Justin and Lila approached the bustling intersection at the mouth of Belmora Bridge. It was nearly noon, the sun hanging high in a pale blue sky, its warmth tempered by the crisp bite of late winter.

The bridge itself was a marvel of excess and decay. Spanning the wide Marin River, it sagged under the weight of overcrowded shops, crooked stalls, and makeshift shrines wedged between leaning stone towers. Smoke from sizzling skewers and incense curled into the air, mingling with the brackish stench of the river and the sweat of too many bodies.

Peddlers shouted over one another with frantic cheer. Beggars with hollow eyes reached for passing coins. A pair of jugglers had a small crowd gathered before them, while a robed monk sat barefoot on a prayer mat, muttering chants drowned by the din. Carts creaked, horses stamped, and street urchins wove between legs.

In Justin's mind, it was London Bridge as it might have been if someone had given it five centuries to rot, thrive, and mutate into a glorious, lawless monstrosity. Stacked too high, crowded too tightly, and completely out of control, yet restrained by its own unspoken codes.

He pulled the new map from his satchel and tapped it once. The parchment shimmered, updating with a soft pulse of light to reflect their surroundings in miniature. A narrow thread traced beneath the bridge: "Floating Market (Lower Platform Access)."

"That's one of three ways in," Justin muttered, tilting it for Lila to see. She nodded.

Justin slipped between bodies, Lila close behind, angling toward the cramped alleyway. A rusty iron gate marked the entrance to the Floating Market beneath.

Three men loitered near the gate, half-blocking the descent. Their leader stood a few steps ahead, broad-shouldered, with a dented breastplate strapped over a patched wool shirt. A battered iron sword hung from his belt. Justin's monocle flickered: Level 5 Warrior. The others weren't even that—classless, unshaven, scarred, and hungry-eyed. They looked like the kind of men who followed violence because it gave their lives structure.

Once, this sight would have made Justin quail. But things had changed since his first days on Eyrth. He moved forward with ease.

"Toll's ten coppers," the leader said, his tone almost bored.

Justin didn't answer. He simply swapped Affinities to Morvath's Aspect. A stillness fell over him like a funeral shroud. His posture shifted, as still as death. His eyes met the Warrior's and did not blink.

The man's jaw tightened. One of his lackeys flinched.

"—Or maybe not," the Warrior said, clearing his throat and rushing to open the gate. "Path's yours."

Justin walked past without comment. Lila followed without comment.

The alley beyond was practically a chute of shadows and damp stone. Overhanging tenements blotted out the sky. Wooden beams groaned with age, while cracked shutters hung limp like broken wings. The stench was immediate: human waste, stale beer, rotting fish, and cheap perfume. Faded graffiti crawled across the walls: gang marks and crude sketches, for the most part.

A pair of prostitutes in threadbare dresses leaned against a barrel, smoking something acrid and trading gossip. A hunched figure further down whispered feverishly to himself, his eyes wide and unfocused. Justin caught the word "spindust" more than once. It must be slang for some sort of drug.

The path sloped downward, slick with runoff, eventually opening to a narrow ledge overlooking the Floating Market. Through a break in the buildings, Justin could see it at last: a sprawl of pontoons, shanty decks, and floating stalls chained together across the Marin's surface, extending at least a mile or more, and half again as wide. River traffic gave the place a wide berth, steering clear of the hive of commerce and chaos nestled there like a tumor with a pulse. Makeshift rafts floated between the barges, though most were also interconnected with pontoons.

"Looks promising," Lila muttered, watching a rat the size of a housecat vanish behind a barrel. "You sure we want to set up shop down here?"

Justin shrugged. "Got to start somewhere."

Justin and Lila descended into the Floating Market, only to be met with a different kind of chaos. The footpath led onto creaking wooden slats, darkened with moisture and patched in places with rope netting, rusted sheet metal, or nothing at all. Every few steps, water surged up between the cracks, slicking the boards with a foul sheen.

If Belmora Bridge had been a symphony of disorder, this place was a drumbeat of desperation. It sprawled in every direction, with barges lashed together with hemp and iron spikes, rafts moored in ramshackle rows, all swaying on the sluggish current of the Marin. The smell was overpowering: a mix of sewage and spice, mildew, sweat, and rot. It was a scent Justin could never get used to, even if he lived here for weeks; it would cling to his clothing and skin for days, and he suspected not even the Ring of Hygiene could help him. Trash bobbed between the decks—shredded cloth, broken crates, and a dead rat floating belly-up.

Ahead, they passed a commotion. A hawker shouted in rage, gesturing wildly at an empty corner of his stall. A pack of street children vanished into the crowd, shrieking with laughter, one clutching a satchel of glinting trinkets. The vendor's hired guard, a low-level Warrior clad in sagging chainmail and slow boots, gave chase but immediately slipped on fish guts, landing hard. The kids were gone.

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No one intervened. A few laughed; most simply moved on.

"Charming," Lila muttered.

Justin remained silent. His Morvath's Aspect was having its effect; people cleared a path for him, avoiding his gaze. A few, mostly those with nothing to lose, held his stare a moment too long.

His monocle flickered constantly, scanning the crowd: Level 3 Thief, Level 4 Rogue, Level 6 Merchant, Level 5 Bard, Level 7 Wizard. Even a Level 9 Priest in the robes of the Church of Light stepped out from behind a curtain, a heavily made-up woman's face peering out from behind him. No one was even close to Justin's level. That was an encouraging sign.

