Chapter 39

Regarding a dispute over a certain period of time that suddenly received solid proof, Aomo was indeed surprised, but it was still nothing to him.

After all, the one who should care about this point ought to be the transmigrator, not him, a local who, upon obtaining the transmigrator's memory, seems to inherit that person's obsession.

After a brief surprise, he saw no need to stay longer and politely announced his departure.

Then you shouldn't keep waiting for the security bureau to get results? What are you doing running over here? You just can't stay still, can you?

A sudden voice from beside him made Aomo's steps pause, then he resumed walking: "Tired from gaming?"

He was walking through the Mirror Market in the western district of Heaven's Gate City when Morrison's voice sounded out of nowhere; Aomo, who wasn't walking with his terminal open, thought he was hallucinating.

The level of fantasy here really makes one doubt reality; as an inner-city district of Heaven's Gate City that relies on an external opening, the Mirror Market, due to an initial mistake in the space's creation, has some 'bug' at its boundaries, so anyone who comes here can see the strange sight of buildings bending and stacking.

In the past, Aomo had seen photos of such strange sights online, and knowledge from other worlds also had corresponding strange sights, but those were movie products, not what he was seeing with his own eyes now.

Developers don't care about bugs in the space; as long as it's new land they can develop, Heaven's Gate City has many who can manipulate space, so such artificially created spaces relying on the main world are quite numerous, and since management is also inconvenient, they have become places to hide filth.

This small black market unique to Heaven's Gate City is somewhat familiar to Morrison, but he doesn't recall ever teaching Aomo how to get here.

I figured you'd have left the police station by now, yet you ran over here—playing games would make me the heartless one? How did you find this place?

Scour the black market, browse forums, filter out the useless, keep what matters and do map screening, hire a taxi driver to fly to six locations, observe pedestrians at each to confirm information, further narrow the investigation circle, then follow others' example to come here.

"Seriously? One and a half hours enough for you to do all that?" Morrison's voice was full of surprise.

"Of course not serious; the actual process can be skipped largely, because someone at the market's outer entrance noticed me first, I paid a few hundred bucks to have them bring me to the black market..."

Although he was made a sucker, Aomo spoke of it without any displeasure, even feeling somewhat sentimental.

I didn't expect anyone outside the Mirror Market to be doing this kind of business.

Entering the Mirror Market from outside only requires passing through a tunnel beside an alley, with no one guarding the door; when Aomo noticed this, he immediately realized the guide was making a profit at zero cost.

But he did indeed save time, so he didn't renege on the agreed extra pay.

But after actually entering, what made Aomo feel sentimental was that this place didn't resemble a black market; it was more like Diagon Alley or something.

No poor security, no chaotic retained programs, not even any street stalls; instead, shopfronts are packed tightly between buildings.

He had prepared himself for trouble due to his overly youthful appearance and lack of vigilance, including being targeted by pickpockets—the latter because he had seen many such people in the Interface Gate District, and here he could still recognize those 'special professionals' unable to shake off their occupational ailments.

But even if those people noticed his presence, they had no intention of acting, and instead even kept their distance.

"Have you met anyone important?" Morrison isn't clueless in this kind of place.

I'm also curious; among the people I've met these past few days, perhaps only Miss Xingxiong would have some connections in this kind of place.

In the otherworld memories, the information recorded about that ghost-clan miss includes ties to underworld groups, but such information can only be taken as reference; blind faith is inadvisable, as evidenced by some horse-girl trainers who have already made mistakes.

"Who is that?"

"The officer who helped me yesterday, though we won't mention him now. Since you've come over, you can be my aide—are you familiar with this place?"

"This is Zone Three, right? I've been here before—what do you want to buy?"

"No rush, first gather intelligence," Aomo replied while scanning the various storefronts passing by, "places where information can be bought and sold, places where one can hire informants, even places where one can hire enforcers, and finally places linked to high-end arms."

"You'd better find a shop to sit down; most of the local area network here can be accessed, I'll supplement the info you can't find, and you can look for the rest yourself."

"Sure," Aomo readily accepted, then pulled out his terminal, projecting a light screen that showed Morrison's crossed-p face, "Are you ready? You're much more competent and reliable than before."

"If persuasion fails, we must face reality—what kind of armament do you want? You're surely aiming to handle it yourself."

"If we talk about quick results, it's definitely mechanical ascension; with those crystal cores and implants assisting, one can even swiftly pass the body's break-in stage and exert full combat power."

"But this path can only be a last resort."

"It's expensive and requires abandoning one's flesh; for the same price I could hire several people to help you take revenge," Aomo smirked, "that's far more stable."

"Yeah, and in terms of tech options there are exoskeleton armor, Gundam-like choices," Morrison said, adding, "there are also some firearms with excessively high power that don't require too high a threshold."

"But my marksmanship is just okay, not perfect, and I lack experience piloting large armor, so I'm destined to spend a lot on crystal cores and support systems."

Aomo, having pushed the door and taken a seat, waved at the waiter.

"Learning it now is no problem; you have an S1 license, you can drive hovercars and race airships, piloting a Gundam isn't hard—I've even heard that fully automatic Gundams have appeared on the market, truly a boon for the lazy."

"Is something that sounds that extravagant really worth mentioning?" Aomo said, nodding to the approaching waiter, "One caramel latte, thank you."

"Why not order black coffee?" "Ordering black coffee at an unfamiliar place is a risk, whereas a caramel latte is pretty much the same anywhere."

"I think black coffee isn't much different either; anyway, it's ridiculously bitter." Morrison muttered.

"That's because you're an amateur who doesn't understand taste," "You might as well order a honey specialty drink, which is also the same anywhere," "Let's stop here and get back to our original topic!"

