[Unknown City Streets - Morning]
Vorn stepped out of what looked like an alley between two massive buildings, blinking in the bright sunlight. The city stretched out in front of him - sleek glass towers, neon signs advertising things he couldn't read, and crowds of people moving with the focused energy of a place that never slept.
"Uhhh?," he muttered, looking around. "Didn't know we had a tech district this advanced."
The architecture was impressive. Everything looked like it had been built yesterday, all clean lines and digital displays. Cars moved quietly on electric engines, and every corner had vending machines selling drinks he'd never seen before.
His clothes were dusty and torn from the dungeon collapse, but nobody seemed to notice. In a city this busy, one more disheveled person was invisible.
He walked with the crowd, observing. Street signs in a script he didn't recognize. Currency symbols that looked wrong. Even the way people dressed felt slightly off, like fashion had evolved in a different direction.
"Must be the capital district," he told himself. "Never been this far from home."
---
[Street Corner - Information Gathering]
Vorn approached a woman waiting at a crosswalk. "Excuse me, how do I get to Millbrook City from here?"
She looked at him blankly, then said something in a language that sounded familiar but wasn't quite right. When he repeated his question, she shook her head and walked away.
He tried again with a businessman in a suit. Same result - confused expression, foreign response.
"Language barrier?" The slime's voice whispered from his shadow. "That's unusual for short travel."
Vorn frowned. The words sounded like they should make sense, but they didn't quite connect. Like listening to someone speak through water.
A teenager with bright blue hair pointed him toward a building covered in animated advertisements. "Gaming center," she said in accented English. "Computer access."
"Thanks."
---
[Cyber Palace Gaming Center]
The gaming center was three floors of organized chaos. Rows of high-end computers, VR pods, gaming chairs that looked like spacecraft cockpits, and the constant sound of keyboards clicking and people shouting at screens.
Vorn paid for an hour with his remaining cash - bills that looked right but felt wrong in his hands. The computer booted up in a language he didn't recognize.
He clicked around until he found something that looked like a browser, then searched for "Millbrook City."
Nothing.
He tried "Seren Ashworth." No results.
He searched for his own city, his street, landmarks he knew. Every search came back empty or showed places that looked similar but weren't quite right.
Finally, he opened what looked like a news site. The date format was different. The currency symbols were foreign. Even the weather map showed a coastline that didn't match what he remembered.
He leaned back in the gaming chair, processing.
"This isn't home," he said quietly. "I've been moved."
The slime stirred in his shadow. "Teleportation magic? From the dungeon collapse?"
"Maybe, or maybe something else threw us here when everything went to hell."
He checked his wallet again. The money he had was torn, faded, and clearly from somewhere else. He had maybe enough for another hour of computer time and a cheap meal.
"No phone, no contacts, no way home," he muttered. "And no funding."
That's when he noticed the casino advertisement flashing on a nearby screen. Bright lights, promises of fortune, and most importantly - immediate cash for anyone skilled enough to take it.
Vorn smiled for the first time since arriving in this strange city.
---
[Preparation - Beauty Supply Store]
Two hours later, Vorn looked completely different.
He'd found a discount beauty supply store and bought temporary hair dye, colored contacts, and a simple black mask that covered the upper half of his face. The slime had helped, subtly adjusting his facial structure and posture.
His naturally white, long hair was now jet black. His eyes had shifted from crystal pblue to crimson red. Even his voice sounded different - slightly deeper, with an accent he'd borrowed from overheard conversations.
"Think it'll work?" he asked his reflection in the store's mirror.
"You look like a completely different person," the slime confirmed. "Even I barely recognize you."
The transformation wasn't just cosmetic. Something about the new appearance made him feel more confident, more calculated. Like putting on armor made of deception.
---
[Royal Flush Casino - Evening]
The casino was exactly what Vorn had expected - loud, bright, and full of people with more money than sense. Crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and the constant sound of chips clicking and machines chiming.
He walked through the main floor, observing. Poker tables with players who telegraphed every emotion. Blackjack dealers who followed predictable patterns. Slot machines that were just sophisticated math problems.
The slime whispered strategic advice: "Third table from the left. The player in the blue suit is counting cards but doing it wrong. The dealer has a tell - he touches his ear before hitting on soft seventeens."
Vorn sat down at the blackjack table with his small stake. The other players barely glanced at him - just another nobody trying his luck.
Three hands in, he was up two hundred percent.
Six hands in, people started paying attention.
"You're on a streak," the dealer said in accented English.
"Luck of the beginner," Vorn replied in the same accent he'd been practicing.
But it wasn't luck. His enhanced senses let him track cards through sound and vibration. The slime's ancient intelligence provided probability calculations faster than any computer. And his newfound ability to read micro-expressions made every bluff transparent.
---
[The Rise]
Word spread through the casino like wildfire. The masked player at table seven was cleaning house like some pro.
