Morning light penetrating Iron Ledger Warehouse's skylight brought no warmth; it brought dust dancing in the air, mocking my lungs that still felt tight from last night's smoke.
I woke not from an alarm, but from the sound of Miri chewing something with disturbing enthusiasm.
"Crunch. Crunch."
I opened one eye. Beside my head, atop the pile of stolen silk that had become our mattress, Miri was eating pearl buttons from a ceremonial robe probably worth a year's shop rent.
"Those are South Sea pearls, Miri," I muttered, my voice hoarse. "You just had breakfast costing a goblin child's college tuition."
"Tastes like chalk," Miri complained, then swallowed the button whole. "Besides, these are stolen goods from bad people. The calories are halal."
I sat up, stretching my stiff back. From our position atop the highest stack of crates—nearly touching the warehouse ceiling—I had a bird's-eye view of the entire operational floor below.
The warehouse was coming to life. Dozens of workers—mostly goblins and humans with hunched backs—began arriving, wearing shabby gray uniforms with the Iron Ledger logo. They moved like ants afraid of being stepped on, dragging crates, checking inventory, and avoiding the gazes of guards carrying electric whips.
At the center of the warehouse floor, a glass office door opened.
Gorman Iron-Fist emerged.
He was a man whose width equaled his height, with a red beard braided with gold wire. He wore a green velvet vest whose buttons screamed for help every time he breathed. On his fingers, ten gem rings sparkled under the magic lights.
"FASTER!" Gorman roared, his voice thundering like a drum in a tin can. "The shipment to Sector 4 must leave in one hour! If a single crate of wheat goes missing, I'm cutting your pay for a month!"
An elderly worker dropped a small box in fright.
"YOU!" Gorman pointed with his gold-tipped walking stick. "Ten percent pay cut! And polish my shoes now!"
The worker knelt trembling, began wiping Gorman's boots with his dirty shirt sleeve.
I watched the scene from above. Normally, I would feel angry. But the residue of last night's 'Total Destruction' backflow still left a cold residue in my brain. I didn't feel hot anger. I felt cold contempt.
Gorman wasn't human. He was a Transaction Initiator. And he'd just pressed 'Start'.
I looked toward the giant safe behind Gorman. There, the [The Merchant's Martyrdom] card I'd planted last night was no longer visible. It had fully seeped into the metal structure, waiting for a trigger.
The trigger was: Next Transaction.
"Open the safe!" Gorman ordered the head guard. "I need 500 gold coins to bribe the harbor inspector today. Business is booming, hah! I heard that Rax has turned to ash!"
Gorman laughed. A wet, disgusting laugh.
The head guard nodded, then spun the combination wheel of the giant safe.
Click. Click. CLANG.
The meter-thick iron door swung open.
Inside, stacks of gold coins, silver bars, and guild bond documents were neatly arranged. Wealth built on others' sweat and the fire that burned my shop.
Gorman stepped inside with a wide grin, his hand reaching for his first handful of gold coins of the day.
"Good morning, my precious money," he whispered.
He touched the coin.
[CURSE TRIGGERED]
[Effect: Asset Decay Protocol - ACTIVE]
[Target: All properties owned by "Gorman Iron-Fist"]
When Gorman's finger touched the gold, the coin didn't clink.
The coin hissed.
Its gleaming yellow color turned dull brown in the blink of an eye. Its surface blistered, peeling like old paint, then crumbled into coarse iron rust powder.
"Huh?" Gorman blinked. He tried grabbing a silver bar next to it.
The bar melted into gray sludge that smelled of rotten sulfur, flowing through the gaps between his fat fingers.
"WHAT IS THIS?!" he screamed.
The curse didn't stop there. It spread like a virus. From the safe, black lines of corrosion crawled out at terrifying speed.
The marble floor beneath Gorman's feet cracked, turning to sand.
His golden walking stick—symbol of his authority—suddenly curved limply like a wax rod exposed to heat, then broke into two rotting pieces.
"GUARD THE GOODS!" Gorman shouted in panic, backing out of the safe that now looked like the mouth of a diseased cave.
But there was nothing to guard.
Throughout the warehouse, wooden crates began decaying in seconds. The wheat inside turned to black dust. Expensive silks became moth nests that flew up filling the air.
Even the guards' uniforms—which were warehouse inventory assets—began unraveling their threads. Their pants tore, their leather armor dried and cracked, leaving them standing in underwear that fortunately was personal property (thus unaffected by the curse).
Chaos erupted.
"MY CLOTHES ARE GONE!" a guard shouted.
"THE WHEAT TURNED TO ASH!"
"THE BUILDING'S MOVING!"
The warehouse's support pillars began trembling. Their steel rusted as if passing through a hundred years in one minute. The sound of dying metal creaking filled the air.
I stood atop the highest stack of crates—the only safe place because these crates weren't Gorman's (they were third-party consignment crates, a logical loophole I'd already calculated).
"Miri," I said flatly, watching the destruction below. "Time to check out."
"Boss, that's horrifying," Miri whispered, her eyes wide watching Gorman now kneeling, mourning the pile of rust that used to be gold. "I love it."
I pulled out the Theatrical Tsunami card from my pocket—the card I'd used against the Orcs last night. Its energy was spent, but a bit of the water concept remained. Enough for lubrication.
"Gorman!" I called.
My voice echoed throughout the collapsing warehouse. Gorman looked up, his eyes red, his face covered in rust dust.
He saw me standing above, a black silhouette against the skylight.
