The uniform clatter of the Black Market faded into an unnatural silence, giving way to the whispering caress of the night breeze. Merchants paused in their dealings, and passersby turned their attention toward the brewing confrontation, their gazes gleaming with curiosity.

Kal, gripping the broken sword in his right hand, swung it leisurely before his face, the blade reflecting the flickering lantern lights around them. Behind him, his subordinates stood with their arms crossed, their postures oozing mockery, as if they had already won whatever battle was about to unfold.

Across from them, Beorn's teeth ground together, veins bulging at the side of his head, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles paled. Sweat trickled down his cheeks, his fury barely restrained.

Yet beside him, Nyxander remained eerily composed. His right arm rested across his abdomen, supporting his left elbow, while his left cheek sank into his palm. His expression was unreadable, not anger, not concern, but a detached amusement, as if he were watching a play rather than being a part of it.

"Don't act like it already belongs to you," Beorn growled, his voice slicing through the tension, drawing even more onlookers.

Among them, Seraphina, Dunstan, and Lumina stood at a distance, watching with silent interest, their expressions betraying nothing.

Kal, unfazed by the accusation, reached into his robes and tossed a heavy sack of fate coins into the waiting hands of the old merchant behind Nyxander and Beorn. The pouch landed in the man's outstretched hands, its weight sending a metallic chime rippling through the stillness. "Keep the change," Kal said with an air of dismissive arrogance.

The old man's fingers trembled as he pried open the pouch, his breath hitching at the sight of its contents. His hands shook, not from age, but from sheer joy. "Thank you, thank you!" he stammered, bowing slightly in gratitude.

Kal now turned his gaze to Nyxander, a smug smile curling at the edge of his lips. "Well? You know the rules of the Black Market, don't you?" Beorn stepped forward, his frustration barely contained, his finger snapping toward Kal. "You... !"

Before he could say more, a gentle but firm hand pressed onto his shoulder. Nyxander. "What rule allows someone to steal a purchase from another before they even have the chance to pay?" Nyxander asked, his voice smooth, unhurried.

Beorn let out a sharp sigh, "You too? Are you really asking this now?" But before he could respond, Kal smirked. "You mean to tell me you came to the Black Market without even knowing its most basic rule?" he scoffed. "Hah! Fine, I'll grant you the honor of explaining it myself."

Unbeknownst to them, two figures observed the scene from a rooftop afar. The Astro Lord, Hildred, stood with his right-hand man, Hung, both watching the encounter unfold. "Should we step in and assist?" Hung asked, his gaze flickering toward Nyxander.

Hildred didn't look away, a faint smirk curling at the corner of his lips. "Not at all. Can't you see?" His gaze flickered toward Nyxander, observing his deliberate silence, his poised demeanor, his unshaken presence. "He doesn't seems he want us to interfere. Let's watch and see how this plays out."

Back at the scene, Kal raised his voice for all to hear. "The rule is simple. Once a buyer picks up a product and pays, the moment the merchant accepts the money, the deal is permanently sealed," he explained.

"This rule was introduced," Beorn gritted his teeth, his fists tightening at his sides. "It was introduced to prevent merchants from reclaiming sold goods when they realize their true worth. Likewise, it stops buyers from abusing the system, testing items and demanding refunds after damaging the merchandise."

Nyxander let out a soft hum, nodding slowly, his smirk growing as his head remained tilted into his palm, as if entertained by a child's game. "Oh, I see now," he mused.

Kal grinned, sensing victory. "It's a pity," he said, "For you losing something valuable to me." His subordinates chuckled, their laughter grating against the hush of the night.

But then, Nyxander's posture shifted. He threw his arm back, folding it neatly behind him, and stepped forward, closing the distance between him and Kal.

"Why pity me?" Nyxander's voice was smooth as silk, yet sharp as a blade. "when you're the one who just bought nothing but a worthless scrap?" Kal's grin faltered. "Stop spouting nonsense," he snapped. "Do you think that'll shake me?"

Nyxander's expression remained unbothered. "Then how about this?" He extended his right arm forward, leaving it completely exposed. "Strike me with that broken scrap. Let's see what happens."

Beorn's blood ran cold, and in an instant, he grabbed Nyxander's arm. "Are you insane?" he hissed. "You want him to cut off your arm? That's impossible!"

