Chapitre 23: Chapter 22
Russell had planned to go to the black market the next day but kept procrastinating. Days passed, and it wasn't until the fifth day that he finally got moving. Why the delay? Simple—his self-discipline wasn't the strongest, and distractions kept piling up.
Fortunately, he wouldn't have to walk this time. Driving a Honda Odyssey, he reached the mine in just three hours. Last time, he'd only watched from a distance, but this time he drove straight into the market. Fighting might be prohibited in the black market, but Russell still chose not to bring Laura, who was busy training at home, determined to beat him in their next sparring match.
Stepping out of the car, he observed his surroundings. Two dilapidated, 18th-century Western-style cabins stood outside the mine, but they were empty. The actual black market lay inside the mine itself, illuminated by dim, old-fashioned incandescent lamps spaced every ten meters or so. He walked downward through the tunnel for about a hundred meters until he came upon a golden door adorned with cuneiform engravings—a distinctly Egyptian touch that felt out of place here.
What really caught his attention, though, were the guards standing by the door, clad in worn TVA combat uniforms. At first, he almost attacked them, but a closer look revealed they were merely time prisoners in disguise—possibly a tactic by the black market's owner to intimidate newcomers.
"I haven't seen you before, newcomer. You know the rules?" one guard asked.
Russell nodded. "No fighting, and an entrance fee of at least 0.1 ounces of gold, right?"
The little wolf girl had filled him in on the rules. He understood the no-fighting policy, but gold seemed odd—this was a wasteland, after all. Fortunately, Laura had some on hand; otherwise, he'd be out searching for it now.
Russell handed over a small piece of gold, but suddenly, a piercing alert went off in his mind:
[Warning! 0.1 micrograms of spiritual essence will be lost.]
Then: [Ding! Soul immunity activated. Warning canceled.]
Before he could process it, one of the guards barked, "What's wrong? If you're not going in, the gold won't be returned."
Russell managed a smile. "I'm going in. Just remembered I left my car low on gas." He turned to go, but another guard chuckled.
"As long as you've got something valuable, you can trade for anything here—even a full tank or a suit of Iron Man's armor!"
Russell nodded politely and entered, his expression serious. He realized now why they demanded gold—this was a trade of souls. That "gold" wasn't metal at all but spiritual essence. Over time, these small trades could add up to an astronomical amount of spiritual essence. The black market's owner had to be connected to the Egyptian pantheon, yet Russell was baffled as to why he had immunity from these trades. Was it because he was a time traveler, his soul foreign to this reality?
He cleared the thought from his mind. Dimensional demons were a far bigger threat than Egyptian gods, and he needed to remain focused here. After waiting a few moments to be sure he hadn't been detected for evading the spiritual essence trade, he ventured further into the market.
A short walk down the corridor opened up to a sprawling underground hall, illuminated by a miniature "sun" set in the dome above. Russell recognized it as an artificial sun created by magic, likely activating his knowledge talent, the [Knowledge Curse], for magic.
Surveying the market, he noticed it was divided into two sections: the inner ring, where valuables were sold, and the outer ring, where time prisoners sat hawking various trinkets. Russell quickly spotted what he was after: parts for steel armor. There were four computing components available, but the trade requirements were steep—food, alcohol, painkillers, weapons, high-tech gadgets, or magical artifacts.
Unfazed, Russell knew he could make a magical item—the red crystal defense necklace from Mordo's notes—as long as he could find a suitable gem. Gems were easy enough to come by, so he strolled around the stalls, trading some canned goods for gasoline and new clothes for Laura.
As he prepared to leave, he caught sight of a man who looked just like Captain America, down to his square jaw and athletic build. Russell chuckled and muttered, "Not quite Cap."
The man noticed his glance and snapped, "Back off! Even here, people are ogling? Damn, being handsome is a curse." Russell stifled a laugh—it was definitely Johnny Storm, the Human Torch, known for his fiery temper and bad attitude.
Russell shook his head and exited with his newly acquired goods. Outside the mine, he noticed a gathering of people in a few vehicles: a Hellfire-painted convertible and two heavily modified trucks, parked about 50 meters from the entrance. The group, about six or seven in total, all stared intently at the mine.
Johnny Storm, who had exited just before him, shouted angrily, "You idiots! You know the rules—no causing trouble here!" But the group laughed, one of them sneering, "Shut it, Johnny. This isn't about you. You're hardly worth it."
Johnny looked around in confusion, and Russell stepped up with a calm, almost mocking smile. "Out of my way, please. Got people waiting for me at home."
The group's focus shifted, but Russell ignored their stares and continued on his way, holding back a smirk.
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone