The black steel arches of Grand Nocturnus Station loomed above them like the ribcage of a long-dead beast. The stained glass panes of deep violet and blood-red filtered the eternal dusk of the Nocturnus continent, turning the busy platform into a kind of bustling Gothic cathedral.
The Spiritus Aeturnum—that steel dragon which had carried them across the sea—released its last hiss of black steam before falling silent, its heavy jaws opening to disgorge more strange passengers into the city of Saint Veren's Gate.
Imortal stood still amidst the crowd, a two-and-a-half-meter pillar of gold and shadow unmoving against the flow of hurrying creatures. His expressionless golden Pharaoh mask stared blankly at an advertisement across the platform—a poster for a new soda that looked suspiciously like carbonated blood. On his shoulders, the tattered remnants of Nephryss's robe fluttered in the station breeze, thick with the scent of ozone and sea salt.
Beside him, Lily Kageyama—clad in jagged black armor, with obsidian hair and brilliant blue eyes sparkling with pure excitement—trembled like a hunting dog catching a fresh scent. She was practically bouncing in place.
"Master! Master! Master!" she cried, her eager voice cutting through the crowd noise. She clutched at Imortal's bandaged armored arm. "Did you hear that? Did you hear what that demon officer said? This city—Saint Veren's Gate—is the entrance to Nocturnus! The continent of monsters! That means this place is full of vampire nobles!"
Kageyama's eyes gleamed with dangerous delight. She released Imortal's arm, drew her katana a few inches from its scabbard with a satisfying shing, then slid it back.
"Let's do it, Master!" she declared, striking a pose as if facing an invisible enemy. "Let's find the oldest, most arrogant, most sparkling vampire noble in the city—and kill them!"
Imortal didn't turn his head. He didn't move at all. He simply kept staring at the blood-soda poster. After a brief silence, his voice—a resonant blend of weary monotone and ancient Nephryss melody—echoed from behind the mask.
"No."
"EEEEHHH?!" Kageyama almost shrieked. "Why not?! This is the perfect chance, Master! We could test our strength! I really, really want to cut something that can regenerate! It would be so much fun!"
Imortal finally turned, the grand golden helm lowering slightly to look at Kageyama's excited face.
"Kageyama," he said in an extraordinarily tired tone. "Look around you."
He raised a single gloved finger and pointed.
A few meters away, a gargoyle family—father, mother, and two little gargoyle kids wearing ridiculous tourist hats—were posing for a holiday photo. Near a kiosk, a pale, aristocratic vampire was having a heated argument with a goblin vendor over the price of a cup of blood coffee. In another corner, a few winged imps were running around carrying bat-shaped balloons.
"This," said Imortal, enunciating each word slowly and painfully, "is. A. Tourist. Spot."
He looked back at her. "You can't just challenge the locals to a death match out of nowhere. That's rude. You'll ruin their vacations and make me fill out a mountain of reports. Annoying."
"Hmph!" Kageyama crossed her arms, the edges of her armor creaking softly. "Master is no fun. Not fun at all."
"I'm going sightseeing," said Imortal, ignoring her entirely. He began walking, his armored feet making no sound on the polished black marble floor.
Kageyama pouted, kicked at an imaginary pebble on the spotless platform, then sighed and jogged after him like an angry duckling following a tall, quiet parent.
They stepped out of the station—and the city unfolded before them.
Saint Veren's Gate was a marvel of melancholic architecture. Wet cobblestone streets shimmered beneath the eternal dusk, reflecting the faint glow of countless magitech gas lamps lining the sidewalks. Towering buildings rose into the ever-clouded sky, their intricate Gothic architecture—spires, sweeping arches, and dark stained-glass windows—giving the city the air of a 1890s London rebuilt by a mad artist obsessed with vampires.
The air was cool, carrying scents of recent rain, sulfur, and some strange nocturnal flower perfume. Horseless carriages pulled by swirling shadow creatures glided noiselessly over the cobblestones.
Imortal walked at an unhurried pace, his grand golden Pharaoh mask reflecting the dim city lights. He seemed perfectly calm, his hidden eyes scanning every detail.
"Haa… this place is incredible," he murmured to himself. He pointed toward a team of small steam golems sweeping the streets efficiently. "Look, Kageyama. Everything is so clean. No homeless. No slums in sight. The government here must be fair and honest."
Kageyama snorted. "A fair government is useless if it's too weak to fight."
Imortal ignored her. He paused when a tiny demon child—just learning to walk on cloven feet—accidentally bumped into his armored leg. The child fell backward, looking up with wide yellow eyes frozen in terror at the golden giant towering above him.
