The Promenade was usually a place of gold and laughter, but tonight it smelled of ozone and existential dread.
The Royal Guard had cordoned off the alleyway with shimmering barriers of light, but they all stepped back, bowing their heads, as a man in pristine, white-and-gold plate armor strode through the crowd. Rank-1 Hero Silas didn't walk; he moved with the practiced grace of someone who knew the world was his stage. His cape, woven from the hair of a thousand cloud-spirits, didn't even touch the blood-slicked stones.
He stopped in front of the three "remains."
"Report," Silas commanded. His voice was like a cathedral bell resonant, calm, and utterly terrifying.
"Lord Silas," a Captain of the Guard stammered, pointing a trembling finger at the dust. "There was no struggle. No elemental residue. No dark mana. Marquis D'Vayne's men... they just stopped. Their armor, their weapons, their very magic... it was simply deleted."
Silas knelt, his gauntleted hand hovering over a patch of cobblestone that had been stripped of its color. He closed his eyes, his "Divine Sense" reaching out into the local fabric of reality.
He didn't find the messy, violent footprint of a monster. He found a Void. A perfect, surgical cut in the laws of the world.
"This wasn't a spell," Silas whispered, his eyes snapping open. A flicker of genuine unease crossed his face before being masked by a cold, predatory smile. "A spell has a cost. A spell leaves a signature. This is... an Administrative Override."
"My Lord?" the Captain asked.
"There is a Master in this city," Silas stood, his hand resting on the hilt of his Holy Sword the same blade that had "saved" the world by framing the Saintess. "Someone who thinks they can rewrite the Ledger of Fate. Someone who doesn't play by our rules."
He looked toward the darker sectors of the city. "Find the buyer of the Moon-Spun Ruby. If he's alive, I want his tongue. If he's dead, I want to know who killed him. No one manages this world but the Heroes."
While Silas was playing detective, Julian was currently trying not to vomit.
"Again," Lyra commanded.
Julian was standing in the center of the warehouse, his legs shaking like a newborn giraffe's. He wasn't holding a cane; he was holding a heavy, rusted iron bar he'd found in the scrap heap. His velvet coat was tossed in a corner, leaving him in a sweat-soaked shirt that clung to his skeletal frame.
"Lyra... my ROI on this... is reaching... zero," Julian wheezed, his lungs burning. "I am a Sales Executive. I am the brain. The 'C-Suite.' I don't... do... manual labor."
"You used thirty days of your life to pop a few thugs, Julian," Lyra said, her purple eyes glowing in the dim light. She was sitting on a crate, her moon-spun dress magically protected from the dust. "If you don't strengthen your 'Vessel,' the next time you use Deconstruction, your heart will literally file for divorce from your body."
"She's right, Boss," Bell chirped from the corner, where she was busy polishing the stolen gold coins. "You look like a stiff breeze could turn you into a puzzle. A 500-piece one."
[System Notification: Training Session - 'The Vessel Audit']
[Objective: Increase Constitution to 5%.]
[Current Progress: 2.1%... 2.2%...]
[Warning: Muscle fiber tearing detected. Efficient recovery required.]
"Fine," Julian growled. He closed his eyes, focusing not on his muscles, but on the System inside him. He didn't just want to get "stronger" like a meathead Hero. He wanted to optimize.
He began to flow. He didn't lift the iron bar with strength; he used a micro-burst of [Deconstruction] on the air around it, reducing the atmospheric pressure so the bar felt weightless. Then, he snapped it back, forcing his muscles to react to the sudden return of gravity.
It was a "glitch-training" method using his SSS-rank power to cheat his way through physical therapy.
Crack.
His bicep flared with pain, but the System pinged.
[Constitution Increased: 2.5%]
[New Passive Skill Unlocked: 'Efficient Metabolism']
[Description: Earth-Origin meals now provide 20% more healing.]
Julian collapsed to his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Lyra was at his side in a second, her cold hand pressing against the back of his neck. The cooling sensation was better than any drug he'd had on Earth.
"You're cheating," she whispered, her voice surprisingly soft. "You're using your power to trick your own body into growing."
"It's called... outsourcing... the work," Julian smirked, even as he coughed up a tiny bit of red. "Why work hard... when you can... work smart?"
"You're an idiot," she said, but she didn't pull her hand away. "Bell! Bring the rest of that soup. And put more salt in it this time. His blood pressure is pathetic."
"On it, Ma'am! Don't freeze me!" Bell scrambled to the stove.
Julian looked at the two of them the world-ending Ice Witch and the greediest mercenary in the city. He was broke, dying, and hunted by the Rank-1 Hero, but for the first time, his "Portfolio" was starting to look promising.
"Bell," Julian called out, his eyes sharpening as the pain receded. "Forget the gold for a second. Tomorrow, I need you to find me a 'Waste Disposal' site. Somewhere the Heroes throw their 'trash' failed experiments, cursed items, broken people."
"The Scrapyard of the Gods?" Bell gulped. "Boss, that's where the real monsters are. The ones even the Association is scared to farm."
"Exactly," Julian smiled, the 'lit' stare returning in full force. "It's time to find my second wife. I need someone who knows how to handle... a Hostile Takeover."