Lucian stepped back onto the city streets, only to be met with a chorus of judgmental stares—more than usual. He glanced down.
His outfit was in absolute disarray.
"Tch. Two days since my 'death' and I already look like I rolled through a warzone."
He dusted himself off, the gesture more symbolic than effective. A grin tugged at his lips.
"Well… no harm in a little detour."
He made his way to the same clothing shop he'd visited the night before—the one where he'd bought Ignir's clothes. As he approached, a familiar figure came into view: a city guard leaning near the shop's entrance.
Lucian recognized him instantly—the same guard he'd met upon first arriving in the city. His first follower, so to speak.
"Oh-ho? Working hard, or hardly working?" Lucian called, smacking the man playfully on the back.
The guard jolted and spun around, clearly not expecting to be touched—let alone addressed so casually. But when he saw who it was, his expression shifted from alarm to awe.
"My lord! What brings you here—?"
He paused, eyes dropping to Lucian's tattered clothes.
"...Rough night?"
Lucian shrugged with a nonchalant grin. "Rough night."
The guard chuckled, then bowed deeply.
"The attack last night put the entire city on high alert. Security's been... intensified."
He gestured toward the streets—once loosely patrolled, now thick with armored soldiers. What was once a bustling market now looked more like an occupied zone.
Even the air smelled different—less carefree, more strained. Power had shifted, and like blood in the water, people sensed it.
"I implore you to be careful, though I'm sure someone of your caliber can handle themselves."
Still under the impression that Lucian was a god descended to judge humanity, the guard's reverence bordered on worship.
Lucian raised a brow. "Reid Perval's orders?"
The guard nodded solemnly.
"The duke's been different ever since… well, ever since that thing showed up. To think a being like that could take on both him and the hero—it shook not just the city, but the entire kingdom."
Lucian chuckled, the usual glint of mischief in his eyes.
"Worry not, my faithful follower. If I ever come face to face with that thing, I'll snap it out of existence."
The guard laughed, clearly comforted, and bowed once more.
"Your words give me great assurance, my lord."
Lucian gave a casual wave as he turned away.
"As you were, soldier."
His voice trailed off as the shop door closed behind him.
Inside, Lucian blinked in mild surprise. The boutique was packed—nobles draped in silks, merchants weighed down by jeweled rings, all perusing the displays with discerning eyes. Not exactly the crowd he'd expected.
Nearby, a portly baroness was squawking about imported sea-silk being "so last dynasty," while a young merchant passionately argued the worth of crimson thread from the Ashen Isles.
Lucian smirked. It was like watching pigeons fight over breadcrumbs.
From behind the counter, the shopkeeper looked up, eyes widening as he recognized his returning customer.
"Back already? Looks like you're the one in need of a wardrobe rescue this time."
The shopkeeper laughed, stretching and snapping his fingers. In response, a portal shimmered into existence—a Dominion—through which floated a luxurious violet suit, dark and regal, the kind that practically whispered villain energy.
Lucian raised a brow, clearly impressed.
"You unlocked a Dominion?"
The shopkeeper smirked and nodded.
"Didn't expect it myself. But when half the noble class starts pouring in overnight, my Codex practically handed it to me like a gift basket."
Lucian's eyes narrowed with curiosity. "What's the event?"
The shopkeeper grinned, rubbing his fingers together meaningfully.
"You know the rules, my lord."
Lucian snorted. "Truly a sly fox."
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed five gold coins onto the counter.
"Pleasure doing business."
The shopkeeper caught the coins mid-air and pocketed them with a satisfied hum. Then, clearing his throat, he leaned in slightly.
"Apparently, the duke's daughter is finally being introduced to noble society. Invitations have gone out to all the highborn families. It's going to be the event of the season."
Lucian's expression shifted, a spark lighting in his eyes.
"Oh…? The timing couldn't be more perfect."
He laughed softly to himself, already planning several steps ahead.
Lucian tossed a handful of gold coins onto the counter and grabbed the violet suit with a smirk.
"Keep the change," he said smoothly, heading toward the changing rooms. "Always a pleasure."
Moments later, he stepped back out onto the street, dressed to kill. The tailored suit hugged his frame perfectly, exuding power, danger, and just the right amount of charm. As he paced down the cobblestone road, his mind raced with possibility.
"I was planning to meet Reid Perval again," he mused aloud. "But with this new event… I might just skip a few steps and waltz right into noble society."
