Extra's Revenge: Reincarnated As A Slave-Chapter 102: Test

Three days passed in careful normalcy.

Rey continued operating Helt’s Scrollworks exactly as before—same prices, same service, same carefully cultivated reputation. He gave no indication that anything significant had occurred, that any invitation had been extended.

His enslaved workers maintained their routines. Customers came and went. The neighboring merchants greeted him with their usual mixture of friendliness and mild envy at his success.

To all external observations, Modred Helt was simply a merchant conducting business.

But internally, Rey was preparing.

He spent his evenings reviewing everything he knew about criminal organizations, drawing on both the Sunlit Order’s intelligence and his own observations of how power structures operated.

He analyzed potential scenarios, planned responses, anticipated traps.

The underworld didn’t trust easily. They would test him, probe for weaknesses, try to determine if he was genuine or a threat.

Rey needed to pass those tests while simultaneously demonstrating enough capability that they would see him as valuable rather than expendable.

A delicate balance.

When midnight of the third day arrived, Rey closed his shop at the usual hour, gave his enslaved workers their instructions for the next day, and made his way through Elkrim’s darkening streets.

The Red Lantern tavern occupied a corner in the western district—not the worst part of the city, but definitely not the respectable merchant areas Rey usually frequented. The building itself was unremarkable, distinguished only by the red-tinted lantern hanging above its entrance.

Rey approached with the measured caution of someone who understood they were walking into potential danger but wasn’t deterred by it.

The tavern’s interior was dimly lit, populated by the kind of patrons who valued their privacy and didn’t ask unnecessary questions.

Conversations stopped briefly when Rey entered, eyes assessing this well-dressed merchant before dismissing him as uninteresting.

The proprietor—a heavy-set man with calculating eyes—noticed Rey immediately. His gaze dropped to the black card Rey held, and his expression shifted subtly.

"Helt," the proprietor said, not a question. "You’re expected. Through the back."

Rey nodded and followed the indicated direction, passing through a door that led to a private section of the establishment. A hallway, then stairs descending into what must have been the building’s cellar.

Two guards flanked the bottom of the stairs.

They searched Rey thoroughly—finding only the black card and a modest amount of currency, nothing that suggested law enforcement or hostile intent.

"This way."

They led him through an underground passage that connected to adjacent buildings, a network that probably extended throughout the district.

Smart—allowing movement without surface visibility, making surveillance nearly impossible.

Finally, they emerged into a well-appointed room that contrasted sharply with the rough passages they’d traversed. Expensive furniture, quality lighting, and most notably, five people waiting.

The scarred man from the shop was there, along with his two companions. But also present were two others—a thin woman with predatory eyes and an older man whose expensive clothing and confident bearing marked him as someone important.

"Modred Helt," the older man said, gesturing to a chair. "Please, sit. We have business to discuss."

Rey settled into the indicated seat, his posture relaxed but attentive. "I appreciate the invitation."

"Let’s dispense with pleasantries," the older man said. "You’ve been operating in Elkrim for a month. Selling quality goods at prices that suggest either foolishness or hidden agenda. We’ve investigated your background—everything checks out. Legitimate merchant, proper documentation, no obvious law enforcement connections."

"And yet you’re suspicious," Rey observed.

"We’re always suspicious," the woman interjected, her voice sharp. "It’s how we stay alive and prosperous."

"Reasonable," Rey acknowledged.

The older man leaned forward. "Here’s the situation, Helt. We control significant portions of Elkrim’s less legitimate commerce. We’re always looking for useful people—merchants with clean reputations who can serve as fronts, who can launder goods and currency, who can provide us with access to markets we can’t approach directly."

"You want to use my shop," Rey stated flatly.

"Among other things," the older man confirmed. "In exchange, we provide you with merchandise you can sell at actual profit. We provide protection from competitors and law enforcement. We provide opportunities to expand your operations beyond what legitimate channels would allow."

He spread his hands. "A mutually beneficial arrangement. You get wealth and security. We get a useful asset."

Rey appeared to consider this, his aged features thoughtful. "And if I refuse?"

"Then you’re a problem," the scarred man said bluntly. "A merchant operating at a loss, undercutting established businesses, potentially gathering intelligence for competitors or authorities. Problems get eliminated."

Clear enough.

"I see," Rey said slowly. "So my choices are: cooperate and prosper, or refuse and suffer consequences."