First came the curious regulars - local gamblers who thought they'd seen everything. Vorn dispatched them with clinical efficiency, reading their tells and exploiting their patterns.
Then came the wealthy tourists looking for entertainment. Business executives, tech entrepreneurs, people who could afford to lose more in one night than most people made in a year.
"New player," one of them said, sliding into the seat across from Vorn. "Heard you've been making waves."
"Just playing the cards," Vorn replied.
The man smiled and pushed a stack of chips forward. "Let's see how you handle real money."
Vorn won, again, and again.
Each victory was a masterclass in tactical thinking. He varied his betting patterns to avoid suspicion. He lost small hands occasionally to maintain credibility. He read every opponent like they were children playing pretend.
"This guy's incredible," someone whispered.
"He's not just lucky, he's smart."
"Too smart."
---
[The Cheaters]
By midnight, the serious players had arrived. Men in expensive suits who carried themselves like they owned the building. Women with cold eyes who treated gambling like warfare.
Some of them were cheating.
Marked cards, hidden mirrors, electronic devices, coordinated signals - Vorn spotted every trick within minutes of sitting down.
"Interesting," he said to a player who'd been winning with impossible consistency. "You must be very lucky tonight."
The man's eyes narrowed. "Just playing the odds."
"Of course." Vorn smiled behind his mask. "Let me try something different."
He began counting cards openly, using techniques so advanced that even the cheaters couldn't follow his logic. When they tried to signal each other, he anticipated their moves and countered them. When they attempted to stack the deck, he shuffled in ways that neutralized their arrangements.
"What the hell?" one of them muttered after losing a hand he'd rigged in his favor.
"Probability," Vorn explained helpfully. "It's all just math."
The cheaters exchanged glances. This wasn't just skill - it was something else entirely. Something that made their sophisticated schemes look like amateur hour.
---
[The Shadow Vault]
By three AM, Vorn had accumulated more cash than he'd ever seen in one place. Stacks of high-denomination bills, winning slips from electronic games, even jewelry from players who'd run out of money but couldn't stop gambling.
The casino staff was getting nervous. This level of consistent winning wasn't supposed to be possible.
"I think I'll call it a night," Vorn announced, standing from the table.
He walked calmly toward the restroom, carrying his winnings in a simple gym bag he'd bought from the gift shop. Inside the bathroom, he waited until he was alone, then activated one of his slime skills.
The money disappeared into his shadow like water being absorbed by sand. Bills, coins, even the jewelry - everything vanished without a trace.
When he emerged, the gym bag was empty except for a few small bills he'd kept for appearances.
"Good night, everyone," he said to the crowd of stunned players. "Thanks for the games."
And he walked out into the night air, leaving behind a casino full of people trying to figure out how one man had systematically destroyed every game in the building.
---
[The Fallout]
The wealthy players weren't just annoyed - they were furious. Men who'd built fortunes on carefully calculated risks had been outmaneuvered by someone wearing a discount mask.
"Find him," one of them said to his security team. "I don't care what it costs."
"He took me for half a million," another added. "That money doesn't just disappear."
"Check the hotels, the airports, everywhere. Nobody wins like that and just vanishes."
But Vorn hadn't gone to a hotel or an airport. He'd returned to the gaming center, paid for another computer session, and was now researching exactly where he'd ended up.
The news sites were clearer now. This was definitely another country - one with different laws, different customs, and different opportunities.
"So I'm stranded," he said to himself, scrolling through local information.
"Not stranded," the slime corrected. "Relocated, There's a difference."
"Right. Question is, what do I do about it?"
---
[The Café - Dawn]
Vorn sat in an all-night café, watching the city wake up around him. Early commuters grabbed coffee and pastries. Street vendors set up for the day's business. Digital billboards advertised everything from cars to cosmetics.
On a wall-mounted screen, an anime was playing. Colorful characters fighting monsters, using magical abilities, going on adventures that felt strangely familiar.
In the window, he could see a bookstore displaying manga volumes and light novels. Rows of stories about heroes and villains, dungeons and monsters, power systems and magical contracts.
"Stories," he muttered, an idea forming. "That's currency here."
He pulled out a napkin and started sketching. A young man entering a sealed dungeon. A spider-like creature that injected venom instead of poison. An ancient slime that formed contracts with desperate humans.
The drawings were crude, but the concepts were solid. More importantly, they were real - his own experiences translated into narrative form.
"If I can't go home yet," he said, filling in details, "I'll build something they'll pay to read."
The slime stirred with interest. "A story about us?"
"A story about power. Smt that can grab attention and fans."
He looked around the café, watching people absorbed in their phones and tablets, consuming content at an incredible rate.
"This world runs on entertainment. And I just lived through one of the most entertaining adventure anyone could imagine."
He smiled behind his mask and continued sketching. Somewhere in this foreign city, wealthy gamblers were hunting for a masked man who'd vanished with their money.