[Finally, a plan I can get behind.]
His Codex chimed, its voice humming with dry approval.
"Oh? Glad to know you're finally on board," Lucian chuckled.
[Whatever.]
[New Objective: Infiltrate the event and pose as the highest-ranking noble in attendance.]
[Reward: ???]
Lucian arched an eyebrow at the floating text.
"Unknown reward, huh? Let's hope it's another Limitbreak."
He leaned back slightly, musing to himself. He'd need to fabricate a lineage, invent a crest—maybe even flirt with a dowager duchess or two. All in a day's work.
As he walked, a sudden growl from his stomach interrupted the plotting.
"Two days without eating… guess that'll do it."
He laughed at himself, shaking his head. "Have I really gone soft? Starving after just two days?"
Just then, a passerby glanced at him and scoffed playfully.
"Yeah right. A noble like you probably needs a whole hog every hour or you'll burn the kitchen down."
The man laughed and kept walking, leaving Lucian staring after him in mild disbelief.
"…What is wrong with this city?" he muttered. "Does no one fear nobility anymore?"
He sighed, but the exasperation melted into a grin.
"Still, I'll take this chaotic mess over those dull, copy-paste cities any day."
With his new look locked in and the city on edge, Lucian turned his attention to the next most important thing: food.
Continuing down the street, he spotted an elegant restaurant tucked between towering buildings. Gilded letters on the sign read: The Golden Cutlery.
Lucian stopped, tilted his head, and grinned.
"Pretentious name… sounds perfect for me."
And with that, he stepped inside—ready to eat, plot, and charm his way into yet another layer of the world's madness.
As Lucian stepped inside, a wave of elegance washed over him.
Ever since arriving in this chaotic city, his senses had been assaulted by the stench of street food and greasy stalls—not exactly the cuisine a former Dark Lord would call edible. But this? This was different.
Lucian stood at the entrance of the restaurant, his gaze drifting up the imposing marble columns that led to the gleaming doors. A soft glow radiated from within, the flickering candlelight visible through the tall windows.
It was a far cry from the dingy inns and taverns he was used to. The smooth hum of classical music floated through the air, paired with the faint clink of silverware and low murmurs of conversation. For a brief moment, Lucian almost felt out of place—but then, the grin returned to his lips.
"This is more like it."
He stepped inside.
Everything about the place felt deliberate—the soft velvet curtains, the gold filigree accents on the walls, and the crystal chandeliers that sparkled overhead.
Even the waiters moved with fluid grace, each motion seemingly part of a larger, elegant performance. Lucian couldn't help but chuckle to himself.
"Guess I'll need to be on my best behavior here... for now."
As Lucian stepped further in, a plate sailed past on a silver tray—sizzling duck breast glistening beneath a drizzle of green pepper oil. His stomach gave an involuntary twitch. He nearly moaned. It had been far too long since he'd eaten something fit for his status.
Lucian inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma. His body gave a small twitch, betraying just how hungry he really was.
"Now this... this brings me back," he murmured, eyes half-lidded. "Reminds me of the hundreds of chefs and musicians I enslaved... simpler times."
A smirk tugged at his lips as he approached the host stand.
"If I'm not careful, I might clear this place out."
The hostess looked up and bowed politely.
"Do you have a reservation, sir?"
Without missing a beat, Lucian flipped a gold coin through the air. It landed on the stand with a clink.
"Is that really necessary?" he asked, voice smooth as silk.
She smiled, but not kindly.
"I'm afraid so. This establishment is reservation-only."
Lucian's grin widened.
"How about... a hundred thousand gold for your best seat in the house?"
He leaned in slightly, voice low and confident, eyes glinting with challenge.
The hostess stiffened, clearly not expecting that. After a moment of stunned silence, she coughed delicately and swept the coins into a drawer.
"Something... can be arranged," she said, snapping her fingers.
A second waiter emerged, the very picture of aristocratic caricature: slick black suit, deadpan expression, midnight hair, and a mustache that curled like it had ambitions of its own.
"I shall guide you to your seat, my lord," he said with a deep, sweeping bow. His movement was so smooth, it bordered on theatrical.
Lucian raised a brow, amused.
"You sure you're not moonlighting as a gymnast?"
The waiter offered no response, only a faint smile as he gestured forward.
Lucian chuckled and followed.
"Excellent. Now… let's see what kind of meal it takes to impress a man who's dined with dragons."