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"No, they’re probably adventurers from nearby. The Tech Hunters have already checked the fifth and sixth floors below and confird that there’s nothing they want there. Now they’re more interested in searching the Sea of the Dead in the eastern part of the Eastern Kingdom for ancient artifacts from before the Great Destruction Era," Cohen said, who reportedly has a cousin who is a Tech Hunter, and he himself is a Tech Hunter reservist, just like his father when he was young.
It’s a very fashionable job, coveted by both commoners and Nobles alike. Finding a single artifact could set a family up for life.
Although most of the news is about Tech Hunter teams going to the Sea of the Dead and never returning, adventure seems to be a quality shared by humans in any world.
Malin felt a bit wistful. This world might really be the echo of a great and civilized past, where descendants, after the destruction, again and again, fought against annihilation, struggling to relight the torch of civilization.
Passing through this corridor, Malin saw a large open space where the walls were lined with stalls set up by Adventurers selling their goods. Most were items that seed to be quite old, but Malin could distinguish real antiques from those artificially aged—before the Great Destruction, talworking was extrely advanced, as he had seen a dining knife at the Church that was said to be from before the Great Destruction. Its monomolecular blade could cut through iron as if it were mud.
The dining knives on these stalls mostly looked similar to that knife, except that the majority showed rust, clearly indicating they were not genuine.
And for those that seed authentic, mostly they were marked with a ’0’, which was headache-inducing to look at. Although Malin had enough ’0’, he couldn’t waste it here; buying a dining knife possibly from ten thousand years ago to eat steak with? He must be waterlogged in the head.
"This is the famous Adventurer’s flea market. But let be clear, nine out of ten artifacts here are fakes. I, a local, can’t tell them apart, and I personally suggest you don’t waste your money," Cohen explained, which made Logan understand, and Malin felt it was a sha the boy wasn’t acting in plays.
No abnormal heartbeat, no change in expression, even his speech was consistently monotone. If Malin hadn’t confird that these guys indeed harbored lethal intent, he might have doubted everything he knew.
"Past this spot, we’ll go about 300 ters in, and that’s the diving area. There we’ll need to wear diving masks and put on protective gear."
"Diving masks?" Logan seed a bit puzzled by the term.
"Yes, diving masks effectively isolate the pathogens and poison gas below the second floor," Cohen replied.
"Then why isn’t there any of that on the first floor?" Logan, ever the inquisitive lad, dutifully asked every question for Malin.
His cousin patiently explained, "The air filtration system on the first floor has been repaired. We don’t need to worry about anything now. As we move forward, we’ll see the generator. It’s now encased by the Mage Tower in solid tal and walls. Every fifty years, they just have to replace the central Purification core stack. The Mages of the Mage Tower always like using these incomprehensible phrases for explanation. You know what each word ans when it’s alone, but when they’re combined together, they sound impressively technical."
Malin could relate—yes, just like the nas of dicine, every pharmaceutical factory, no matter where, likes to use a long string of letters as the drug’s na.
As he approached the entrance at the end of the corridor, Malin suddenly heard sothing. He turned his head and saw a small stall with a pile of miscellaneous items.
Malin turned to go, then heard sothing again. He turned his head back, and this ti went straight to the stall.
Several high-imitation dining knives, a lens apparently salvaged from sowhere, a pair of binoculars (obviously not real antiques), a few small tal objects, two batteries with apparent positive and negative terminals, and sothing with a wrist strap... a watch?
No, not a watch. The object seed to be tallic but was full of scratches, even on the unidentifiable glass cover plate, which likely housed so sort of liquid crystal electronic device—seamless, not a contemporary high imitation.
Malin glanced at the shop owner, then nonchalantly picked up a monocular, finding its function was at most four tis magnification. The Russian monoculars that flooded the market when the Soviet Union collapsed were military-grade with over twenty tis magnification. If ancient monoculars before the Great Destruction had only four tis, don’t be surprised if ancient people jump out and start slapping you.
While muttering to himself, he inquired about the monocular, "How much for this?"
"200 coins," replied the middle-aged vendor, his mouth wide enough it seed it wouldn’t mind twisting the truth.
Malin shook his head, "Too expensive. I’m buying it as a gift. Otherwise, they’ll think my trip to The Capital was a lie."
"200 coins, and you can pick another item," the vendor’s eyes brightened, sensing Malin’s implication. Malin took one of the items that looked like a battery and frowned, "What’s this?"
"Found on the third floor, function unknown."
Malin put it down, then pointed at the lens, "And this?"
"Fourth floor, in what looks like storerooms, but I think you definitely won’t be able to go down there."
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