Chapter 983 – The Darkwhisper Market

Mo Lan had also caught distant glimpses of several underground caravans.

Upon discovering she was alone, the Gray Dwarf and underground Gnome guards in those caravans looked at her the way hyenas appraise merchandise.

Had Mo Lan not released the magical pressure of a level-18 Shadow Walker, she would likely have already suffered more than one “accidental” robbery.

Down here, a lone traveler was natural prey.

Beyond that, she had also discovered many man-made traps—and most of them weren’t aimed at the magical beasts of the Underground World, but at every passing traveler.

Some hollows looked like perfect shelters where one could safely spend the night, but in reality, fine barbs coated in neurotoxin hung from the ceiling. The moment anyone entered, the barbs would drop.

Some passages appeared flat and safe, yet trigger-activated traps might be buried beneath the ground. There was even one occasion when Mo Lan spotted an unfamiliar ore wedged into a rock crevice. Seeing that it emitted faint magical fluctuations, she pulled it out to examine what kind of mineral it was.

The moment she picked it up, it exploded.

The person who had placed it heard the sound of the explosion and immediately came over to “loot the corpse.”

Fortunately, Mo Lan had a whole array of automatically triggered defensive Magic on her person. The bomb did nothing more than blast her hood off—it caused her no actual harm whatsoever.

The safer the environment appeared, the more likely she was to encounter these man-made traps. Though they posed no real threat to her, they were thoroughly annoying.

Eventually, she took to deliberately traveling through the more dangerous terrain. It wasn’t until she reached the Darkwhisper Market that she entered an underground racial settlement for the first time.

The Darkwhisper Market was a trade and intelligence exchange point established within an enormous underground cavern.

Gathered here were underground denizens of every description: pale-skinned or dark-gray underground Gnomes, taciturn Gray Dwarf merchants, travelers wrapped in heavy cloaks whose faces were impossible to make out, and even some magical beasts possessed of a certain degree of intelligence.

Everyone moved with hurried purpose, conversations were kept to low murmurs, and wary eyes swept constantly across their surroundings.

Mo Lan pulled her cloak’s hood low, hiding most of her face in shadow.

Right now, the auras belonging to her other classes were all concealed. Only the pure darkness and shadow power of the Shadow Walker and Shadow Assassin remained.

Following Viola’s instructions, Mo Lan needed to find a Gray Dwarf intelligence broker called “Old Scar” here, and obtain from him the latest safe route and rotating password required to enter the Nightveil Clan’s core territory.

Viola’s tone had been unusually grave when she explained:

“The Deep Shadow Elves of the Nightveil Clan are, every single one of them, the Underground World’s most elite killers and intelligence specialists. They have made countless enemies.

For the security of their tribal lands, the routes leading to the core region have been designed like the most intricate spider-web labyrinth—natural caverns and artificially modified passages interweave, riddled with dead ends, looping paths, and lethal magical traps.

At every critical Intersection, the most elite Shadow Assassins stand guard in rotation, hidden within the shadows, merged seamlessly with their surroundings.

The moment you take a wrong turn, you will be instantly classified as an ‘intruder.’

No warning, no interrogation—only silent, lethal strikes from the shadows.

Even members of the clan itself, upon returning after an absence, must strictly follow the designated route and carry the latest password.

The password is changed once a week, jointly determined by several core Elders within the clan and distributed through covert channels known only to insiders.

Even members like me who are out on long-term missions must, before each return, obtain the latest password and route map through designated ‘couriers’ or peripheral intelligence points like Old Scar’s. This is an ironclad rule. No one is exempt.”

Mo Lan threaded her way through the chaotic market, carefully avoiding the gazes that were clearly ill-intentioned.

Finally, in the most secluded corner, she found Old Scar’s stall.

It was nothing more than a ground-level spread laid out on a filthy animal hide, displaying a few unremarkable pieces of ore, some shriveled fungal specimens, and several distinctly suspicious bottles filled with unidentifiable liquids.

The stall’s proprietor was a one-eyed Gray Dwarf. His face indeed bore a vicious scar that slashed diagonally from his forehead down to his chin, making his already rugged features look even more fearsome.

He was clamping a stone pipe between his teeth, puffing out clouds of smoke, his remaining eye squinted as he sized up the passersby.

Mo Lan walked over. Without glancing at the goods on display, she spoke the code phrase Viola had taught her, her voice low: “Moonlight cannot reach the deep well, but the undercurrent remembers the way back.”

Old Scar’s smoking hand paused for a moment. His single eye swept sharply over Mo Lan, and a glint of keen light flashed through its murky depths.

He blew out a smoke ring and replied in an equally low, rumbling voice: “The undercurrent returns to the Nightveil. The price is a silent gemstone.”

“The gemstone is here.”

Mo Lan placed a small pouch of “shimmer gems” she had prepared in advance onto the animal hide of the stall.

This powder, ground from specific underground minerals, was hard currency in the Underground World. It could be used in certain Alchemy or enchantment processes, was inherently valuable, and was nearly impossible to trace back to its source.

Old Scar pried the bag open with his thick, stubby fingers, glanced inside, nodded, and swiftly tucked it away. He clamped his pipe between his teeth again, took a deep drag, and dropped his voice even lower:

“Code phrase checks out. Weight and quality of the gems check out too… But outsider, you’re no Deep Shadow Elf, are you?

That scent—from the surface? Your concealment work is decent, but you can’t fool this old eye that’s spent over three hundred years in the Darkwhisper Market. The Nightveil Clan’s passwords and core routes aren’t the sort of thing any random nobody can trade for just by waving around some valuables.

Especially for surface races—code phrases and payment aren’t enough. You need a referrer of sufficient standing!”

Mo Lan had been fully prepared for this. She produced the map Viola had given her, which bore Viola’s personal seal.

Old Scar needed only a single glance to recognize its owner: “Referred by Lady Viola, I see!”

His attitude improved considerably. With a seemingly casual gesture, he fiddled with a piece of ore on the stall. Beneath it lay a scroll of black parchment, thin as a cicada’s wing.

“Password: ‘Shadow follows form.’ The route is on the back. Red marks are safe houses, blue marks are danger zones, black marks are restricted areas… don’t go there.”

He rattled this off quickly, slid the parchment over to Mo Lan, and then carried on as if nothing had happened—smoking his pipe, his gaze drifting elsewhere.

Mo Lan picked up the parchment. It felt cool and slick to the touch, like leather yet not quite leather.

She didn’t examine it immediately. Instead, she stowed it away swiftly, turned, and melted into the flow of the market crowd.

It was only after she had left the Darkwhisper Market and shaken off several adventurers with questionable intentions that she finally took out the black parchment, committed every detail to memory, and then pressed on without pause toward the cavern cluster where the Nightveil Clan’s tribal lands lay.