fact that this man had found him here meant he'd already passed through layers of danger and deception.

That alone made Phantom pause.

"Why me?" Phantom asked, his voice careful, guarded.

"It's simple," Azhriel replied, his tone steady.

"Because with that ability of yours, you'll become the best in your field—and I need someone of that stature working for me." He leaned into the word ability, letting it linger just enough to strike a nerve.

The effect was immediate.

Phantom's chair scraped back as he stood, his expression tightening.

From the cuff of his tailored suit, a slim blade slid into his hand, flashing cold steel under the dim light. In a single, fluid motion, he lunged forward.

Azhriel didn't so much as flinch.

The knife halted a hair's breadth from his throat, hanging there as if caught in invisible chains.

Phantom's eyes narrowed, the sharpness of his gaze matching the blade still frozen mid-air.

"Hey, boy," he said, his voice low and edged with threat. "Who are you really?"

Azhriel's smirk deepened. He met Phantom's stare without a shred of hesitation, his words flowing smooth and unhurried.

"As I said," he replied, almost lazily, "I want to be your future boss."

Phantom's eyes stayed locked on the boy, unblinking, weighing him in silence. Finally, he eased the blade away and let out a slow breath.

"What's in it for me if I join you?" he asked, his tone stripped of hostility but still edged with caution.

"Plenty," Azhriel replied without hesitation. "From what I know about you, you're leaving Arterix because you want to build your own group—and crush those bastards who've been using you for years."

The words made Phantom pause. He leaned back, dropping into his chair, and stared at the ceiling as though trying to piece together how this stranger had cracked open his thoughts.

"How the fuck do you even know that?" he demanded, a trace of unease in his voice.

Azhriel's expression didn't shift. "Who knows," he said lightly. "But let me tell you about the perks—you'll have a steady flow of capital, full control over whatever you want to build, and the freedom to run it your way."

Phantom scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Do you think I'm a kid? Just tell me your demands."

Azhriel leaned forward slightly. "Nothing much. You provide me any information I ask for, and when I mark something urgent, you make it your top priority."

"That's it?" Phantom blinked. "Sounds like you're more of an investor than a boss."

Azhriel's lips curved into a faint smile. "Ain't that good for you?"

For a moment, the room was quiet, both men gauging the other. Then Phantom raised his hand to shake. The deal was too tempting to ignore.

"Deal."

But instead of taking it, Azhriel drew a parchment-like sheet from a glowing ring and set it on the table.

"Sign it," he said simply.

That was when Phantom realized the truth—this boy had been certain of his victory from the start. The thought sent an involuntary chill down his spine.

He skimmed the contract, checking each clause with care, but found nothing out of place. With a decisive stroke, he signed. The parchment dissolved into shimmering motes of light.

"Nice," Azhriel said, extending his hand once more.

This time Phantom shook it, though he did so with a slow shake of his head.

No matter how he looked at it, he'd been fighting a losing negotiation from the very beginning.

"Now then, we're done with it. Here's your first mission," Azhriel said.

"Like… right now?" Phantom asked, raising a brow.

"Yes. It's important." Azhriel's tone sharpened, the casual ease replaced by something heavier. "Tell me why those Serpent Heads are here. I'm sure you have some information."

The air between them shifted instantly, tension crawling in like a silent shadow. Phantom's smirk faded—he could tell this wasn't small talk.

"Haa… boss, to think my first task would be investigating demons," Phantom muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "But you're right. I do know why they're here."

He reached into his suitcase, pulling out a single folded sheet of paper. Without another word, he slid it across the table.

Azhriel unfolded it, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the contents. The page was filled with detailed information about a man named—Noel Arvis.

Every line was clean, concise, and exact: from Noel's history as a genius prodigy in alchemy and mechanical engineering, to the scandal that led to his fall from nobility.

It was all there—dates, incidents, affiliations. Not a single word felt exaggerated or misplaced.

'As expected… it was a good idea to recruit him from the start.'

Azhriel thought, a faint glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes.

"Is he somehow connected with all this?" Azhriel asked, eyes scanning the stack of documents about Noel.

"Yes. The demons are searching for him," Phantom replied.

Azhriel's gaze lifted from the papers, locking on the man across the table. "Why are they searching for him?"

"It's probably because Noel stole the Phoenix Heart from them," Phantom said.

Azhriel tilted his head, feigning curiosity. "Phoenix Heart… is it for creating an elixir?" His tone suggested a guess, though the faint glint in his eyes betrayed that he already knew.

"Correct. And as you know," Phantom leaned back slightly, "elixirs aren't something you just stumble upon—especially if you're a Fallen Noble living in the Black Market."

Elixirs were rare treasures, liquids shimmering faintly with condensed magic.

Each drop held enough power to mend grievous wounds, purge poisons, or even restore years of lost vitality.

But their worth went far beyond healing—some could awaken dormant potential, strengthen mana cores, or extend a person's lifespan.

That kind of power was worth more than familes, and in places like the Black Market, worth more than a man's life.

So it all made sense now—why the demons were hunting for him.

Noel, for all his brilliance, had the rare skill to craft an Elixir. But that alone didn't explain everything.

"Why would Noel need an elixir though? Is someone in his family injured?" Azhriel asked.

"Yes," Phantom replied with a short nod. "Noel's son is in grave condition. He's been unconscious ever since the injury he got while running from the scandal."

Azhriel's eyes narrowed slightly. "So that's why he risked stealing from demons."

Phantom looked away for a moment, his tone quiet. "A father will do anything when his child's life is slipping away."

"Though in the first place what was his connection with demons?" Azhriel asked.

"Sorry, but that i don't know. My knowledge is to that extent that the demonic human he made potions and things for died a week ago."