In a dimly lit hideout deep within Vaeloria’s underground district, a woman sat on the edge of a worn wooden table, her dagger spinning idly between her fingers.

  The wound on her leg throbbed. A reminder of the unexpected fight.

  She had been too careless.

  Too confident.

  And now, she was back empty-handed.

  Across from her, her two companions stood with crossed arms—Leoric, the self-proclaimed leader of their little group, and Vera, the swordswoman with a sharp tongue and sharper instincts.

  "So?" Leoric leaned forward, his golden hair catching the glow of the lanterns. "Where’s the girl?"

  The woman—Sylen—exhaled sharply, flipping the dagger in her hand before stabbing it into the table.

  "Gone."

  Leoric’s eyebrow twitched. "Gone?"

  "I was this close to getting her," Sylen muttered, flexing her sore leg. "But some masked bastard got in the way."

  Vera scoffed, leaning against the wall. "So you’re telling me you let some random noble run off with the girl?"

  Sylen’s eyes darkened. "He wasn’t a noble."

  Vera raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

  Leoric frowned. "Explain."

  Sylen leaned back, crossing her arms. "At first, I thought the same thing—some rich prick who bought himself a toy. But then he fought back. Fast, precise, not sloppy like some overfed aristocrat."

  Leoric’s expression didn’t change, but his fingers tapped against the hilt of his sword. "Did you see his face?"

  "No," Sylen said bitterly. "He was wearing a mask the whole time. But..."

  She hesitated, then continued.

  "I remember the girl."

  That made both Leoric and Vera pause.

  "You got a good look at her?" Vera asked.

  Sylen nodded. "Pale. Half-dead looking. Dark hair, faded blue eyes. Weak. She barely reacted to anything around her."

  Leoric rubbed his chin, thinking. "That description could match any starving slave, but..." His gaze sharpened. "The fact that he went through all that trouble to get her specifically means she’s important."

  Sylen clicked her tongue. "I thought the same. He didn’t even hesitate to fight me. As if he had to protect her."

  Vera pushed off the wall, stretching lazily. "So what now? We go after them?"

  Leoric smirked. "Of course. But this time, we don’t rush in blind."

  His golden eyes gleamed with sharp amusement.

  "Someone like that can’t stay hidden forever."

  Deep within Vaeloria’s underbelly, hidden behind layers of deception and bribed officials, a secret chamber buzzed with tension. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and burning incense, the dim glow of enchanted lanterns casting flickering shadows on the hooded figures seated around the table.

  None of their faces were visible—intentionally hidden.

  The only rule of this room? Anonymity.

  Each seat at the long table was occupied by individuals whose influence stretched far beyond the slums—wealthy merchants, corrupt officials, underground crime lords. These were the true rulers of the city’s black market.

  And tonight, they weren’t happy.

  The gravelly voice of an older man cut through the room.

  "The heroes struck again."

  A few murmurs followed. Some irritated, some bitter.

  "They destroyed one of our biggest auction houses," another voice, this one smoother, sharp as a blade. "Slaughtered valuable clients. Disrupted the entire supply chain. You know what that means?"

  A man on the left scoffed. "We lose money. Lots of it."

  "And potential buyers," another added. "Many of the nobles will hesitate now. Even those who don't give a damn about morality care about their own safety."

  The Head of the table finally spoke, his voice calm—too calm.

  "So what do we do?"

  The room fell into silence.

  Then, a chilling response.

  "We kill them."

  Simple. Direct.

  A few chuckles echoed in the dimly lit chamber.

  "They think they’re righteous," a woman sneered. "They think they can keep doing this, rescuing worthless garbage while stepping on our profits?"

  The smooth-voiced man chuckled. "No. They’re a nuisance. A thorn in our operations. And thorns—"

  His gloved hand traced the edge of a dagger resting on the table.

  "—must be plucked."

  There was a pause, a shared agreement in the air.

  The Head leaned forward, his presence suffocating. "Then we’ll deal with them. But that’s not all."

  He exhaled sharply, his calm mask breaking slightly.

  "The raid on Willowbrook."

  A heavier silence followed.

  Then, a gruff voice spoke. "It... failed."

  Failed.

  The word lingered in the room, poisonous.

  The Head’s fingers drummed against the table. "We lost valuable warriors, and our shipment of mana orbs is now short by three."

  "Three?" someone muttered. "That’s not much—"

  "It’s a lot."

  The cold interruption silenced the speaker.

  "It’s a lot when we needed those orbs for a very specific order." The Head’s voice darkened.

  And then—

  BANG.

  The entire table shook violently as he slammed his palm down.

  The flickering lanterns brightened, casting a sickly glow over his outstretched hand.

  A hand that wasn’t normal.

  The flesh twisted, veins darkened and pulsing, cracks glowing with corrupted purple energy. The fingers looked mismatched, as if broken and forced together unnaturally.

  It was like Zane’s arm.

  But worse.

  "Three orbs may not seem like much to you." His voice was lower now, deeper, his tone carrying an eerie resonance.

  "But when you are dealing with forces beyond your pathetic understanding, you learn that even a single piece missing can mean everything."

  The air grew heavy.

  No one spoke.

  The Head finally leaned back, flexing his corrupted fingers before pulling his sleeve back down, hiding the abomination of his arm.

  "...We will replace the lost orbs," he continued, voice returning to calm, calculated control. "That means collecting more slaves and raiding more targets."

  A few hesitant nods.

  "And as for the heroes?" A cruel smirk crept into his voice.

  "We make them regret ever interfering."

  The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a single lantern flickering against the wooden walls.

  But in this small, enclosed space, everything felt silent.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  I paced near the window, fingers pressing against my aching left arm. The pain had been growing worse ever since I left the auction house. A dull, pulsing throb that spread from my fingertips to my shoulder, like something was crawling under my skin.

