The battle was on the verge of breaking out, and the Calamity Alliance was about to determine who was the true calamity.
Highsmith encountered a special guest.
"You're saying you want to leave the Calamity Alliance?"
He looked at the other party in surprise.
"Of course, Mr. G. When two tigers fight, one is bound to be injured. I fear the Grand Khan's might, yet I'm also shocked by your strength. I truly don't have the courage to take sides. And since I'm not taking sides, I can only run."
"But before I run, I still want to make one last score. Of course, fair trade, no cheating. I can guarantee that my reputation is sound."
The other party claimed to fear the Grand Khan, but Highsmith couldn't see a trace of fear on his face.
As for fair trade, given Highsmith's judgment, he knew that this fellow had used the Calamity civilization's influence to obtain plenty of good merchandise over the years. The prices he offered hovered around the "passing line." As for "fair," there was still a great deal of room for improvement.
Earlier, when his route had been blocked, he had assumed that some blind calamity wanted to test his depth.
The result was that it was an acquaintance.
Or rather, a merchant.
The other party's form was a mass of flowing, pure shadow that rejected light. Its edges continuously blurred and re-formed, like a drop of ink silently spreading across wet paper.
Its outline was difficult to fix. At times, it elongated, revealing shadows resembling slender limbs or sharp claws, but they vanished in an instant, as though they were merely visual illusions.
When one stared at it, one could sense an inhuman gaze—cold and hollow. It had no actual eyes, yet one knew with certainty