Blackstone's Outer Ring was where the city stopped pretending.
Stone walls gave way to patched metal, old dungeon bricks reused without care. Mana lamps flickered instead of glowing steadily, and the streets were narrower, bent at odd angles as if the city itself had grown here unwillingly.
Leon moved through it without slowing.
Here, no one asked for guild badges. No one cared about rank plates. Strength was measured by whether you walked confidently or not.
And Leon did.
Not because he felt powerful—but because hesitation invited knives.
A faint sensation tugged at the back of his mind.
Gold Card reacted.
Not danger.
Observation.
Leon adjusted his hood and turned into a side passage, letting a group of hunters pass. Their eyes slid over him, uninterested. Good. Either they didn't recognize him, or the bounty hadn't spread far yet.
Both were temporary conditions.
He needed a fixer.
Someone who dealt in information, false registrations, and quiet introductions.
Someone who knew what an Irregular was worth.
Leon stopped in front of a building that looked half-collapsed. Its sign was faded beyond recognition, but a symbol was etched into the stone near the door.
A card.
Not a real one. Just a crude carving of a rectangle split into four uneven sections.
Leon knocked once.
Waited.
Knocked twice more.
The door opened a finger's width.
One eye looked him over.
"You're early," the voice said.
"I'm new," Leon replied calmly. "And I deal."
The door opened wider.
"Get in before you say something stupid."
Leon stepped inside.
The air smelled of old mana residue and burned ink. The interior was larger than it should have been, space warped subtly by cheap spatial enchantments. Several figures sat around low tables, dice and crystal shards scattered between them.
None of them looked friendly.
The man who had opened the door locked it behind Leon.
Tall. Lean. Missing two fingers on his left hand.
"Name's Rook," he said. "If you're lying, you'll leave without those fingers you still have."
Leon nodded. "Fair."
Rook gestured toward an empty table. "Sit."
Leon did.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Rook leaned forward.
"Unregistered," he said quietly. "Irregular. Card-based control ability. Combat proven."
Leon didn't react.
Rook smiled thinly. "Relax. If I wanted you sold, you'd already be trussed up."
"How do you know?" Leon asked.
"Because Iron Vein pays loudly," Rook replied. "And quietly. But not wisely."
Leon's eyes narrowed slightly.
"So the bounty's real."
"Oh, it's real," Rook said. "Still small. Testing the waters. Seeing who bites."
Leon exhaled.
"How long until it grows?"
Rook tilted his head. "Depends on how much you scare them."
Leon thought of the raid leader frozen mid-step.
"Soon," he said.
Rook chuckled. "Good. Fear makes prices rise."
Leon met his gaze. "I don't want to be sold."
"Then you're in the right place," Rook said. "But nothing here is free."
Leon opened his system window beneath the table.
Blue Card pulsed faintly.
Passive regeneration continued its slow work. His head felt clearer than it should have after multiple engagements.
"What do you want?" Leon asked.
Rook leaned back. "A demonstration."
Leon didn't hesitate.
Gold Card.
He flicked it forward—not thrown, but manifested.
The stun didn't strike Rook.
Instead, it locked the air beside his head, freezing dust motes in place, suspended unnaturally.
Rook's smile vanished.
The room went quiet.
Several figures stood halfway from their seats before Rook raised a hand.
"Sit," he said.
They did.
The frozen dust dropped as Leon released the effect.
Rook stared at him with renewed interest.
"No chant," Rook muttered. "No windup. No rotation."
Leon said nothing.
"Deck Control," Rook continued. "You're not using charges the normal way."
Leon finally spoke. "I don't play by the system's tempo."
Rook laughed softly.
"Good answer."
He reached under the table and pulled out a thin metal plate, etched with runes.
"A temporary identity," he said. "Outer Ring valid. Falsified class. No deck listing."
Leon frowned. "That won't hold."
"No," Rook agreed. "But it buys you time."
Leon took the plate.
"What's the cost?"
Rook's eyes gleamed. "Information. Yours."
Leon considered.
Then nodded.
"I'm listening."
Rook leaned forward again.
"I want to know how your cards grow," he said. "Not theory. Results."
Leon hesitated, then spoke carefully.
"They stabilize with use," he said. "Not levels. Proficiency."
Rook's breath hitched.
"Repeat that."
Leon did.
Rook swore under his breath.
"That's…" He shook his head. "That breaks everything."
Leon allowed himself a thin smile.
"That's why I'm alive."
Rook exhaled slowly.
"You understand what you are?" he asked.
"A problem," Leon replied.
"A weapon," Rook corrected. "One that doesn't rust."
Silence stretched.
Finally, Rook stood.
"Come with me," he said.
"Where?"
"Somewhere the system doesn't watch too closely."
They moved through a back corridor, down a spiral staircase carved into old dungeon stone. The deeper they went, the heavier the mana felt.
At the bottom, a door marked with layered seals awaited.
Rook pressed his palm to it.
"Welcome to the Underground Table," he said.
The door opened.
Inside, a circular chamber buzzed with restrained power. Several individuals sat around a stone table marked with arcane grooves. Hunters, casters, rogues—none wearing guild insignia.
All of them dangerous.
Their eyes turned toward Leon.
Rook spoke clearly.
"We've got an Irregular."
Murmurs spread.
A woman with silver hair leaned forward. "What kind?"
Rook glanced at Leon.
Leon lifted his hand.
A card appeared between his fingers.
Gold.
The table went silent.
The silver-haired woman smiled slowly.
"Well," she said. "Looks like fate just sat down with us."
Leon felt it then.
Not danger.
Opportunity.
For the first time since awakening, the system window shifted without his command.
A new line appeared.
Potential unlocked.
Leon closed his fist around the card.
This wasn't safety.
But it was a table where deals were made.
And Leon Mercer had always played better when the stakes were high.