  Behind me, the girl sat on the edge of the bed, eating quietly.

  The food wasn’t much—just a bowl of warm stew and bread, something I had grabbed from the tavern’s kitchen. She didn’t complain. Didn’t hesitate. Just ate.

  Like someone used to starvation.

  I glanced at her briefly.

  She was still wrapped in my oversized hood, her face half-hidden in the fabric’s folds. But even in the dim light, I could see that her complexion wasn’t as lifeless as before. A little more color, a little more presence.

  Progress.

  I turned back toward the window, rolling my left shoulder to ease the discomfort.

  "Damn it… this is getting worse."

  The pain flared again, sharp this time.

  I hissed under my breath, gripping my arm—only to freeze.

  Something was wet.

  I lifted my hand slowly and stared.

  Purple.

  Thick, viscous blood coated my fingers, seeping through the bandages wrapped around my arm. The cracks along my skin pulsed faintly, the unnatural glow shifting with every movement.

  My heartbeat sped up.

  "Shit."

  I moved quickly, grabbing the spare bandages from my bag.

  But before I could start wrapping the wound, the system buzzed.

  My stomach dropped.

  "What?"

  Deteriorating? At a higher rate?

  That meant this was always happening, just slower before.

  And now?

  It was speeding up.

  I clenched my jaw, trying to stay calm. The system kept throwing one thing after another at me.

  First, the mission. Then, the warning about danger. And now, this?

  "I can’t even catch a damn break."

  I grabbed the cloth tightly, preparing to re-wrap my arm—

  Then I felt it.

  A gaze.

  I turned my head slightly.

  The girl was staring.

  Her bowl of food sat untouched in her lap, her hands clutching it loosely. She wasn’t frozen in fear or disgust—just watching.

  Like she recognized something.

  I tensed. "Don’t—"

  "Corrupted Mana."

  Her voice was quiet. Almost distant.

  But to me, it hit like a thunderclap.

  I went still.

  My entire body tensed as my eyes locked onto her.

  "What did she just say?"

  I stared at her.

  She had said it so casually, like it was something she had known all along.

  Corrupted Mana.

  The words still hung in the air, thick and heavy.

  I swallowed, my grip tightening around the bloodied bandages. "...What did you just say?"

  She didn’t reply.

  She just kept staring.

  Like she had seen this before.

  Like she knew something.

  I shifted forward slightly. "You recognize this, don’t you?"

  Nothing.

  "Say something."

  Silence.

  I clenched my fists. "You—"

  Her body swayed slightly.

  And then, without warning, she collapsed forward.

  My instincts kicked in just in time to catch her before she hit the ground.

  I hesitated for a second, then sighed, carefully shifting her back onto the bed.

  Her breathing was steady, just exhausted.

  She must have reached her limit.

  I ran a tired hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. "Of course. Of course you pass out right when I finally get something useful out of you."

  I reached for the bowl of food beside her lap, setting it aside before grabbing a thin blanket from the corner of the room. With a quick motion, I draped it over her, making sure it covered her properly.

  She barely stirred.

  Fine. I’d ask her again when she woke up.

  I sat down on the chair next to the bed, gripping my left arm again.

  The pain hadn’t stopped.

  The corruption still throbbed, the purple cracks spreading slightly more across my skin.

  I had to talk to Cael.

  Soon.

  But then another thought hit me.

  How the hell was I supposed to explain this girl?

  I had already told Cael the lie about losing my memories.

  I couldn’t suddenly say, "Oh yeah, I bought a slave at an illegal auction last night. Don’t worry about it."

  I groaned, pressing a hand to my face.

  "What the hell am I supposed to say?"

  I didn’t even know her name.

  A long silence stretched through the room as I leaned back against the chair, staring at the ceiling.

  Cael wasn’t stupid. He’d ask questions.

  Who she was. Why I had her. Where I even got the money to buy someone.

  I had no solid answers.

  "Fuck," I muttered under my breath.

  This just kept getting more complicated.

  I shook my head and pulled up the system interface.

  I stared at the countdown.

  "Eight hours left."

  A few more hours, and this entire nightmare of a mission would finally be over.

  At least, that’s what I told myself.

  But deep down, I had a bad feeling.

  I had thought the same thing before—back in the village, when I thought I had changed fate.

  I had thought the same thing after escaping the auction house, when I assumed everything would be fine.

  And every single time, I had jinxed myself.

  I exhaled slowly, rubbing my temples. "No. This time, things will go smoothly."

  A pause.

  Then, I cursed under my breath.

  "Fuck. I probably just jinxed myself again."

  I sighed, leaning back in the chair, fingers tapping idly against my knee.

  The girl was asleep, her frail frame still barely visible beneath the blanket.

  My thoughts drifted back to something far more important.

  The Record Fragments.

  The system had been mentioning them since the beginning, but it never actually explained what they were. Every time I asked, it would glitch out or refuse to answer.

  But now?

  Now that my body was deteriorating, and the system was actively telling me to find one—

  I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

  I took a slow breath, then called out in my mind.

  "System. What are Record Fragments?"

  For a moment, silence.

  Then—

  The system responded.

  Clearly.

  I sat completely still.

  Not a single glitch.

  Not a single error.

  The words rang in my mind, heavy with meaning. The Universal Records themselves? A piece of history, past, and future?

  And the people who possessed them—

  Were above everyone else.

  "A king’s burden, huh?" I muttered.

  What kind of bullshit was this?

  I inhaled deeply, gathering my thoughts.

  "Alright. Fine. Then where do I find one? How do I obtain a Record Fragment?"

  The system’s response was instant.