Pandora Unchained - a Cultivation Progression Fantasy

As a core outpost and logistical hub, Mildred had a large population that exceeded a million souls. This number only got larger when the fertile farmlands around the city were included, as well as the adventurers and soldiers not stationed inside the city. The large population of traveling merchants also couldn't be discounted.

Due to its central location, the outpost was self-governed and had much laxer rules than Delphi and Olympia. As such, it was the perfect place for criminals to eke out a living or for undesirables to find refuge.

Corruption levels were sky-high, and it was difficult to tell whether someone was an Agent of Corruption or an adventurer who'd just returned to the city after a bad run-in with demons. As a result, Gareth's official nighthawk badge attracted hateful but wary gazes; Night Hawks were, after all, a continent-wide enforcement agency and had the authority to arrest, detain, and kill highly corrupted individuals even outside of their home jurisdiction.

Like Gareth, Sorin was especially sensitive to corruption. During their twenty-minute walk to Fleet Street, he spotted no less than fifty individuals who bore levels of corruption consistent with the agents he'd encountered in his five-year stay in Delphi. In fact, he was 90 percent certain of their status; physical contact was all he needed to confirm this.

Gareth also seemed aware of their status, but counter to his usual practice, he made no move to hunt these individuals down. The governor of the outpost, Governor Loveless, was a demigod, after all. It was impossible that such frequent cases had escaped his notice.

"Fleet Street," said Lawrence, rubbing his hands excitedly. "A place filled with wretches and beauties, scam artists and honest merchants, and the most degenerate adventurers in the continent.

"If you're lucky, you can win big, but if you're unlucky, you can lose everything you have. This place is basically a giant casino. Exactly my kind of place."

The rogue zipped over to a stall that was selling masks. "What are these demonic masks? Do you have anything special you're looking to sell? I'm looking for something that might pay off big."

The shopkeeper was momentarily startled by Lawrence's aggressiveness but composed himself quickly. "You have a good eye, adventurer, picking my stall out of all those here. But you're mistaken—these aren't demonic masks. These are ancestral masks obtained from a tribe of corrupted humans that was exterminated in the depths of the Nightmare Forest.

Sorin, Gareth, and Fenrig stood back as Lawrence tried his luck since interfering too much would diminish the effect of the good luck potion. The rogue picked up a mask that looked all too real—one of a beautiful woman with long black hair. The mask's mana signature wasn't high, but it contained a very small amount of corruption considering the base materials.

Lawrence shook his head before putting the mask down and pointing at an ugly pig mask. "How much is that one?"

"That one?!" exclaimed the shopkeeper. "What a discerning eye you have, young master! For you, I can part with it for ten thousand gold. That said, you don't want this mask. Legends say that a curse was placed on it. Countless adventurers have fallen to this curse, and the only reason I keep it on this stall is because of the legend accompanying it—that of the legendary Boar Emperor of Midnight Vale and the hidden treasures he hoarded away before his death.

Lawrence's eyes widened. "What a good story! A bit oversold, but I almost bought it. Still, would anyone really pay ten thousand gold for something that's obviously made of papier mâché?"

The shopkeeper sniffed. "Can what's real and what's false really be determined by one's eyes? Luck is key! With luck, anything is possible."

"That's true…" said Lawrence, humming and hawing as he observed the masks. Fenrig was also inspecting the stall and seemed most interested in the pig lord mask.

Despite his obvious skepticism at the stall, Gareth didn't seem interested in pulling Lawrence away. He's probably thinking it better if Lawrence wastes the effects of the potion, thought Sorin. Any time spent here is effectively wasted time.

Sorin had known Gareth for a long time and knew that the Night Hawk's distrust of the innkeeping witch wasn't undue prejudice. Witches were one of the few classes that could actively manipulate corruption. As such, they produced a high number of Agents that caused no small number of catastrophes.

"These masks aren't made of paper mâché," said Sorin, finally approaching the stall. "These are authentic human skin masks." His words caused both Fenrig and Lawrence to drop the masks they were holding. Sorin, however, picked up a mask and admired it.

"The alchemical cocktail used to preserve the skin of the deceased is quite effective. I believe I recall reading something about the practice in papers originating from Mattapan. These are traditional funerary masks produced in small villages and outposts in the Tenaro Province, are they not?"

The shopkeeper's eye twitched. "What a discerning eye you have, young master. It is indeed as you say. These are Tenaro funerary masks. Due to the excess death mana in Tenaro, residents are legally required to cremate all bodies, even demonic ones, lest the dead rise again.

"Because of the harsh environment and relentless attacks from the undead, smaller villages in Tenaro began the practice of preserving the faces of their relatives as masks in the hope that these masks would be able to transcend death and continue watching over their descendants. These masks were found in a village that fell to an undead rampage; the pig was probably a family pet."