Imortal simply lowered his head. He extended a single bandaged finger and gently patted the little demon's horned head. Then he walked on. The child sat there in confusion before bursting into tears and running off to find his mother.
"See? Friendly," said Imortal to Kageyama.
A few blocks away, hidden in a dark alley, two figures were watching them. One was a massive stone gargoyle in a thick Sovereignty police uniform. The other was a smaller, sly-looking imp holding a notebook.
"You see that, Sergeant?" hissed the imp. "That's our target. Matches the station's description."
The gargoyle sergeant growled, his voice like grinding gravel. "Which target? The giant golden Pharaoh, or the spiky demon hedgehog behind him who looks ready to stab someone out of boredom?"
"The Pharaoh," said the imp, squinting his beady eyes. "No official papers. No entry visa. And according to the report, he didn't even buy a train ticket. He just… appeared on the roof. Heavy-class illegal immigrant."
The gargoyle cracked his stony neck. "Alright. Let's grab him. This is going to be one hell of a report." He was about to step out of the shadows.
"Wait," said the imp quickly, grabbing his partner's rocky arm. "New orders just came from the Boss."
"What orders?" the sergeant growled.
The imp sighed, scratching an itchy horn. "Stand down. That's the order. As long as he doesn't cause any major chaos—and by 'major' they mean collapsing a building or slaughtering a noble in public—we're told to leave him alone."
"What?!" The gargoyle's glowing orange eyes flared in disbelief. "But he's already broken a dozen Sovereignty laws! We're supposed to—"
"Listen, pal," the imp interrupted wearily. "You and I are patrol grunts. We don't get paid to ask questions. We get paid to follow orders. And the order is: don't touch him." He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Word from a guy at the station—apparently, he's rich. Very rich."
"Rich?"
"Yeah. He paid off a station guard who tried to question him… with a one-kilogram bar of solid gold. Just to make him shut up."
The gargoyle went silent, processing that. In Gloomfen, money was power. Money was everything.
"People like that," the imp continued, "don't get arrested. They get watched. So we watch. From a distance. And we hope he doesn't decide to test the structural integrity of local buildings."
The gargoyle grumbled but retreated back into the shadows. "Hmph. Always the same. The rich get away with everything."
"Come on," said the imp, closing his notebook. "Lunch break? I'm craving kebab. I know a good place near the Smelting Pot District."
"Fine," the gargoyle rumbled. "But I'm paying."
Unaware of the small drama he had just avoided, Imortal continued walking, his hidden gaze scanning the impressive skyline. One building stood out—a grand structure of deep black marble and obsidian, its massive pillars carved into the frozen tentacles of a kraken. A polished brass plaque above the arched doorway read:
VESPERIA CENTRAL BANK – GATE BRANCH
"Ah," said Imortal. "Time to find capital."
The bank's interior was even grander than its exterior. The floor was a mosaic of thousands of black pearls, shimmering like a night sky. The ceiling was a giant stained-glass dome depicting scenes from Nocturnus's history—mostly featuring regal vampires and demons signing contracts. The tellers sat behind thick brass bars shaped like intricate spiderwebs. The atmosphere was quiet, rich, and faintly intimidating.
Imortal and Kageyama were the only ones who didn't look like they owned estates or noble titles. Imortal strode straight to the nearest counter, ignoring the annoyed vampire queue. He had to lower his head so his Pharaoh helm wouldn't scrape the low ceiling.
Behind the glass sat a female demon teller with pale lavender skin, jet-black hair tied in a perfect bun, and sharp-framed glasses perched on a refined nose. Her smile was wide—too wide—and full of needle-like teeth.
"Welcome to Vesperia Central Bank!" she said cheerfully, her tone high and just a little manic. "Where every transaction is an eternally binding pleasure! How may I help you today, Mr… very… golden?"
"Currency exchange," said Imortal. His resonant voice made the glass vibrate slightly.
"Oh!" The demon woman's eyes sparkled behind her glasses as she took in his golden armor and mask. "Of course! You must be a distinguished traveler from… Kemetia, yes?"
Imortal said nothing.
"Oh, I've always wanted to go there!" she continued, clearly needing no response. "The pyramids! The endless desert sands! The walking mummies! It must be so… sandy! My friend Grizelda works on a cargo ship, she told me the River Nilu there is actually made from the tears of giant crocodiles repenting for their sins! Is that true?"
Imortal stared for a moment. What kind of nonsense is this? he thought. But he had to play along.
"Yes," he said flatly. "Very sandy. And the crocodiles are… enormous."
"I knew it! Amazing!" she squealed, causing nearby customers to glance over. She cleared her throat, regaining composure. "Ahem. So, sir—what can I do for you?"
