A Black Market LitRPG

The dry shattered ground cracked beneath the rugged sole of Masir’s boots as he walked through the city, where the heat of day washed over his skin, the daylight glaring. It was his ‘day off’, but the town of Ocra was a far cry from the glamorous tourist destination that it used to be.

Instead of casinos, gambling dens and human trafficking rings, all that was propped up in its place now were soup kitchens run by the local town council and long queues for old wells that had recently just been remembered. Children smiled and played with each other while their mothers wearily carried water jugs, filling them up by hand from the manual well.

He shuffled the strap on his rifle as he walked and scratched his itchy neck, already coated with a barely visible layer of grime that he couldn’t seem to remove no matter how hard he scrubbed. What am I even doing here? Masir had entered the city on a whim, hoping for something. Yet all he found was a struggling community, with food and basic supplies running low.

It has been more than a week since the first battle of Ocra. The Versian Garrison had no choice but to block off the river, cutting off an essential trade route that severely limited access to the outside economy. They had slowly lost ground around their surroundings as well, being forced to give up the first trench line and retreat to the second one, creating a no man’s zone.

In the distance towards Tenar, ambient thuds marked the sound of cannon fire: Brigades from the Raktor Corps led by Count Leon had already moved forward by circling around the town, blocking off reinforcements coming in from the Versian capital and blockading Ocra, intending to starve it to surrender.

Masir knew the general of the garrison would never surrender while they still had a fighting chance. The garrison still numbered more than ten thousand men, with more and more conscripts from the local population bolstering the numbers even higher.

However, due to the strict blockade by Count Leon, the city was slowly losing supplies, beginning to dip ever so close to starvation. It was for this reason that many of the luxurious hotels and fanciful restaurants had immediately closed shop and fled the city at the first sign of battle, not willing to be sacrificed.

Masir continued walking, reaching his destination of a shoddy-looking wooden entrance marked with a sign befitting of a pub. The rusty bell rang as he swung the door open, where a few other soldiers on off shifts were there, drinking quietly as well.

He glanced around his old haunt, trying to recognise them. Only Ocra gang members knew about this place, but at the end of the bar, he noticed a hooded man, one he did not recognize. For some reason, he felt that he knew him.

“Masir!” The female bartender waved at him while she was pouring drinks for another Ocra soldier. The other customers instinctively recognised him as one of the big gang leaders of Ocra, and they began to gossip about him.

“Hey, wasn’t he supposed to be in Tenar?”

“Maybe he got conscripted or enslaved. Only reason why he would be in the army. Must be a fucking private too.”

“HAH! Little Private Masir.”

“It’s Platoon Sergeant to you, rascal.” Masir smacked the gossiping soldier on the head, obviously overhearing the whole conversation. “If you think I’ve lost my touch, you can try me again.”

The customers broke out into laughter, with even Masir having a smile on his face. He might have killed them and hung their corpses above the port for that joke last time, but right now, in war, there was a sense of unity among them. Everyone recognised that there was a common enemy right outside the door, so there was no time to hash out internal disputes. Ocra Boys stick together.

“Wow, platoon sergeant, huh?” The female bartender teased with no sign of fear as Masir rested against the bar counter, taking off his rifle.

“What happened to Uncle Roy?” Masir asked.

“He fled. Fucking coward.”

“Must be good for you, though. Alcohol and potions should be in serious demand now.”

“That’s assuming I can get past the blockade.”

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“The old smuggling routes should be of use.”

“They got that covered too.”

Masir’s eyes squinted when he heard that. “Someone leaked the information?”

“I would guess one of your men got caught by the Yual Dogs?”

As if on cue, a large arctech loudspeaker amplified a voice from the lost first trench line, where the enemy had already fortified for themselves.

[Vermin of Versia! Surrender now! Men should not die to starvation and plague, but rather in combat! Come out and fight!]

Do they really think it will work? Masir groaned internally. The general would never relinquish the defensive advantage he had just to fight the Raktor forces openly.

He turned his focus back to the conversation. “I don’t know anyone who got caught.” Except Makoa. Where the hell is he?

“Well, they know exactly ALL of our smuggling routes. I tried a few myself to get out of the city beyond our defence line, and there were already permanent Yual dogs stationed there. Someone must have leaked the information.”

“It wasn’t us. Pint, please.” Masir shrugged.

The female bartender crossed her arms. “What do you have to pay?”

“Put in on my tab.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Do you even know what kind of economy we are in right now?”

“You’re going to treat your cousin like that?”

“Says the one trying not to pay me.”

“I don’t have any Versian coins on me.”

“Arcite fuel, food or water would work. Some Desham Tuffs too.”

Masir grumbled, reaching into his pockets for a combat ration pack that he always kept on hand. If the battles over the last few days taught him anything, it was that he had to be self-reliant as much as possible. He even had all three meals covered, strapped to his waist and in his thigh pockets.

“Fine.” Masir slapped a combat ration pack on the counter, the female bartender grinning and grabbing it quickly before he could change his mind. “That ration is valuable; it can’t be just a pint, right? At least five.”

“Three pints. You think I make this swill myself? I got overheads.”

“You’re sounding more and more like Uncle Roy.”

“Fuck off.”

