After an hour or so...
The clouds above hung heavy and gray, casting long, brooding shadows over the cobblestone streets. The world around bustled with the usual evening crowd rchants closing shop, and nobles riding by without a care. Yet in the midst of it all, a lone figure moved quietly, lting into the scenery like a ghost.
"So, what are we doing here now, Host?" the system asked curiously, its voice floating calmly in Razeal’s mind.
"We are robbing today," Razeal replied nonchalantly.
Without breaking his stride, he reached out with lightning fast reflexes and snatched a ghost mask from a nearby stall.
Shopkeeper didn’t even notice.
The streets were moderately crowded, the chatter of people blending with the clatter of carts and distant laughter, but no one noticed him. A long black robe already clung to his fra, hiding every feature of his body beneath its folds. He had lifted the robe from a vendor far behind just minutes ago, utilizing the full extent of his shadow step ability.
The skill that erased the sound of his footsteps and its coming to good use for him.
With a swift motion, Razeal slid the ghost mask over his face. It was a smooth, matte black mask, expressionless, eerie in its simplicity, hiding his identity entirely. Only his deep, pitch black eyes peered out from the slits, cold and unreadable.
[Umm, yeah, I can see that] the system muttered, almost sighing. [But can I ask... why exactly are we doing this? Robbing stalls? It feels so... beneath you. Honestly, it seems a little disrespectful for soone like you. Where’s your dignity?]
"I’m a villain," Razeal replied flatly, slipping through the crowd like a ghost. "Let at least do villainous things. Am I not even allowed that now?"
He paused briefly at a corner, observing the road ahead before taking a sharp turn. His voice remained calm, almost detached. "And besides... do I have any other choice? Even if I wanted to buy sothing, who would sell it to ?"
[Fair... but still] the system grumbled.
"As for why I’m doing this," he continued, "I’m planning to acquire soone useful. A slave or a servant, whatever term fits. I have too many things on my plate things I can’t openly do. So, I need soone to act for ."
[Ohhh, so you’re looking for a lackey to get you food and shelter? Interesting idea] the system mused. [But who do you have in mind for this position? We can’t just grab any random person. The one you choose has to have at least so strength or usefulness. I doubt you’d settle for anyone below a certain standard.]
Razeal chuckled under his breath.
"I’m going after this novel’s number one bullshit character."
[Wait... you an that bullshit guy? The small ti villain who scams people with his so-called ’mind ability’? Telling people he can connect them with their dead relatives for so money?] the system asked, intrigued now.
"Yeah. Him," Razeal replied coolly. "After all, a villain is only as good as his subordinates. And I, as a supre villain, deserve to have a few minor villains serving under , don’t you think?"
He continued walking silently, but purposefully, each step bringing him closer to his destination.
[But how do you plan to make him submit?] the system asked, doubtful. "[That guy’s clever as hell. He’s got the whole slum district wrapped around his finger just with illusions, tricks and manipulation. He’s not the type to kneel to anyone. He respects strength which, no offense, Host, you currently lack.]
"None taken," Razeal muttered, pulling the mask tighter over his face.
Then he turned a corner.
"But you’re wrong about one thing, System. Intelligent people... they’re the easiest to trap."
[Huh?]
He turned his masked face toward the sky briefly, letting the light drizzle soak his hood before continuing. "It’s hard to manipulate stupid people with weak strength. They’re unpredictable. But the intelligent? They can be led by soone weaker, as long as they’re clever enough. Strength can be ignored."
[Heh... psychological warfare. Now that’s villain material.]
The system chuckled, amused by Razeal’s logic.
Their banter continued, light but layered with aning, as Razeal explained more of his plan. His tone remained emotionless but calculated, every word asured.
Minutes passed, the cityscape around them changing. The structures grew tighter, the streets a little narrower, and the air was filled with strange incense and whispered rumors. The territory of lesser criminals. Here, morality was a distant echo.
"Here we are," Razeal finally muttered, stopping in front of a modest, run-down shop wedged tightly between two larger buildings. A thin alleyway snaked past one side, just enough space for a single person to slip through. The shop’s faded sign swung slightly with the breeze, one side hanging lower where the rusted chain had given up. Chipped paint, water stains, and years of dust marred the front, while the faint sll of cheap perfu lingered in the air like sothing desperately trying to hide rot.
He glanced up. The shop sign read: Lil Joy Shop.
A low, humorless chuckle escaped him. "What joy..."
A ’Closed’ sign hung crookedly on the door. Fitting.
"[So? Are we just knocking on the front door now?]" the system asked, curiosity laced with sarcasm.
"Of course not," Razeal replied smoothly, already slipping into the narrow alleyway beside the shop. He moved like a whisper, his long black robe trailing behind him, blending into the shadows with unnatural ease.
He took his ti, climbing up the backside of the shop. His body remained close to the building, movents sharp and practiced. Within minutes, he reached a small, unlocked window.
A gentle push.
It creaked no, it should’ve creaked. But there was nothing. Not even the softest whisper of friction.
Razeal stepped inside without a sound, his boots touching down with absolute silence. His robe flowed with him like an extension of his body, and the dark ghost mask on his face concealed everything except for his eyes piercing and unreadable.
He checked his disguise. Mask secure. Robe in place. Every inch of him was concealed. Good.
He let his eyes sweep the dim room. A simple bedroom, nothing extravagant though books were stacked unevenly across shelves and tables. A small chessboard sat on a nearby table with a single chair pulled out. The pieces were mid ga, as if soone had left in thought.
He paused.
Closing his eyes, Razeal let the world fade. His ears, attuned far beyond normal perception, picked up the faintest currents of air. The way silent drafts shifted as they passed through cracks or brushed against furniture each variation painted a map in his mind.
Four rooms on this floor.
The one he stood in now a bedroom.
To his right: a study.
Farther: two rooms that felt denser, like storerooms, stuffed with so many objects that even air had trouble moving.
He focused again.
And there he was.
The man he ca for.
Razeal said nothing. He simply walked to the side table, picked up the chair by the chessboard, and lifted it into the air. Again no sound. Not even the soft scrape of wood against floor. As if the chair itself obeyed his silence.
"This ability’s broken," he mused inwardly. His Shadow Step didn’t just silence his own movents it seed to dampen anything he interacted with. Objects. Surfaces. Even air.
Without hesitation, he moved to the adjoining study room. The door was already open. How convenient. Not that it would’ve mattered.
He entered.
Inside, a man stood by the window, back turned. Dressed in a dull grey suit and matching fedora, he looked completely absorbed in whatever was outside. He was holding sothing soft in his hands... a pillow? What he was doing with it was unclear, but his mind was clearly elsewhere.
Razeal tilted his head. So careless.
Razeal stood still and watched him for a beat.
Then, without a word, he moved.
He placed the chair down directly behind the man perfectly angled. A boss’s entrance. Silent, calculated.
Razeal asured the distance with his eyes three steps away. Good visibility. One way out.
Perfect.
And still, the man didn’t notice a thing.
Razeal sat.
One leg crossed over the other, fingers laced together casually on his lap. The black robe pooled around his feet, shadows gathering like loyal servants. The mask blank, ghostly faced forward.
He didn’t speak yet.
The mont had to set. Let the tension build.
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