Morning came to District 9 not with birdsong, but with sirens and the hysterical shouting of newspaper hawkers.
I sat on my shop's cold wooden floor, surrounded by last night's spoils: bulging gold coin pouches, mana biscuit crumbs Miri had devoured, and bone-deep exhaustion that wouldn't quit.
Outside, the newsboy was yelling with admirable enthusiasm.
"EXTRA! EXTRA! RIOT AT GOLDEN CHALICE! BARNABY THE GENEROUS MERCHANT DISTRIBUTES MYSTERY BOXES! IS THIS THE END OF CAPITALISM OR THE DAWN OF A NEW ERA?"
I snorted softly, sipping black coffee that tasted like liquid asphalt. "Generous," I mocked. "History's written by winners. Or in this case, by whoever screams loudest while saving their own skin."
Miri rolled across the table, belly bloated from too much Firefly Jam. She stared at me with half-closed eyes.
"Boss," she mumbled. "We're rich now. Why don't we just run to the coast? I heard down South there are crabs whose shells are made of silver coins."
"We're not rich, Miri. We're just... less poor," I corrected, pointing at the Quest hologram still hovering in the air.
[QUEST ACTIVE: The Royal Headache]
[Time Remaining: 11 Hours]
[Target: Prince Eldric's Auction Bid]
"Besides," I continued, standing and stretching my stiff back. "Running now means leaving a trail. Node #7's watching. If we bolt, he might delete our bank account—or worse, delete our existence from reality's memory. I'm rather fond of the fact that I exist."
I walked toward my pathetic wardrobe. Contents: three sets of yellowing white shirts and one work robe covered in flux stains.
To get into tonight's Royal Auction, I couldn't show up as Rax, the district outskirts Cardsmith wanted by the Inspectorate. I needed a new face. New identity.
And of course, I didn't have money to hire a professional illusionist.
"Miri," I called. "Wake up. We need to shop. We're building a new human."
***
District 9's Underground Black Market was where morality went to die and stolen goods got second chances.
The air here was humid, smelling of mold and illegal spices. We walked past stalls selling everything from fake dragon teeth to absolution letters from bankrupt temples.
I wasn't looking for weapons. I was hunting concepts.
"Look at that," I pointed to a stall guarded by a one-eyed old woman. On her table lay a cracked silver hand mirror.
[ITEM: Mirror of the Fallen Narcissist]
[Concept Trace: Vanity, Arrogance, High Society Delusion]
"Perfect," I whispered. I tossed five gold coins onto the old woman's table without haggling. She grinned toothlessly, probably thinking I was an idiot buying cracked garbage.
We continued walking. I bought a piece of red velvet cloth once used as an opera stage curtain (Concept: Drama & Theatrical), a fake noble's badge made of tin (Concept: Empty Authority), and a bottle of perfume that smelled like an old library (Concept: Ancient Knowledge).
"Boss," Miri whispered, disguised as a fur scarf around my neck. "Why are we buying trash again? I thought we needed swords or smoke bombs."
"Physical weapons are useless against the Prince, Miri. He's got Level 80 guards who can split flies mid-flight. We need social weapons. We need... a Viscount."
We returned to the shop an hour later. I locked the double doors, closed the curtains, and prepared the fusion workbench.
The materials lined up on the table: Narcissist's Mirror, Drama Cloth, Fake Badge, and Old Perfume.
This was either a recipe for disaster or genius. The line was thin.
"System," I commanded. "Initialize Infinite Grimoire. Mode: Conceptual Weaving."
Golden chains slid from my fingers. This time, they didn't pull monsters—they extracted abstract essence from these dead objects.
I watched purple mist flow from the mirror (Vanity). Red mist from the cloth (Theater). Gray mist from the badge (Status).
"Fusion," I hissed.
I stitched the concepts together. I wasn't creating a monster. I was crafting a Persona.
I forced the concept of 'Nobility' into the card structure, but twisted it. I didn't need a polite, genuine noble. I needed a noble so arrogant and insufferable that no one would dare question his authenticity. Because in this world, the ruder you were, the more people believed you had power.
[PROCESSING...]
[WARNING: Ego Level Critical]
[WARNING: High Risk of Psychological Backflow]
"Override," I said, cold sweat dripping down my temple. "Lock ego structure."
Blinding light exploded. When it faded, a golden card with intricate filigree edges hovered there.
