Trafficked: Reborn Heir's Revenge
Chapter 72: Nightmare Guild Station

Chapter 72: Nightmare Guild Station

....The Nightmare Guild Station had a cold aura to it, despite the golden glow from the floating lanterns embedded in its roof.

From the moment Oliver stepped in, the atmosphere felt unique.

Behind the obsidian counter sat a young woman—or at least, what he thought was a woman. She had the face of a delicate nymph, framed with silky black hair, sharp teal eyes that shimmered like dewdrops under moonlight, and a smile that looked carved from mischievous silk.

But then, she moved.

Her lower body arched like a cat stretching—no, not a cat. A fish. She had the tail of a serpent-scaled koi, long and elegant, and she swam through the air lazily like she was gliding through invisible water. Every motion was slow and fluid, accompanied by the faintest shimmer of ripples.

Oliver blinked, briefly distracted.

He shut the thought down almost immediately. There was no need asking. This place made no damn sense. And if he tried to make sense of every bizarre detail in this realm, he’d probably go insane. So he shoved the image of her finned tail into the growing "don't-think-about-it" folder in his brain.

The girl gave a graceful spin midair and smiled again.

“Welcome, Demon of Nightmares. How may I serve you today?”

Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “There. That again. You called me a Demon of Nightmares. Why?”

Her tail flicked gently, suspending her sideways in the air. “Ah, yes. That title. It wasn’t me who gave it to you,” she said, brushing a strand of glimmering black hair behind her ear. “Titles can be granted by people in the Dream Realm... or they are assigned by the Dream itself. The realm recognizes you. Labels you. Reflects what you are… or what you’re becoming.”

Oliver’s jaw clenched, eyes locked onto hers. “So ‘Demon of Nightmares’ is…?”

“A Ranked Identity,” she explained softly, “one given to individuals whose existence destabilizes the balance of the Dream. It means you’ve already caused chaos—or hold the power to.”

She smiled again, but this time there was a faint trace of caution in her eyes.

Oliver processed this for a moment. Then again, he was the ingeritor of a Demon Deity. Apparently the Dream recognised his bloodline.

She suddenly spun again and pointed behind him. “Now then, shall we get to business? I see you’ve brought quite the haul.”

“Huh?” Oliver turned around—

And blinked hard.

The carcasses of every Bottomless-Bellied Desert Bloody Scorpion he had killed were neatly stacked behind him. Fifty full-grown adults. Twenty-seven younglings. Not one missing. Not one misplaced.

“…But I didn’t carry them in.”

The nymph grinned, “You’re in the Dream, Demon. Here, intention is movement. Memory is storage. The land listens. The realm watches.”

Oliver scratched his head, sighing. “Right. Dream logic. Got it.”

Still rubbing his head, he turned back toward her. “How much are they worth?”

The nymph floated over and flicked her fingers once. A subtle mist of golden light flowed over the carcasses.

“For the adults, ten silver coins each,” she said, “and for the younglings, one hundred bronze altogether.”

Oliver nodded, slightly pleased. But curiosity tickled at him, and he reached into his neck. Pulling out the Veil of Humility—the necklace he had traded with the merchant for—he leaned forward.

“And what about this? What’s it worth?”

She floated closer, her brows lifting. “Oh. That trinket?” She squinted for a second before giving a short, dry laugh. “Maybe… five bronze. At best. Do you want to sell it?”

“…What?”

It felt like his heart cracked in two.

He remembered that he had traded 50 Bottomless-Bellied Desert Bloody Scorpions for this thing.

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From what he had learnt, 100 bronze coins made one silver, and a hundred silver coins made one Gold coin.

If one carcass was worth 10 silver, then it meant that he gave out 500 silver worth of goods for an item of mere 5 bronze coins.

Oliver had not even used dreams coins yet. But the thought that a person of his caliber experiencing two lives, had been cheated this badly.

His eye twitched.

The nymph gave him a knowing smile. “Let me guess… A merchant wearing socks for clothes?”

“…Yeah,” Oliver muttered, defeated.

She sighed with a shake of her head. “They prey on dreamers like you. Especially the fresh ones. It’s how they profit. That necklace isn't even functioning properly. It drains far too much Aether and offers not as much defense for your bloodline rank as it promises. If you were truly probed, it would have broken apart. A poorly-forged relic with a broken anchor dream rune.”

Oliver looked at the necklace in his hand with disgust. He swore, silently, right then and there, that he would get that bastard back when he was done here.

“Fine,” he grumbled, pushing the thought aside. “Let’s make the trade.”

With a flick of her tail and a tap to the counter, the carcasses dissolved into specks of silver dust.

> Trade Complete:

• 50 Adult Scorpions = 500 Silver Coins

• 27 Younglings = 2700 Bronze Coins for each.

Oliver raised his brow, impressed by the glistening coin pouch that materialized before him. Not bad.

