Chapter 162: Underworld

Ordinarily, the underworld tended to grow around the wealthiest noble families.

Where money gathered, people gathered. And where people gathered, so did crime.

But the North was an exception.

It wasn’t that slums didn’t exist around the Draken Duke’s castle—there were plenty of the poor clinging to its shadow. Rather, there were simply better places for the desperate to gather.

The tunnels.

Once carved out by the demon tribe during their invasion, they had since been abandoned and reclaimed by those who had nowhere else to go. The homeless, the dispossessed, and those who couldn’t afford life within the castle walls all ended up here. The result: the largest, most peculiar underworld in the empire.

"It’s gloomy, isn’t it?"

"Barren too," I replied, glancing around. "They say half the residents here are people who lost their homes to monsters."

Doran clicked his tongue and scanned the shadows. "Strangely quiet, though. With this many people, anywhere else we’d already have run into some tattooed brutes itching for a fight."

"That’s because it’s the North," I said flatly.

The northern underworld wasn’t like the others. No assassins’ guild. No violent mercenary syndicates. No self-proclaimed kings of crime. And there was a simple reason for that.

In a military city like this, every body counted against the demon tribe. The nobles had no patience for back-alley thugs wasting manpower. Anyone who showed too much talent for bloodshed wasn’t left to rot in the shadows—they were thrown onto the battlefield wearing a soldier’s helmet.

The result was a strange balance. The underworld existed, yes, but it was trimmed of its sharpest edges. Here, thieves survived less by violence and more by whispers. Information brokering had replaced plunder as the trade of choice.

Which was why Doran’s obsession with relics right now felt... absurd.

He licked his lips as he looked deeper into the tunnel, the dim light reflecting a hungry gleam in his eyes. "Hah... this is going to be fun."

He even started whistling, the sound bouncing unnervingly off the damp walls.

I grimaced. "Unbelievable. You were the one who told me once—life over money. And now look at you. Whistling like a boy chasing after trinkets."

He shot me a grin over his shoulder, the kind of grin that said he’d abandoned that old lesson long ago.

I sighed. "Fine. But don’t forget my share. Since you haven’t exactly been much of a teacher, consider it compensation."

Of course, I wasn’t much different. My fingers itched at the thought of the relic as much as his did.

In the end, we were both thieves.

Doran chuckled at my words, tugging his cloak tighter around his shoulders as if the damp air pleased him.

"Compensation, is it? Hah. You’ve grown greedy. When I first picked you up, you could barely tell the difference between a coin purse and a wineskin."

I snorted. "And whose fault is that? You never taught me properly. All I got was: don’t die too soon, kid. Some training."

He waved a hand lazily, as if brushing away my complaint. "If you survived with just that, it means my teaching was flawless."

"Or it means I had to figure out everything myself while you were busy chasing relics and drinking yourself stupid."

That earned me a bark of laughter. "Sharp tongue. I like it. Means you’re finally acting like a thief instead of a scolded puppy."

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t hide the faint smirk tugging at my lips. Banter with Doran always walked the line between irritation and amusement.

Still, I couldn’t ignore the gnawing thought in the back of my mind. This wasn’t just about relics. If Doran was here, in the North, that meant he’d sniffed out something worth risking the Duke’s eyes.

"When are we going to do it?"

"The auction starts tomorrow," Doran said, rolling that black parchment between his fingers like it was nothing more than a toy. "It’ll run for a week. The real treasures don’t come out until the last day, so that’s when we make our move."

A week later, then.

I nodded, but unease prickled at the back of my mind. A whole week? That left too much room for risk.

If the Frostroot—the item I’d set my sights on—went under the hammer before then, all of this would be for nothing.

No, I told myself quickly, shutting down the doubt. That’s an unnecessary worry.

The auction’s reputation relied on building suspense, saving their crown jewels for the final act. That was the only way they kept nobles and underworld bosses alike coming back year after year.

And Frostroot... it wasn’t the sort of prize anyone would fight over early. Too unpredictable, too dangerous. A double-edged blade in potion form—temporary power with the potential for devastating backlash.