Aomo tapped the tabletop, then raised his hand to the waiter who had noticed him, indicating it was nothing.

"If we don't consider technology, are there channels for cultivation-side elixirs? And what about those heavenly materials and earthly treasures?"

"If you choose that, you'd better prepare to become a medicine bottle; even if that system has been improved to now, it's still hard to achieve quick results, and as an external object, the threshold for releasing spell scrolls is lower than that of talismans, at least sparing the need to chant aloud."

"Of course, there are talismans that can be released without speaking, but they probably aren't very meaningful, right?"

Aomo, upon hearing that, fell into contemplation and then said:

"... Indeed, it's still better to just buy the Extinction Star little revolver or hire someone."

"Why don't you check out the auction?" Seeing Aomo give up so quickly, Morrison tried to suggest a new approach, and saw the other's expression become extremely subtle: "What's wrong?"

"Mentioning the auction dredges up nonexistent memories of mine—never mind, first tell me the situation of the auction."

"The black market's regional network has an auction website that requires a shield to be opened; some procedures are legal, everyone tacitly understands, dangerous goods often turn up, and experimental failures from certain interstellar heavy industries are also dumped here for processing, which is why we also call it a scrap collection station."

"The gap between the auction and the scrap collection station is huge, isn't it?"

"If there's something good, it's the auction! Three years ago, the fourth Mirror Market auction even had a genuine Three Gods Card—you young folks should know what that is, right?"

"Yu-Gi-Oh!?" Aomo exclaimed in surprise.

"This is an IP that transmigrators find hard to let go of, let alone that this world's technology is sufficient to revive many card games; Aomo already had some understanding of it before receiving the 'nonexistent memories,' just hadn't had much contact, in order to ease the burden on his brain and heart."

"After all, his impression of Bi Ze's dueler experience has always been: sigh, a youngster getting into duels, maybe having a myocardial infarction. jpg"

"Bi Ze, that guy, is naturally a card fanatic; although Aomo doubts his record, at least he's been exposed to the enthusiasm of card players."

"Thinking about how they can be so fervent over virtual cards, it's no surprise they'd pour money into cards that can directly summon monsters in reality to interfere with the world."

"However, such cards aren't numerous; I don't know whether it's because there are too few relevant transmigrators or because the imitation cost is too high."

"《Yu-Gi-Oh! 》." Morrison confirmed the way.

So, that auction site is fine to keep refreshing; while you're still here, that network can only be logged into by stepping into the black market; already some people have tried letting cyber hackers cheat, and all ended up with their brains burned.

Can I hire someone here to help me keep watch? Aomo began dragging the terminal screen; Morrison's little figure helped guide him to the auction house's page.

Of course; maybe the shop owner where you're staying is already helping several customers keep watch; for the locals here, that's quite a common side job.

..... Aomo heard that and fell into thought; "Think back... isn't that just a proxy gambling pool?"

The gambling pool... is indeed so. Morrison, who had little exposure to mobile game culture, understood the term by its name, and still enthusiastically recommended it; after all, he himself is a gambling enthusiast, and due to his hobby of collecting arms, he pays special attention to such activities—

—Of course, his salary has always been insufficient to participate; he's just responsible for forwarding messages while shouting "awesome."

But now Aomo also counts as holding a substantial sum; maybe he'll have the idea to participate in his stead.

Although he had such expectations and eagerly guided online, Aomo truly lacked interest.

"I have no interest in gambling; I bet on horse races because I believe in the horse girl I've identified," Aomo raised his hand to support his chin, directly turning to look at the street view outside the window, "and this kind of sand‑sea gold‑panning‑like activity is even harder to have any expectation for," "Aomo, look at this!"

Hearing Morrison's suddenly enthusiastic call, Aomo turned his head in surprise, and saw Morrison's little figure reaching out to point at an auction option nearby.

【Mecha Godzilla card】, 【Beria Ultraman card】

Starting bid: yuan.

"? What is this thing?"

Aomo stared, seeing this thing first reminded him of the special effects association's merchandise cards, but that kind of thing would normally also have a logo and anti‑counterfeit identification, and even the name would include the publisher, rather than being as plain as 【Mecha Godzilla card】.

Moreover, this 'Mecha Godzilla' at this juncture really makes one think too much, especially since there's also a brief description below.

【This power, everyone has already seen it】

"Aomo! Want to sign up? This batch will officially go up for auction in three hours!" The vampire beside him was still urging.

Unexpectedly, the adopted son looked at himself in surprise and incomprehension.

"Start the auction? What a joke." "Sir, your latte."

The waiter beside him then handed over the drink; Aomo took it, nodded his thanks, and also heard Morrison's surprise: "You're not interested?"

"Very interested." Aomo took a sip of latte, as expected, mediocre.

He suddenly missed the soul‑flavored drink he had never tasted; that shop has now become part of the scorched earth, and he only hopes the shop owners and staff are still alive.

"But I don't have the confidence to win it."

Seeing the adopted son say something so embarrassing with a calm face, in the past he would surely have seized the chance to mock him, but now Morrison is just somewhat speechless.

"What are you planning to do? Intercept? This is an online auction; everyone bids online and then it's mailed delivery, and those with conditions can even have spatial transfer."

Interception is basically unrealistic.

"Of course it's not interception; your existence is so modern, yet your thinking is so ancient—I really don't know what to say."

Aomo, feeling somewhat helpless, raised his hand to drag the terminal, and in Morrison's somewhat bewildered gaze he kept exiting webpages until the terminal's default homepage, then opened the dialer.

"I'm going to call the police."