“Alright. Can I buy weapons with these?”

The nymph nodded. “Yes. But a word of caution: some weapons come with criteria. Conditions. Even tasks. Not all can be wielded by all. Power must be earned here.”

“Sounds about right.”

She gestured to a strange glowing slab embedded on the counter. “Place your palm here. You’ll need to register with the Nightmare Guild to access its benefits.”

Oliver extended his hand without hesitation.

The moment his palm touched the surface, the glyphs on the slab rippled to life, curling around his wrist like serpents. A rush of cold Aether ran up his arm.

> Nightmare Guild Registration: In Progress...

>Registered.

The moment Oliver’s palm disconnected from the glowing slab, a soft chime echoed from somewhere above. Strange symbols flashed before his eyes, floating briefly in midair before fading into the wooden air.

The nymph smiled and pointed to the left side of the hall. “Now that you're registered, you’re permitted to use the Mission Board. It's synced to your Dream Presence. Feel free to explore.”

Oliver nodded and made his way there. His goal was to find items that would make his first dungeon experience in the real world very easy. And secondly, it was to know more about this world and how he could ensure that the second phase of the night trial was easier than the first one.

The Mission Board itself looked ancient—twisting roots of dreamwood wrapped around it like a cage holding stories hostage.

The surface shimmered, not quite metal, not quite stone. Pages fluttered across its surface like leaves dancing in a phantom breeze.

At first glance, everything was blurry. The papers made no sense. The ink swam and shifted like oil in water, and the pictures—if that’s what they were—seemed to writhe and squirm as if resisting being seen.

Then—

> [Access Alert: You are now permitted to use the Mission Table. Do you want to proceed?]

Oliver blinked. Right.

Now he remembered.

When he had killed the Bottomless-Bellied Desert Bloody Scorpions, one of the alerts he’d seen in the corner of his vision had said:

> [Mission Table: Unlocked.]

So this was it.

He nodded silently.

The moment he agreed in his mind, the board shifted.

Suddenly, every blurred word became clear. The pages on the board straightened and sharpened in their frames. The images printed on them moved, looping in soft repetitions—exactly like enchanted photographs. A sword danced in the hands of a phantom knight. A potion glimmered, its color constantly shifting like trapped lightning. A beast roared in silence, caught mid-snarl.

It was surreal.

Each parchment was a mission. A few scrawled in gentle curves. Others etched with claw marks and blood-red ink. Rewards were listed clearly underneath:

“Cleanse the Whispering Orchard.” (Reward: Spirit-Cleaver Blade: forged from bottled screams. Requirement: Strength: C-, Agility: D+. Blood Initiate)

“Escort the Candle-Eyed Pilgrim to the Temple of Rain.” (Reward: Whispercloak: Hides user’s presence from Dream Beasts for 5 minutes. Requirements: Blood Knight rank 1)

“Slay the Echo-Bear of Hollow Hill.” (Reward: Beast Control Scroll: Allows temporary command of one tamed Nightmare creature. Requirement Blood Warrior)

“Deliver 3 Lost Thoughts to the Broken Librarian.” (Reward: Skill: Phantom Step. Grants brief intangibility while dashing. Requirement: Blood Warrior rank 1)

Oliver’s eyes widened. Skills too?

He shook his head, half amused, half shocked. All this time in the Tree That Bleeds skills, he had spent days—weeks—training just to learn a single skill, through blood and sweat and pain. But here…? All he had to do was take a mission?

And from what he was seeing, some of these skills and weapons could even be bought outright with Dream Coins.

But just as the tempting thought began to sink its teeth into his ambition—

A cold presence bloomed behind him.

><“I know what you're thinking,”

The familiar dry voice whispered.

Oliver didn’t even flinch. The Skull had appeared—hovering just beside his right shoulder, eyes glowing like smoldering coal.

“Buying skills outright sounds like a good idea. It is Quick. Efficient. But it’s a bad one.”

Oliver frowned. “Why?”

The Skull didn’t elaborate. “You can believe me… or not. Your path, your grave.”

Then, it vanished in a blink—no smoky fade, no slow drift. Just gone.

Oliver clenched his jaw.

Why say something that cryptic and just vanish?

But something in the Skull’s tone kept the thought from anchoring too deeply in his mind. He shoved the idea into a dusty shelf in his head labeled “Deal With Later,” and turned back to the Mission Board.

Because something had caught his eye.

A new mission.

> “Rescue the Fallen Star: A child of the Twilight Kin has been captured by Hollowed Dream Cultists. Save her before her mind is devoured.”

(Reward: ???)

Risk Level: Moderate

Client: A222)

The image on the parchment shifted and pulsed—a picture of a dark-skinned girl, one pointed ear, and the other normal, barely visible under her tangled locks of black hair.

Oliver's breath caught.

Her.

The half-dark elf girl.

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