They passed stalls selling pickled vegetables and grilled mystery meat skewers beside tables peddling used boots, arcane implements, potions, and cages full of squawking lizards.

"I don't like the look of this," Lila said, lowering her voice. "The smell alone should be enough to make us go somewhere else. Though admittedly, it isn't as bad in this part."

This much was true. The area they had entered seemed to function as a fish market, but the stench lingered.

Justin nodded. "I don't like it either. But we're new here. If we want to learn something useful, we can't flinch at the first whiff of rot."

"True enough."

They continued west, deeper into the tangle. The boards grew narrower and more precarious, slanting at odd angles where the river's pull had warped the platforms. Somewhere ahead, the clanging bell of a barge sounded.

At the water's edge, they found the source: a wide-bottomed vessel bumping against the dock, its hull painted a peeling crimson. A dozen women were disembarking in single file, most barefoot and some trembling. They wore mismatched clothes—some too fine, others too ragged—and their expressions were all the same: hollow.

Dockhands stood nearby, shoving them along with curt gestures. One reached out to grab a girl's arm. She flinched but didn't resist.

Justin's gaze landed on the man overseeing it all.

He stood apart, cane in hand, fedora tipped low. A peacock feather jutted from the band, the same green as the silk cravat at his throat. His suit was immaculate, and rings glittered on every finger. Justin's monocle logged his info: Level 18 Socialite.

The man looked up and met Justin's eyes. A slow, leering grin spread across his face. He raised one hand and traced a crude gesture in the air, what he assumed to be a threat.

Justin's jaw tightened.

"We're not getting involved," Lila said flatly.

Justin shook his head. "What's the point of all this power if we don't use it to help people?"

He thought all the way back to that fateful day on the Silver Road all those months ago. He and Lila had come across some bandits robbing an elderly man. He had wanted to help, but back then, he had been weak and powerless.

He no longer had that excuse.

Lila sighed and rubbed her temple. "Let's at least get Alistair. We don't know what we're dealing with."

"It may be too late by then."

That was when a System prompt flashed before him:

[New Quest Available: Break the Chain]

Objective: Rescue the captured women and bring down the Slaver Kingpin and his crew. Target: Level 18 Socialite with the Pimp Focus – "Mister Blithe" Reward: 5,000 XP and whatever bound gear Mister Blithe carries.

[Will you be the beacon of light in this mire of misery?]

Lila stared at the glowing prompt in the air. "Of course it would do that."

Justin didn't respond. He stepped forward, his hand tightening around the handle of his Cane of the Drake.

He turned sharply on his heel and strode back the way they had come, ducking into a narrow gap between two fish stalls. Lila followed closely behind.

"So that's it?" she whispered, her tone clipped. "We just walk away? You actually got me on board!"

"We look like we're walking away," Justin replied. "Give it a second."

They passed two more stalls, turned down a narrow corridor of vendor crates stacked to eye level, and stopped in a crooked alcove where the boards dipped close to the river's edge. No one followed. The scent of saltwater and drying fish was stronger here, sharp but tolerable.

Justin leaned against a post, breathing deeply to calm himself and assess the situation. "Charging in blind might get us killed. That guy's not just some common thug. He's Level 18. He likely has connections, minions, or worse, both."

"Hmm. Makes sense. All I noticed was the fedora. I'd argue that's the real crime."

Justin smiled appreciatively. "We need a plan."

"Quickly. We could already be losing them."

He nodded. "We know a few things. He's operating out in the open. That means he's either protected by the local power structure or is the local power structure. That barge was clearly his. If he's moving people, he's doing it regularly. Which means we're looking at a crew: guards, handlers, maybe some sort of base."

"Like a den?" Lila suggested.

"Possibly," Justin replied, remembering the Priest in the Floating Market. "But if he's a Socialite, he likely has crowd control skills. Charm effects, area debuffs. He becomes tougher if he's surrounded."

"So we separate him from his people, then?"

"That's step one," Justin said, thinking aloud. "We bait him—or better, his crew—into coming after us. Let them think we're scared. But when they come, we jump them."

Lila exhaled. "Sounds like a potential mess."

"It is," Justin replied. "But I don't see another way. We can't find Alistair and wait hours. If we delay, those women will vanish. They'll be shipped off get absorbed into this market. And we'll fail the quest."

Her jaw tightened. "Makes sense. Maybe I can use my Harp of Nyriss if enough of them come after us. There's a good chance they won't resist the Sleep effect."

"Good idea. Have it on standby." Justin gripped his cane tighter. "Ready?"

Lila gave a half-smile. "I was born ready. You just have a habit of dragging me into insane situations."

"Only the interesting ones."

Together, they angled back toward the barge. He crouched low, pulling out the map again. He zoomed in on their position, displaying winding gangways and narrow intersections. A segment just east of the barge caught his eye: a blind turn and a narrow gap between two other barges, with no other way around.

"There," he said, pointing. "Choke point. One way in, nowhere to run. If they follow, we control the field."

Glancing through the crates, Justin saw that it was still unloading. About twenty women were present, though most had been ushered into the market. Surrounding her were ten rough-looking men, about half of whom were classed, though thankfully none were mages. The highest level Justin could see was a Level 12 Barbarian wielding a spiked club, with the Socialite supervising from the top of the barge.

If only Eldrin were here to put an arrow right into his heart; the range was far too great for Lila's knives.

Justin nodded, determined to find a position from which they could intercept. While this wasn't exactly in line with their goal of maintaining a low profile, he felt that if he and Lila had the power to stop this, letting it slide wasn't an option.

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