[CARD CREATED: The Phantom Viscount]
[RANK: Unique (Transformation Type)]
[EFFECT: Transforms user into "Viscount Vergil Von Vries," foreign nobleman from distant lands. Grants passive "Aristocratic Intimidation" aura. NPCs with low Willpower automatically feel inferior.]
[SIDE EFFECT: User will experience acute "Superiority Complex" Backflow during active duration]
I took the card. "Time to perform."
"Boss sure about this?" Miri asked doubtfully. "Last time Boss got 'Metal' Backflow, Boss almost punched the mayor."
"This is different, Miri. This is high class. And this is... elegant."
I pressed the card to my chest. "Activate."
The world spun. My body felt stretched. My shabby work clothes transformed into a maroon velvet suit with gaudy but intimidating gold embroidery. A monocle appeared on my right eye. My posture straightened forcibly, as if a steel rod had been inserted into my spine.
And then, the Backflow hit.
Not pain. Disgust.
I looked around my own shop. Rusty metal shelves. Dusty floor.
"Good heavens," I said. My voice changed. More nasal. Slower. More insufferable. "What is this place? A pigsty? Where are my servants? Why does the air smell like poverty?"
My hand moved on its own, producing a silk handkerchief (from who-knows-where) and covering my nose.
"Boss?" Miri hopped down from the table. "Boss is getting weird again."
I stared at Miri. Usually I saw a partner. Now, this Backflow made me see... an accessory.
"Ah, the filthy little creature," I said, looking down at her with naturally condescending eyes. "You need a bath, Beast. And ribbons. Yes, pink silk ribbons. We can't have you looking like a sewer rat before the Prince."
Miri hissed, fur standing on end. "Try putting a ribbon on me and I'll bite that monocle until it shatters."
Logical Rax screamed inside my head: That's Miri! Don't insult her!
But Viscount Vergil's side laughed: How amusing that this animal thinks it has a voice.
"Silence," I commanded, waving my hand dismissively. "We're leaving. Don't walk beside me. Walk two steps behind. And try to look... exotic."
I stepped out of the shop with chin raised so high I nearly tripped over the threshold. But of course, a Viscount doesn't trip. He merely conducts spontaneous floor inspections.
***
The Azure Spire Royal Auction House was a tower of glass and white marble soaring in the capital's center. Tonight, it was surrounded by carriages drawn by pegasus horses and tame gryphons.
Crystal lamp light spilled onto the streets, illuminating invited guests wearing gowns worth a village's lifetime income.
I—Viscount Vergil—descended from a rented carriage (which I'd paid dearly for so the driver wouldn't ask questions). Miri, reluctantly wearing a fake gemstone necklace, walked behind me with a sour expression.
At the main gate, two guards in golden armor blocked the way. They held static-charged halberd spears. Beside them, a neatly dressed official held a guest list.
"Invitation?" the official asked without looking at my face.
Real Rax would panic. Real Rax would try bribing or finding a back entrance.
But Viscount Vergil? Viscount Vergil felt insulted at being asked.
"Invitation?" I repeated slowly, my tone dripping with pure venom. I stared at the official through my monocle. "You're asking me... about a piece of paper?"
The official looked up, slightly startled by my tone. "Standard procedure, Sir. Name?"
"Viscount Vergil Von Vries, from the Far Western Isles," I said, each syllable pronounced with irritating emphasis. "And the fact that my name isn't on your little paper is a systemic failure of the royal secretariat, not my problem."
The official scanned his list. "I'm sorry, Sir. There's no Von Vries listed here. You cannot enter."
Rax's side screamed: Bribe him! Use Glitch skills!
Viscount Vergil's side screamed: Destroy his mental state!
I laughed. A dry, condescending laugh.
"Of course it's not there," I said loudly, loud enough for several guests behind me to turn their heads. "I've just arrived from a secret diplomatic expedition. Does Prince Eldric know that you, a gate guard with a measly salary and a tragic haircut, are blocking a trade envoy carrying..." I lowered my voice dramatically, "...Ancient artifacts from the First Era?"
I patted my jacket pocket. No artifact there. Just a Trash card I'd wrapped in velvet cloth. But the 'Deception' concept from the Backflow and the Phantom Viscount card's aura worked overtime.
The official hesitated. His eyes flicked to my jacket pocket, then to the increasingly impatient queue behind me.
"First Era artifacts?" he whispered.