“Fine, three pints then.”

The rest of the off-shift drinking session passed in relative silence, with soldiers coming and going. Only Ocra residents knew of this place, allowing them to secretly trade military rations and supplies in exchange for potions, the occasional Euria Seeds pack and moonshine.

Masir downed the last pint before glancing around the room, noticing that the hooded man had drunk more than ten pints, though he had yet to say a single word nor make any move, simply sitting down at his counter seat quietly.

“Who’s that guy?”

“Don’t know. He paid in food, though.”

“Rations?” Masir was surprised that the hooded man had access to military combat rations pack. A skimmer?

“No, he paid in mammoth hog meat. A whole flank.”

“Impossible. The closest is Keru Forest – that’s an entire day or more away.”

“Don’t ask me – I’ll take anything I can get. As far as I know, my kids are eating roasted pork tonight.”

“Any leftovers for a cousin?”

“Nice try.”

Masir’s interest was piqued now. He walked over to the hooded man, sitting down next to him. “Hey there, I was wondering where you got the meat from.”

“Who’s asking?” A familiar voice responded, leading Masir’s eyes to widen in recognition.

“You!”

“Before you start screaming and activating the Nest engraving on your chest, think clearly before I lob your head off,” Kyle spoke quietly. “I’m sure you know what happens if it activates.”

Masir quickly calmed himself down. “Why the fuck are you even here? Weren’t you caught in Tenar?”

“Let’s worry about that later. We’ll move to a separate location.”

The two of them moved into the basement of the pub, where Masir previously had all of his human trafficking cargo arranged here. Now there were only empty cages and empty barrels food used wholesale by Masir’s cousin for the barter economy.

“What do you want? You don’t control me anymore – Nest already removed the slave engraving.”

“I am aware. You’re only fighting in the military because of that.”

Masir’s brain churned slightly. “You’re saying you can remove it? Impossible. Five of my men died the moment they broke the engraving.”

“Don’t put me on the same level as your men. But in exchange for freedom, I want to cut a deal with you.”

“A deal…?”

“Your military is running low on equipment, both weapons, potions and ammunition. Your economy is suffering in lack of basic food, water and arcite fuel. What’s the use of holding onto all that Versian coin?”

“You want to profit off the siege economy.”

“I like to think of it as I am helping the local communities build resilience.” Kyle shrugged. “Right now, I am the only one able to smuggle it in. No one else can. If you don’t accept my deal, I’ll have to resort to other means.”

Masir realised this wasn’t even a choice. He knew exactly what Kyle meant by ‘other means, he himself having personally seen it up close.

“I’m not high ranking enough in the military to have access to the coffers.”

“I can help you get there. Your promotion was no fluke.”

How long has he been watching? Masir did not understand that Kyle was the one intervening in all his battles, saving him specifically. Kyle had long had his eyes on Masir since the first trench battle, focusing on building up his ‘heroic reputation’.

“Let’s start with the engraving.” Kyle got to work, using his Negation field to disable the engraving. He modified it to his master engraving, already experienced from his previous modification of the engraving on the old Nest Informant back in Desham. “Don’t worry; I’m better than Nest.”

From one master to another… Masir internally shed a tear as Kyle carved away at his chest, blood flowing copiously. Once the modification was over, Kyle disabled the Negation field and healed him with the Necklace of Healing, sealing up the wound.

“How are you smuggling in the items? All the old smuggling routes are blocked off. In fact, how did you even get in – ARGH!” Masir winced as he clenched his chest in pain, the new slave engraving sending jolts into his body.

“Had to test.”

Kyle led Masir out to the roof of a nearby building, where a stealth hornet was already waiting with a crate of stamina potions. “First delivery, free of charge. Sell them at whatever price you want – as long as I get my cut.”

Masir hardly had the time to be shocked at the existence of the mineral ant, as his money-focused brain was already calculating how much this venture could get him. I have a route out of the city now, thanks to him, and I no longer have to follow Nest. On top of that, I get a cut of how much I earn from Ocra!

Versian coins still had value outside of Ocra, making Masir even more excited to work with Kyle. Kyle grinned, knowing he had both controls of Masir and hooked his motivation.

The entire reason he had to get Masir isolated was due to the negation field as well as ensuring Masir didn’t start a ruckus and attract attention. Kyle wasn’t entirely sure how many Nest operatives or informants were there in the city. He even assumed that the alcohol that Masir’s cousin had been getting was through them.

Kyle knew that every operational criminal group in the city would be looking to cash in on the town, which was why he leaked the existence of the smuggling routes to the Yual forces, prompting them to lock down the area further and restrict the other criminal groups. Of course, they wouldn’t want anyone to flout their siege and feed the population that they were aiming to starve.

Lucky for him, he did not rely on the smuggling routes but instead on the airborne capabilities of the mineral ants. With Masir now in his pocket, he could begin to start increasing the number of goods ferried, earning back in Versian coins that were hardly used in the current economy. And Kyle was planning to get the lion’s share—a town of fifty thousand people and a ten thousand-strong garrison – more than enough money to make.

With a near-guaranteed monopoly on hand, Kyle was now set to dominate the siege economy.

“Now, how do I ensure a continuous supply…”

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