"I wish to exchange this," said Imortal, lifting his armored hand.
Her smile faltered slightly. "Exchange… what, sir?"
Imortal realized his mistake. He hadn't created the gold yet. Annoying. He sighed. "I mean I'd like to exchange gold for local currency."
"Oh, of course! Standard procedure," she said, regaining her professional grin—now just a bit tighter. "May I see your identification and your visit visa issued by the Dusk Council?"
"Uh…" Imortal hesitated. "I don't think I have any documents."
Her demeanor changed instantly. The wide smile froze. Her sharp eyes narrowed. She glanced down toward a silent alarm button beneath her desk.
"I see," she said, her tone now cold as ice. "I'm afraid, sir, that official documentation is required for all currency exchanges. National regulations, you understand?" Her voice made it clear she suspected him of being an illegal entrant.
Kageyama, bored behind him, began tapping the hilt of her katana against the marble floor—click, click, click.
Just as the demon teller's finger hovered over the alarm button, a nervous-looking imp manager hurried over from behind, pale and sweating. He whispered rapidly into her ear:
"…from the station… police ordered to stand down… extremely rich… don't cause trouble… give him whatever he wants…"
The teller's eyes widened so much her glasses nearly cracked. She looked at Imortal with a new expression—a mixture of pure fear and overwhelming reverence. Her frozen smile melted into one a thousand times more enthusiastic, more genuine, and much more terrified.
"AH! OF COURSE, MOST HONORED SIR! MY MISTAKE ENTIRELY!" she cried, her voice jumping several octaves. "DOCUMENTS! Haha! Who needs silly, outdated paperwork these days, right? Haha! Of course you can exchange currency! As much as you like!"
Imortal glanced at Kageyama, who merely shrugged as if to say, Called it.
"Okay," said Imortal.
"Ah, noble one from Kemetia…" the demon woman cooed, leaning forward eagerly. "Before we proceed… may I? Just for myself… could you perhaps show me a small display of your homeland's magic? Something wondrous?"
Imortal stared at her. Then at Kageyama. Then back at the teller, who now looked like she might faint from excitement. He sighed the longest, most suffering sigh since arriving in this world. The sound of shifting sand came from behind his mask.
"Fine."
He raised his armored hand above the counter, behind the glass partition. He didn't even need to focus—he simply willed it.
THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD.
Five pure gold bars, each weighing five kilograms, materialized out of thin air onto the marble counter. Each bore the intricate mark of the Eye of Horus (something he vaguely remembered from his old world's history lessons and thought looked cool). The stack glittered with warm, rich light beneath the bank's magitech lamps.
The entire bank went silent. The scratching of pens stopped. The clinking of coins ceased. Every eye—pale vampire, cunning demon, burly gargoyle guard—fixed on the impossible heap of wealth.
The demon woman's eyes widened to the size of saucers. She looked from the gold, to Imortal, back to the gold. Her needle-toothed jaw dropped open.
Imortal tilted his helm. "Is… this enough to exchange?"
The woman swallowed hard, her voice trembling. "S-sir… please… please wait one moment." She pressed the intercom with a shaking hand. "Manager… yes, Manager Valerius. Bring the reserve vault. Yes. All of it. Now."
Imortal and Kageyama sat on a plush velvet bench. Kageyama swung her legs idly, munching on dried worm noodles she'd found in her pocket, while the entire staff ran around frantically, trying to count and verify the wealth that had appeared from thin air.
After what felt like forever, the same imp manager—now drenched in sweat—approached them, bowing deeply. He carried a large, heavy black leather case.
"It is all prepared, Most Honored Sir," he said, trembling. "Converted at the current pure gold market rate of the Sovereignty—twenty-five thousand Dusk Bonds and five thousand Stygian Silver Marks. Will… will that be sufficient?"
Imortal took the heavy case. Without opening or counting it, he simply set it beside him. The case vanished—absorbed into his magical storage.
The imp manager nearly fainted.
"Thank you for your service," said Imortal calmly. He stood up.
He walked out of the bank, Kageyama hopping off the bench to follow, casually snatching an expensive quill from the receptionist's desk and tucking it into her hair.
As they stepped back into the now-bustling evening streets, Imortal paused. The drizzle had stopped, leaving the air crisp and cool. He felt the weight of his new currency inside his unseen storage—a fortune enough to buy a small castle.
He looked up at the eternal twilight sky, at the slow-spinning gray clouds.
"Haaa…" he sighed, purple vapor seeping from the mouth of his golden Pharaoh mask.
"I'm rich."