"If you want me to turn around and take this artifact to the Neighboring Empire, just say so," I threatened casually, pretending to turn away. "I'm certain the King there values history more than gate bureaucracy."
"Wait!" The official panicked. Foreign guests carrying ancient artifacts were priority VIPs. If he turned me away and I was legitimate, his head could roll. "Please enter, Lord Viscount. My apologies for this... misunderstanding."
He opened the barrier rope.
"Good," I scoffed, patting his cheek lightly—an incredibly condescending gesture. "Learn to recognize quality when you see it, boy."
I stepped into the magnificent marble lobby, Rax's heart pounding inside Viscount's calm cage.
Success, I thought. God bless arrogance.
The lobby was packed with the capital's elite. Expensive perfume mixed with vintage wine aromas. In the room's center, a large stage had been prepared. And there, seated in a private balcony draped in purple silk, was my target.
Prince Eldric.
He was young, maybe my age, but his face held the eternal boredom of someone who'd never heard the word 'no' in his entire life. He was playing with a golden dagger, surrounded by three beautiful women and, more importantly, four guards in pitch-black armor.
Royal Guards. Level 85+. They didn't look at women or food. Their eyes scanned the room like killer radar.
"Target spotted," Miri whispered softly. "He looks like a spoiled brat begging to be slapped."
"Don't be tempted, Miri," I replied without moving my lips. "We're not here to slap him. We're here to make his wallet bleed."
A servant passed carrying a champagne tray. I took a glass—not from thirst, but as a prop.
I scanned the room, searching for an opening. How to sabotage the Dragon Egg purchase without getting caught?
The answer came when I saw the distributed auction lot list.
Lot #1: Ancient Hero's Sword (Replica)
Lot #5: Black Dragon Egg (Condition: Dormant)
Lot #6: Lost Elf Queen's Love Letter
The egg was fifth in line.
I had about thirty minutes before that lot hit the stage.
"Miri," I whispered. "I need you to do something very specific. See that glass case beside the stage? Where they store items before auction?"
"The one guarded by two muscle-heads? Impossible, Boss."
"Nothing's impossible. I'm going to create a disturbance. A social disturbance. The kind that makes everyone, including guards, turn to look from secondhand embarrassment. When that happens, you slip this card under the Dragon Egg's glass case."
I slipped a small card into Miri's paw. The card was cold and had no image, just a symbol of a closed eye.
[CARD: Aura of Suspicion (Glitch)]
[Effect: Objects tagged with this card will emit an "Something's Wrong" aura. Doesn't change the object's physical form, but makes anyone who looks at it feel it's fake, defective, or cursed.]
This was my evil plan. I couldn't steal the egg. I couldn't forbid the Prince from buying it. But I could make the Prince—whose ego was so fragile and who feared looking foolish—feel the egg was defective.
If the Prince doubted, he wouldn't bid. Or at least, he wouldn't bid high.
"You sure this'll work?" Miri asked.
"Prince Eldric is a perfectionist collector. He fired the palace chef because his soup was one grain of salt too bland. If he feels the egg is defective... he'll hate it."
"Alright. When does the disturbance start?"
I sipped champagne, letting Viscount Vergil's arrogance Backflow take full control. I spotted an old Duke loudly bragging about his magnificent new horse.
Soft target.
"Now," I said, stepping forward toward that elite crowd.
I deliberately bumped the Duke's shoulder. Hard enough that his wine spilled onto his white robe.
"Watch it!" the Duke snapped, face reddening. "Are you blind?!"
The room went silent. All eyes turned toward us. Including Prince Eldric's eyes from the balcony.
This was my stage.
I stared at the Duke, brushing my clean sleeve with slow, insulting movements.
"Me?" I asked loudly, voice echoing through the silent hall. "You bumped into me with that pot belly of yours, Sir. And honestly, that cheap wine actually improves your boring robe's color. You should thank me."
Breath caught throughout the room. No one dared insult the Duke of Ironwood.
"YOU..." The Duke trembled, hand reaching for his decorative sword hilt.
"What?" I challenged, stepping forward, monocle glinting. "A duel? Here? In front of the Prince? How... barbaric. But I understand. Money can't buy class, after all."
While all eyes—including the guards'—were locked on this embarrassing social drama, I caught a glimpse of white fur streaking across the floor toward the glass case beside the stage.
Miri was moving.
I smiled thinly behind my arrogant mask. Dinner is served, Your Highness.