The transition from hyperspace to real-space always felt like being dropped into a bucket of ice water. For a Level 0 body, the sensation was even worse. My stomach lurched, and a cold sweat broke out across my forehead as the Vagabond shuddered, its engines screaming a protest against the sudden deceleration.
Outside the viewport, the velvet black of the void was no longer empty. We were drifting on the edge of the Vesta-4 Cluster, a graveyard of jagged asteroids and hollowed-out moonlets that served as the galaxy's most notorious black market.
"We're here," Eli whispered. He looked like he hadn't slept in forty-eight hours. His eyes were bloodshot behind his cracked lenses. "Welcome to the Stardust Auction. Population: three thousand criminals, five hundred Gene-Cultists, and us."
I looked out at the "Rock." Vesta-4 wasn't just an asteroid; it was a sprawling, industrial tumor. Metal spires and glowing neon pipes grew out of the stone like mechanical weeds. Massive cargo ships, some shaped like organic insects and others like brutalist slabs of iron, were tethered to docking rings that hummed with purple energy.
"The interference is high here," Elena said. she was standing behind my chair again, her hand resting on the hilt of her vibro-blade. "Nightfall's long-range scanners won't find us in this mess. But that means we don't have a safety net, Kane. If someone pulls a gun on this rock, there is no 'Reset' button."
"I stopped believing in safety nets back in the jungle," I said.
I stood up, my legs feeling steadier than they had an hour ago. The "Rest" state of the ship had allowed my minor bleeding to stop, though my ribs still felt like they were wrapped in barbed wire. I walked over to the small locker near the airlock and pulled out a clean, charcoal-grey duster coat. It was heavy enough to hide the bloodstains on my hoodie and the shaking of my hands.
"Eli, stay with the ship. Keep the engines hot. If I signal 'Code Red,' I want you to burn out of here even if the docking clamps are still attached."
"Kane, you're going out there without a weapon?" Eli asked, his voice trembling. "You gave the wooden rifle back to Sarah's team before we jumped. You have nothing but a duster and a bruised ego."
I reached into my pocket and felt the jagged edge of the Red Needle Shard. It was small, no bigger than a coin, but it vibrated with a faint, rhythmic pulse.
"I have the only thing that matters on this rock," I said. "Information. And the desperate need for a deal."
I looked at Elena. She had already swapped her Nightfall-branded chest plate for a neutral, scarred piece of obsidian armor. She looked like a Ronin—a masterless samurai of the stars.
"Let's go," I said.
The airlock hissed open, and the smells of Vesta-4 hit me like a physical blow. It was a cocktail of recycled oxygen, cheap synthetic grease, and the unmistakable scent of "Alien." It smelled like a basement that had been underwater for a century.
We walked down the docking ramp and onto the main concourse. It was a chaotic tunnel of flickering lights and shouting traders. I saw things that would have made a normal teenager scream: creatures with four arms and translucent skin, humans with half their faces replaced by clicking brass gears, and Gene-Cultists—tall, thin figures in white robes whose skin looked like shifting marble.
Nobody looked at me. To them, I was just another D-Rank scavenger, a "worm" looking for scraps. That was my greatest advantage.
"The auction house is in the 'Core,'" Elena whispered, her hand never leaving her blade. "They started the bidding ten minutes ago. If Balin is already on the block, we're late."
"Then we don't walk. We move," I said.
We pushed through the crowd. I used the Salesman's Walk—a specific gait that suggests you are exactly where you are supposed to be, even if you are trespassing. People naturally stepped out of my way, assuming I was a messenger for someone much more dangerous.
We reached a massive, pressurized dome at the center of the asteroid. Two guards stood at the entrance—Remnant Knights who had been stripped of their ranks, their armor painted a dull, rusted red. They leveled their scythes at my chest.
"Buy-in is ten thousand credits, kid," one of them growled. his voice was a mechanical buzz. "Or a Tier-1 core. You don't look like you have either."
I didn't blink. I didn't reach for a gun I didn't have. Instead, I reached into my coat and pulled out the Red Shard. I held it between my thumb and forefinger, letting the dim light of the hallway catch its inner glow.