Kal sneered. "Trying to put on an act now?" He turned slightly, throwing a glance at his subordinates. They all nodded in agreement, smirking as murmurs rippled through the gathering crowd. Whispers flitted between merchants and onlookers.

"Even if they're enemies, is their grudge so deep that he'd sacrifice his arm just to humiliate them?"

"Hah… That's insanity."

"Not a wise approach, more like foolishness."

Beorn's face burned with embarrassment as he glanced around, feeling the weight of their scrutiny. Meanwhile, Kal and his lackeys basked in the attention, their smug grins stretching wider, feeding off the moment.

Yet, in the midst of it all, Nyxander stood unmoved, a lone pillar in a storm. His gaze was steady, his stance unyielding, as if he had already foreseen how this would end.

A short distance from the unfolding spectacle, Seraphina, Dunstan, and Lumina stood silently, their eyes locked onto the confrontation.

"Big Sis, are we really just going to stand here and not help him?" Seraphina asked, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with hesitation. She turned to Lumina, whose face remained impassive, cold, unreadable, yet a thin sheen of sweat betrayed the tension she refused to acknowledge.

"Why should we help when he's the one inviting trouble upon himself?" Lumina replied, her tone sharp, but her gaze lingering on Nyxander longer than she intended.

Dunstan, standing beside them, exhaled thoughtfully. His gaze lingered on Nyxander, who stood at the center of attention, calm, unwavering, unshaken by the tension thickening around him. "Whenever I look at him, I can't help but feel there's something special about him," he mused.

Back the Scene "Trust me." Nyxander's words were gentle yet firm, spoken as he carefully pried Beorn's tightened grip from his wrist. A breath slipped past his lips, deep and unhurried, as he lifted his gaze to Kal.

"If you fear that I might try to frame you, then why not let these many eyes bear witness?" He swept his arm toward the gathered crowd. "Under this vast, star-lit vault of the galaxy, let the night itself be our judge. Surely, that is more than enough to support your arrogance, is it not?"

The words rippled through the gathering crowd, sending murmurs of intrigue into the night. He turned then, slowly, letting his gaze sweep over the countless faces, their expressions a mix of shock, curiosity, and disbelief.

"What do you all think?" His voice rang out once more, slicing through the murmurs like a blade through silk.

For a moment, silence held dominion. Then, as if a dam had broken, low chattering spread through the onlookers. Doubt turned to interest. Interest to agreement. Agreement to anticipation.

"Sure, since you'll be the one facing the consequences," a voice rolled out from the crowd.

"Yes… yes, go ahead!" The murmur became a chant. Excitement flickered in their eyes, a crowd hungry for spectacle, for the taste of something beyond the mundane.

Kal observed the shift, his fingers clenching slightly around the fractured sword. His gaze returned to Nyxander, whose smiling face remained infuriatingly calm, his right arm stretched out in quiet invitation. A sliver of doubt crept into his mind like an insidious whisper.

"What are you waiting for, Big Brother?" one of his subordinates urged.

"Yes, you have nothing to lose," another added, grinning.

"And besides," a third chimed in, "you got your hands on something valuable, not just according to the merchant, but even the one who lost it wants it back."

Their words hardened Kal's resolve. His doubts were smothered beneath their voices, his grip tightening on the broken blade.

"Then don't blame me," he spat. With that, he raised the shattered sword high, its worn-out edge glinting ominously beneath the dim glow of starlight and market lantern. The market held its breath.

Then, without hesitation, he brought it down with brutal force, a downward arc of urgency, leaving no room for air resistance.

Some in the crowd flinched, unable to bear the sight, their hands rising instinctively to cover their eyes. Others, gripped by morbid fascination, stood frozen, their gazes locked on the descending blade, unwilling to blink, lest they miss the defining moment.

And in that short, fleeting moment, Lumina's body betrayed her cold composure, her stance shifting, a muscle in her jaw tightening.

The blade met Nyxander's arm. A deafening crack tore through the night. Then, shattered pieces of metal burst outward in an explosive force, scattering like fragmented stardust.

Every eye widened in mute disbelief. Jaws fell slack, limbs stiffened, and the hush that followed was so profound, it seemed as if the market itself had been robbed of sound.

The only thing that remained was the whisper of the night breeze, carrying the broken remnants of the sword as they clinked against the solid ground.

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