The Drake Estate sat atop the city's highest terrace, a sprawling fortress of glass and white marble that looked down upon the smog-choked slums like a god. Tonight, it was a hive of golden light and orchestral music. The "Recovery Gala" was a masterclass in propaganda—Victor Drake, draped in a ceremonial cloak to hide his bandaged arm, stood at the center of the ballroom, sipping nectar and feasting on the hollow praise of the elite.
"A temporary setback," Victor told a group of wide-eyed debutantes. "The Behemoth was a freak of nature, but the Drake lineage is built on resilience."
He was lying. Beneath the silk, his skin was sallow, and his mana pulse was erratic. He was a man holding onto a crumbling cliff by his fingernails.
Outside, a sleek black transport pulled up to the servant's entrance. Alex stepped out, wearing a high-collared valet's uniform he had "scavenged" from a dry cleaner's waste bin. His hair was slicked back, and his silver eyes were hidden behind specialized contact lenses Jack had rigged to dampen his visual aura.
[Divine Sight: Passive Scan Active.][Target: Victor Drake.][Current State: Mana-Frayed / Spirit-Broken.][Available 'Trash' Attributes: Arrogance (Concept), Fading Sword Mastery (A-Rank), Stolen Vitality.]
Alex moved through the kitchen with the silent efficiency of a shadow. He didn't want to kill Victor—not yet. To kill him now would be a mercy. Alex wanted to strip the "Genius" of everything that made him special until he was nothing more than a hollow shell.
He entered the ballroom carrying a tray of obsidian-glass flutes. No one looked at him. To these people, servants were part of the furniture.
"The highlight of the evening!" the announcer's voice boomed. "Lord Victor will now demonstrate the 'Drake Roar'—the ancestral sword technique that shattered the Silent Hollow!"
The crowd cheered. Victor's face went slightly pale. He hadn't expected to perform. But he couldn't refuse. He took a practice blade from a rack, his fingers trembling slightly. He began the forms, the blade whistling through the air, trailing faint golden sparks.
Now, Alex thought.
He stood behind a marble pillar, just twenty feet from the stage. He reached out his hand beneath the silver serving tray.
[The Void Hand: Focused Stripping.][Target Skill: 'Drake Roar' Sword Mastery.]
The air between Alex and Victor distorted. To the audience, it looked like a ripple of heat. To Victor, it felt like his brain was being scraped with a rusted hook.
In the middle of a high-speed strike, Victor's mind went blank. The muscle memory of ten years of training—the precise angle of the wrist, the flow of mana to the hilt—simply vanished. It was as if he had never held a sword in his life.
The practice blade flew from his hand, clattering pathetically across the floor and shattering a decorative vase. Victor stumbled, his legs tangling together, and he crashed onto his knees in front of the entire assembly.
Silence. The music died.
"I... I..." Victor gasped, staring at his hands. "It's gone. I can't... I don't remember!"
"How embarrassing," Alex whispered, the sound carried by a subtle manipulation of the air. It wasn't loud, but in the silence, it echoed like a thunderclap.
The crowd began to whisper. "Did he just trip?" "I heard his mana was broken, but this?" "Is the Drake genius a fraud?"
Alex walked forward, his tray still balanced perfectly on one hand. He stopped beside the fallen Victor and knelt down, as if to pick up the shattered glass.
"You dropped this, Young Master," Alex said softly, leaning into Victor's ear.
Victor looked up, his eyes bloodshot. For a split second, the dampening effect of Alex's lenses failed, and a flash of cold, silver light pierced Victor's soul.
"You..." Victor's voice was a strangled wheeze. "The scavenger..."
"Shhh," Alex smiled, his hand brushing Victor's shoulder.
[Detected: 'Prestige' (Social Attribute).][Scavenging...]
A literal weight seemed to lift from Victor and settle onto Alex. In that moment, the way the light hit Alex, the way he stood—he looked more like a lord than the man on the floor. The guests found their eyes wandering toward the "valet," drawn by an inexplicable charisma, while Victor seemed to shrink, becoming small and pathetic.
Alex stood up, stepped over Victor's trembling form, and walked toward the exit.
[Scavenge Successful.][You have gained: Sword Mastery (A-Rank) - Progress: 15%.][You have gained: 'Aura of the Elite' (Passive).][Victor Drake's Reputation: Ruined.]
As Alex reached the balcony, the doors burst open. A messenger, covered in dust and blood, screamed into the ballroom.
"The D-Rank Gate in the North District! It's turned Red! A Break! A Dungeon Break is happening NOW!"
The panic was instantaneous. The "elites" screamed and scrambled for the exits. Victor remained on the floor, weeping and clawing at his head, unable to even stand.
Alex looked toward the North District. A pillar of crimson light was piercing the clouds.
"A Red Gate," Alex murmured, his hand tightening on the hilt of a small dagger he had hidden in his sleeve. "A whole city's worth of fresh trash."