Sorin nodded. "This is consistent with my observations. How much for the lot?"

"I can accept five thousand gold for the entire set of 25 masks," said the merchant, sharply reducing his original price.

Sorin nodded as he inspected the masks one at a time. Though he wouldn't normally have any interest in such items, he'd detected something odd in the masks that he wanted to investigate. He didn't hesitate to place three gold cards on the table. "Three thousand for the lot, including the funerary items. Don't think I'm not aware that I'm still overpaying for these items—I made this generous offer because I hate wasting time."

The stall owner hesitated but ultimately accepted. " Would you like these delivered somewhere?"

"No need," said Sorin. He swept up the masks and used his mana to shatter them. Acitoxins dissolved the dust until a few small green flecks remained.

Sorin flicked a drop of his blood out and had it swallow up the green flecks to produce a single drop of green liquid. "Interesting. I was wondering about the specifics of their embalming process. It seems necrotoxins are the key."

He then swept up the stone funerary items on the stand and similarly crushed them to extract a tiny amount of metallic dust. "An interesting compound based on arsenic. I'll need to study it in detail." He nodded to the shocked shopkeeper. " Much obliged, shopkeeper. Do let me know if you come across more items like these. And Lawrence? Keep up the good work!"

As they pulled away from the stall, Sorin noticed a shift in their group's mood. Gareth was looking at him strangely, and Fenrig was downright horrified. "What the matter?" he asked. "Lawrence, you look like you swallowed a fly."

"I—I don't have words to describe you, Sorin," said Lawrence. "You just destroyed funerary items. Made from human skin, no less."

"Don't we literally rob tombs for a living?" asked Sorin.

"Yes, but this is different!" said Lawrence. "Fenrig, tell him it's different."

"I have never seen such a terrible case of desecration," confirmed Fenrig. "I recommend you do not do such a thing again, lest ancestral spirits invade your dreams in search of vengeance."

Sorin blinked. "That's what, twenty-five remains? I've dissected tens of thousands of bodies since I began cultivating. This is really a drop in the bucket."

Lawrence shivered. "Fine. Do things your way. Now, if you don't mind, I have treasures to sniff out."

Their party continued down Fleet Street, making no small splash as they did so. On the one hand, their group evidently had a lot of money. On the other hand, they were quite powerful. Anyone selling to them would need to carefully tread the line between making a profitable transaction and offending the group of powerhouses.

It wasn't just merchants who sold items on Fleet Street. Most stalls were temporary stalls erected by adventurers who were looking to offload strange and unidentified goods procured in the North Parnassus Forest to the south and Nightmare Forest to the north.

Lawrence's luck was confirmed as phenomenal when he discovered three stones filled with a rare and expensive three-star ore, a piece of amber containing a well-preserved three-star mosquito, and a worn-out suit of leather armor salvaged from a battlefield that appeared to be unsalvageable at first glance, but really just needed to be oiled and fed mana crystals to repair itself.

In the end, however, it was Fenrig who proved the big winner. "I can't believe it! A real ancestral statue!" His shout alerted everyone in the vicinity, including the surprised shopkeeper who manned the small stall where a small bronze statue was displayed. "You must sell this to me," said Fenrig, pointing at the statue of a robed spear-wielding woman. "State your price. I will pay it."

It was unusual for customers to make such a blatant offer, but the shopkeeper adapted quickly. "For you, sir, thirty-thousand gold coins."

"Very well," said Fenrig. The barbarian had a straightforward personality and hated to haggle, so he directly fished out thirty gold cards from his Hero Medallion and placed them on the stand."

"Wh—what I meant was forty thousand," corrected the shopkeeper. "Such an item is surely worth the money, is it not?"

Fenrig's grin faded and was replaced by a serious expression. "When you gave me the first price, I knew you were extorting me. Even so, finding a relic of my people is a joyous occasion, so I didn't hesitate to pay your price.

"But reneging on an agreement is something I don't take kindly to. We agreed on the price of thirty thousand, so this is what I will pay."

"Or what?" said the shopkeeper, crossing his arms. "You're a mighty cultivator. A hero, no less. If you want to rob me, there's nothing I can do about it."

Fenrig looked like he was about to boil over, but in the end, he restrained himself and pulled another ten gold cards out of his wallet.

Before he could slap them down, however, a well-dressed man butted in front of him and picked up the bronze statue. His clothes were made of two-star silk, and each of his hands had four thick gold rings. "What have we here? A Barbarian Ancestral Statue? A worthy addition to my collection. What's the price, shopkeeper? I'll pay it."