The Black Iron Glory
Hurian the Fat Old Man

Chapter 100

Hurian the Fat Old Man

The alley was pitch-black. Both sides crawled out of the darkness like black hands grabbing the heavens from the eternal abyss. The thin sides of the two-story buildings lined on either side stopped the small light that the moon might offer, and the birds were milling across the sky like a thick canopy of a cemetery forest. The floor was damp and muddy, and Claude's footsteps fell down more than just water and mud as he slipped deeper into his darkness.

The four figures had disappeared when he stepped into the alley and now only their footprints remained. Puddles of water formed inside, hiding the squashed dirt underneath.

The alley stretched into a winding eternity. He had already walked down those stairs for ten minutes now, but he had yet to find the end, or any advice he might do any time soon. There were no signs, no windows lit up, no doors opened to tell him where the magical black market was.

He wondered if he should have come during the day. However, there was nothing that could be done now, so he continued walking, encouraging his ears to listen to the sound of spills other than his own feet. The slum was dangerous, far worse than he had let himself admit it before he came. However, he was not too worried about the ambush. His hearing was incredible; he would hear someone coming even without water to make their footsteps.

He didn't hear anything.

He passed the right elbow in the alley five minutes later, and suddenly found himself bathed in a dim light.

He took a few deep breaths, gathered his nerves, then continued. His eyes adjusted and he saw a familiar sight, a sight he must have seen before. He couldn't put her down, no matter how hard he tried.

The two alleys intersected about twenty meters in front of him. They formed a small open ground in the forest of a building in the middle of which stood an old mulberry tree. Some of the worse cottages to wear stand under the canopy.

A lantern hung on each other's doors, and several people sat around a long table between the two. The table is illuminated by single and anglo oil lamp. The fish hung in the air, competing with the black ale.

His mind jolted at him, trying hard to rediscover the memory of this place as his feet carried him out into the open. The lively, if calm, conversation on the table subsided as he approached. Everyone's eyes were looking at him vigilantly. He was not surprised by their eyes. He was not the least bit suspicious in his upup. However, he ignored them, and continued walking, his eyes fixed on the mulberry tree towering above everyone present, even the two-story building that formed the border of the open ground. His mind finally mastered the memory and put it into his consciousness.

That's her! Eriksson had brought him here some time ago, but they had arrived in the open through one of the other four passageways. The barn wasn't there at the time. It's just a tree. They went there to buy her favorite malt candy. They bought it from the new store by. . . what the name is . . The hurian!

But his shop wasn't the warehouse he saw under the mulberry tree. His house was one of the shops overlooking the field. He also came here once to buy candy for his younger brother and sister. He came during the day, of course.

The Hurian shop is still there, but it's obviously closed. Only one light hung at the entrance and was the only illumination of the shop. Behind him '17 Flowerstone Alley' is sculpted on the wall.

So the letter is right. The Hurian shop is truly a magical black market. He could not believe it when he saw the address written on a piece of paper. To think that the old man was also a magus. . .

"Is there anyone here?" he asked, his voice deliberately hoarse, as he knocked on the door.

The shop remains empty. Someone from the open responded instead.

"Need something?"

Claude turned around and saw a fat man stepping out of the warehouse. It took a while for him to recognize the man as a Hurian in dim light.

"What are you here for?

"I heard you had ... exotic goods," replied Claude.

He regretted not asking Maria if there was a secret phrase, but it was too late for that now.

Hurian entered the store without a word, turned on the small oil lamp inside, and gestured for Claude to follow as he walked deeper into the store.

"What do you want?" the man asked when he was behind his desk.

"Something special. Some people might even say magic," he said of the conspiracy and Hurian eyebrows raised.

"Magic crystal, more specifically," Claude said after he saw the man's reaction.

"And what makes you think my little joint sells that? Come on, cast a spell for me so I can see if you're a magus."

"here?"

"Where else?"

. . What should he throw? He naturally could not use the spell he was engraved on his hexagram. Probably one of the eight Marys. He could not perform Submerged Respirations or Assessments. The point is the Hurians saw the spells, so they were useless. The Luminous Pearl was too conspicuous, so the person came out as well. Wind Barrier is not suitable either. Chill needed a liquid medium, and he didn't see any cups or bottles or jugs of water in the store. He also didn't want to do Hydrogenation; using too much mana.

He made a decision and snapped his finger. A small flame burst into life like one of his old world matches had been struck.

He was so happy he brought his ledger. He'll be in a bit of a bind, if not. Hurian stared intently at the flame for a while, then clamped it out of existence with his thumb and index finger moistened.

"Follow me," his voice echoed as if out of nowhere as he walked to a small door nearby and opened it, "Come in."

Claude followed obediently. The room was pitch-black. The door ticked shut behind him and he could not see anything for a moment, then a bright light appeared and blinded him. He squinted instinctively, then his eyes slowly began to adjust.

The room was without windows, with bare stone walls. The door behind him and the Hurian was the only disturbance to the stone ceiling, walls, and floor. The roof is a vaulted ceiling, curved to the center in a soft arc that ends in a round hole that disappears further up.

Three wooden shelves stand along three walls, the only piece of furniture in the room. The shelves are familiar to him too. Don't they belong to Wakri? However, it is not his. Claude's eyes shone when the Eye of Appraisal was activated.

The room lit up with color as it happened, so much so that Claude gasped.

"So, how do you know?" the old man asked, smiling, satisfied with Claude's reaction.