The Knight froze. He leaned in, his optical sensors whirring as they scanned the fragment.
"Is that... a Stabilizer?" he whispered.
"It's the heart of the Amazon Needle," I said, my voice smooth and professional. "And it's currently the only piece of Tier-4 technology on this rock that isn't attached to a bomb. I'm not here to buy a slave. I'm here to see the Master of the House."
The two guards looked at each other. The greed was palpable, even through their helmets. They stepped aside, the heavy iron doors hissing open.
"Floor seats are to the left," the guard muttered. "But if that stone is a fake, you won't leave this dome in one piece."
"If it were a fake, I wouldn't have been able to walk past your sensors without triggering a mana-alarm," I countered, flashing a shark-like smile.
We entered the auction hall. It was a tiered theater, smelling of expensive incense and old blood. In the center, under a single, harsh spotlight, stood a cage made of blue energy.
Inside the cage was a small figure. He was barely four feet tall, with a beard that reached his waist and hands that looked like they were made of gnarled oak. He wore a heavy iron collar around his neck—a "Null-Bind" that suppressed his intellect and his strength.
[TARGET IDENTIFIED: BALIN THE IRON-SIGHT] [PROFESSION: ANCIENT ENGINEER (LEGENDARY)] [CURRENT BID: 8,000,000 RIFT CREDITS]
"Going once!" the auctioneer shouted. He was a tall, pale man with six fingers on each hand, standing behind a podium made of bone. "Eight million credits for the man who built the Lunar Shields! Do I hear nine?"
The room was silent. Eight million was a fortune—enough to buy a small fleet.
"Eight million, twice!"
I felt Elena's hand tighten on my shoulder. "Kane, we can't outbid these people. Look at the front row. That's the Gene-Cult High Priest. He has enough credits to buy this whole asteroid."
"I'm not outbidding him," I whispered.
I stepped out of the shadows and walked toward the railing of the balcony. Every head in the room turned. The High Priest, a towering figure in shimmering silk, looked up at me with cold, violet eyes.
"And who is this?" the auctioneer asked, his voice dripping with condescension. "A D-Rank lost his way to the cafeteria?"
The room erupted in laughter. I let it wash over me. I'd been laughed at by CEOs in rooms that cost more than this dome.
"I'm the man who's going to save you from a very bad investment," I said. My voice wasn't loud, but I used the Projected Authority trick I'd learned in my first year of corporate sales. The laughter died down, replaced by a confused murmur.
"The Dwarf is broken," I continued, pointing a finger at Balin. "He didn't just build the Lunar Shields. He built the Backdoor into them. If you buy him and try to use his blueprints, the first thing his machines will do is signal the Nightfall Central Hub. You won't be building a weapon. You'll be building a homing beacon for a Tier-5 orbital strike."
Balin looked up, his old eyes widening behind his bushy eyebrows. He didn't say a word, but I saw the flicker of recognition. He knew I was lying—or maybe he knew I was right.
"Lies!" the auctioneer screamed. "The product is guaranteed!"
"Is it?" I asked. I tossed the Red Shard into the air and caught it. The red light flared, illuminating the faces in the front row. "Because I'm the man who broke the Amazon Needle. And I can tell you exactly why the Dwarf's tech is failing. Or, you can spend eight million credits to invite the Nightfall fleet to your front door."
The High Priest stood up. He was a head taller than anyone in the room. He looked at the Shard, then at me.
"What is it you want, little human?" he asked. His voice sounded like two stones grinding together.
"I want the Dwarf," I said. "And I want a 10% commission for saving your life. In exchange, I'll give you the Shard and the data on how to stabilize your own territory against the Rifts."
The room was silent. It was a massive gamble. I was a D-Rank boy threatening a High Priest in a room full of killers.
But I saw the logic working in his alien mind. He didn't care about the Dwarf. He cared about survival.
"A trade," the High Priest mused. "Information for a broken slave."
"A deal," I corrected. "And on this ship, the customer is always right... as long as I'm the one holding the invoice."
Elena let out a breath she'd been holding. She looked at me, and for the first time, there was no obsession in her eyes. Only shock.
I wasn't a hero. I was a Sovereign. And the first deal was officially on the table.