Most men with coin wanted certainty. Power they could flaunt, not gamble on.

Which meant, in all likelihood, Frostroot would sit untouched until the end.

And when it did, I’d be ready.

"You look too certain," Doran muttered, eyeing me sideways as the tunnel bent into a wider chamber. "Dangerous habit, that. Certainty gets thieves killed faster than greed."

"Spoken like a man who’s been caught one too many times," I replied dryly.

He snorted. "Caught? Boy, I’ve been chased. Big difference. Caught means you failed. Chased means you walked away with something worth running for."

"Or it means you were sloppy enough to get noticed."

That earned me another bark of laughter, echoing against the damp stone. "Hah! If I was sloppy, you wouldn’t be here to argue with me."

I shook my head, a faint grin slipping out despite myself. "You always twist things until you’re the one who comes out on top. Doesn’t matter if you were half-dead in a ditch, you’d call it a victory if you crawled away with a pebble in your pocket."

"Pebble, relic, coin purse—if someone else wanted it and I got it, then I win," Doran said without hesitation. His eyes glinted in the torchlight. "That’s the rule of thieves. Not who’s strongest, not who’s fastest—just who walks away smiling."

"Sounds more like an excuse for incompetence," I shot back. "By that logic, a rat that scampers off with crumbs is the king of thieves."

He barked another laugh, low and rough. "Aye, but that rat’s alive. Better than the cat that starved chasing after meat it couldn’t catch."

I couldn’t help the smirk tugging at my lips. "So you’re admitting you’re a rat now?"

"Better a clever rat than a dead wolf." His teeth gleamed through his grin. "You’ve got the bite of a wolf, boy, but you still think like one too. Straight lines, straight plans. Always head-on. That’s why I worry."

"I manage just fine."

"Do you? I don’t think so but you are saying that means everything is okay."

I slowed my steps, my boots scraping against the damp stone floor. His words stuck to me like burrs, irritating, sharp, but impossible to shake off.

"You worry too much," I said finally. "You mistake caution for weakness. I don’t charge head-on like some idiot swinging a sword. I calculate."

"Calculate?" Doran scoffed, jabbing a finger toward me. "That’s the problem. You’re always counting and never gambling. Thieves don’t win by playing safe. They win by risking more than anyone else is willing to."

"That’s what gets people killed," I shot back, heat in my voice now. "All your talk of clever rats and dead wolves—don’t make me laugh. You’ve just been lucky."

His grin faded, his eyes narrowing. "Lucky?"

"Yes. Lucky. You think every scrape you survived was because you’re smarter than everyone else. But half of it was chance. Wrong guard falling asleep. Wrong noble turning drunk. Wrong trap breaking before you stepped in it. You confuse luck for skill."

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the dripping of water from the ceiling.

Then he chuckled, low and dangerous. "Bold of you to say, boy. But tell me this—if it’s all luck, then why are you still here?"

I clenched my jaw. The answer came before I could stop it. "Because I am better."

Doran’s grin returned, sharper than ever. "Hah! There it is. The wolf bares its teeth at last. Good. I’d hate to think I wasted my time on a coward."

I exhaled slowly, forcing my expression back to calm. "Don’t flatter yourself. You didn’t teach me anything. You just...left me with an S-rank technique. That’s all."

That earned a bark of laughter, one that rang against the tunnel walls like the crack of flint. "Oh, you’ve grown, boy. You’ve grown sharp. But sharp edges cut both ways. Anyway, I think it’s time to do my job as teacher."

"As teacher?"

"Yup.Then, as a teacher, I should teach you something. Did you have any trouble with the book I gave you?"

"Is that a joke?"

Trouble? There was plenty.

Self-learning without a proper demonstration was quite challenging.

If it weren’t for the system’s assistance, I would have only learned some basic skills like disguise or pickpocketing.

This was a good opportunity.

It was time to take advantage of my nominal teacher.

"About the movement technique, I don’t quite understand the counterattack part."

Since he said he will teach me....I am not going to waste this opportunity.