"Essentially," the older man agreed. "Though I prefer to frame it as an opportunity rather than a threat."

Rey nodded as if coming to a decision. "Very well. What would this arrangement entail specifically?"

The woman smiled.

"We’ll start simple. A test of your reliability and discretion."

She produced a small case, opening it to reveal several scrolls. Rey’s enhanced perception immediately identified them as stolen goods—the mystical signatures were scrambled, indicating someone had attempted to cleanse them but done an imperfect job.

"These need to be sold through your shop," she explained. "We’ll provide authentication documents that appear legitimate. You’ll sell them at market rate and give us seventy percent of the proceeds. The remaining thirty percent is yours to keep."

Rey examined the scrolls carefully, noting their actual quality versus what the supposed authentication would claim.

"These are Low-Sequence Techniques," he said after a moment. "But the authentication claims they’re Mid-Sequence. That’s fraud that any knowledgeable buyer would detect."

The woman’s smile widened.

"Which is why we need someone who can sell them to less knowledgeable buyers. Wealthy amateurs who want to appear sophisticated but don’t actually understand what they’re purchasing."

"I see," Rey said slowly. Then he set the case down and looked at each person in the room.

"No."

The temperature in the room dropped noticeably.

"No?" the scarred man growled, his hand moving toward his weapon.

"No," Rey repeated calmly. "This is a trap. You’re testing whether I’m desperate enough or stupid enough to commit obvious fraud that would immediately attract law enforcement attention."

He gestured at the scrolls.

"These aren’t just improperly authenticated—they’re bait. If I tried to sell them through my shop, within a week I’d have investigators asking questions. My legitimate reputation would be destroyed, making me dependent on you for survival."

The older man’s expression remained neutral, but something flickered in his eyes—interest, perhaps even approval.

"I’d be vulnerable," Rey continued, "forced to accept increasingly unfavorable terms because I’d have nowhere else to go. Classic recruitment strategy for forcing compliance."

He leaned back in his chair. "If you want to test my reliability, fine. But give me something I can actually work with. These scrolls would burn us both."

Silence fell over the room.

The scarred man looked ready to attack, but the older man raised a hand to stop him.

"Interesting," the older man said quietly. "Most people in your position would have taken the scrolls without question, desperate to prove their cooperation."

"Most people in my position are fools," Rey replied. "I didn’t survive decades in commerce by being stupid."

The woman laughed—a genuine sound of surprised appreciation. "He’s got nerve, I’ll give him that."

The older man studied Rey for a long moment, his expression calculating.

Then he nodded slowly.

"You’re right, of course. Those scrolls were a test. We needed to know if you were another desperate idiot we could exploit, or someone with actual intelligence and backbone."

He stood, straightening his expensive coat. "It appears you’re the latter. Which means you might actually be valuable rather than merely useful."

"So what now?" Rey asked.

"Now we introduce you to our employer," the older man said. "The person who actually makes decisions about bringing people into our organization."

He gestured, and the guards from earlier appeared at the doorway. "Take him to the reception room. Our employer will decide if this meeting continues."

Rey stood, allowing himself to be escorted once again through the underground passages.

This time they traveled further, deeper into what must have been an extensive network beneath the western district.

Finally, they arrived at a door—heavy, reinforced, with mystical wards visible even to mundane observation.

"Wait here," one guard instructed, gesturing to a well-furnished reception room adjacent to the warded door. "Someone will come for you."

Rey entered the reception room, noting the quality of the furnishings, the defensive positioning of the space, the subtle surveillance Artifacts monitoring everything.

This was where important visitors were evaluated before being granted audience with someone truly powerful.

He settled into a chair, outwardly patient, inwardly analyzing everything.

’I passed their first test,’ he thought. ’Proved I’m not an idiot. But now comes the real evaluation. Whoever’s behind that door will determine if I’m actually allowed into the Dark Commerce District, or if I’m too risky to recruit.’

Minutes passed.

Then an hour.

A subtle power play—making him wait, testing his patience, ensuring he understood his subordinate position.

Rey didn’t react.

He simply sat, the picture of a merchant accustomed to waiting for important negotiations.

Finally, after what must have been ninety minutes, he heard it.

Movement beyond the warded door. The sound of locks disengaging. Mystical barriers dissolving.

The door began to open.

Rey stood, straightening his merchant’s coat, preparing to meet whoever controlled this portion of Elkrim’s criminal underworld.

The door swung wide.

And Rey found himself facing—