"RAX?!" he roared. "YOU?! YOU'RE NOT DEAD?!"
"News of my death was greatly exaggerated by your market optimism," I replied coldly. "You burned my assets, Gorman. So I performed... liquidation of yours."
"CATCH HIM! KILL HIM!" Gorman screamed at the now half-naked guards. "I'LL PAY 1,000 GOLD TO WHOEVER BRINGS ME HIS HEAD!"
"You don't have 1,000 gold, Gorman," I corrected. "You only have 1,000 ounces of rust."
Gorman fell silent. Reality hit him harder than the collapsing roof. He was bankrupt. In five minutes, he'd fallen from the district's richest man to owner of its largest garbage pile.
"Guards!" he screamed again, this time with desperation. "Catch him for... for loyalty!"
The guards looked at each other. They saw their bankrupt boss, then looked at their missing uniforms, then at the building's collapsing pillars.
"Sorry, Boss," said one goblin guard. "Our employment contract says 'No uniform, no service'."
They turned and ran to save themselves.
"TRAITORS!"
Above, I prepared the safety rope I'd fashioned from scrap tarp.
"Let's go, Miri. Before this roof really kisses the floor."
We slid down using the rope, not to the floor, but swinging toward an open ventilation window on the east side.
But just as my foot touched the window frame to jump out, a shadow moved.
Not an ordinary shadow. A shadow with mass.
Something cold and sharp lunged at my neck.
The wary backflow instinct saved me. I tilted my head left a fraction of a second before a black dagger embedded in the wooden frame where my neck had been.
I rolled back inside onto the narrow iron catwalk platform.
"Who?!" I hissed.
From the darkness in a corner of the roof, a figure emerged. It didn't walk; it flowed out from shadow. Wearing a tight black leather suit without sound, face covered by a featureless cloth mask, only two dark eye holes.
In its hands, a pair of curved daggers that didn't reflect light.
The Silent Walkers.
Node #7 hadn't lied. Prince Eldric sent his hunting dogs. And this dog had been here all along, waiting for the moment I let my guard down.
"Target: Rax," the voice from behind the mask sounded like sandpaper scraping. "Order: Elimination."
It charged. Fast. Too fast.
I didn't have time to draw a card from my deck. The distance was only three meters.
"Miri! Flash!" I shouted.
Miri, still hanging on my shoulder, opened her mouth and spat out a ball of pure light—residual energy from the crystal she'd eaten yesterday.
FLASH!
Blinding light exploded in the assassin's face. It jerked backward, shielding eyes accustomed to darkness.
That gave me one second.
I didn't run away. I ran closer.
I kicked its knee, then used the momentum to leap over it, toward the exit window.
But the Assassin reacted beyond reason. Without looking, its hand slashed backward.
SLASH!
The dagger's tip tore through the back of my shirt. I felt hot stinging pain on my skin. Blood dripped.
I was thrown out the window, free-falling three stories toward a pile of trash in the alley beside the warehouse.
"BOSS!" Miri screamed as we sailed through the air.
"Hold on!"
We landed hard atop a pile of wet cardboard and organic garbage. The stench was pungent, but at least my bones weren't broken. Just bruises all over and a stinging wound on my back.
I rolled, trying to stand. The pain was real. This was no longer an economic game. This was physical.
At the roof window above, the assassin's figure stood, staring down. It didn't jump. It only raised a hand, giving a signal.
And from the darkness of the alley in front and behind me, four similar figures emerged from shadows.
Five Silent Walkers.
I was cornered in a dead-end alley. Behind me, the warehouse wall collapsing from the curse. Before me, professional death.
"Damn," I cursed, wiping blood from the corner of my mouth. "The Prince is seriously committed."
"Boss, our cards are gone," Miri squeaked in panic. "We only have trash cards and prototypes!"
"Prototypes," I muttered.
I remembered the card I'd slept on last night. The card I'd made from failed quantum magic mechanics experiments.
[CARD: The Schrödinger's Trap (Experimental)]
[Effect: Uncertain Probability of Existence.]
This was gambling. Its effect could transport us to safety, or erase us from existence due to 'observation failure'.
The assassins began moving forward. Their steps were soundless. Their daggers raised.
"Miri," I said, clutching the card tightly. "Do you trust me?"
"No! Boss is crazy!"
"Good answer."
I activated the card. Not on the enemy, but on ourselves.
"WE DON'T EXIST!" I shouted.
The card exploded into confusing light fractals. Reality around me shattered like a cracked mirror.
One second, I saw the assassin's dagger pierce my chest.
The next second, I saw myself standing on the roof.
The next second after that, I saw myself as a cat.
My brain screamed. The Infinite Grimoire spun wildly trying to stabilize data.
[WARNING: EXISTENTIAL FLUX DETECTED.]
[WARNING: OBSERVATION FAILED.]
[RELOCATING USER TO NEAREST STABLE COORDINATE...]
The world turned white. The sound of Gorman's collapsing warehouse, the assassins' shouts, and the smell of garbage vanished.
***
When I opened my eyes, the garbage smell was gone. Replaced by the smell of sea salt and fresh fish.
The floor beneath me swayed gently.
I blinked, holding back incredible nausea—side effect of unstable short-distance dimensional travel.
I sat up. My back still stung, my shirt torn, but I was alive. Miri lay beside me, her eyes spinning in confusion.
We were on the wooden deck of a small boat. Around us, the blue sea stretched wide. Clear sky. Gentle breeze.
And before us, an old fisherman with a straw hat stared at us with mouth wide open, holding a fishing net half-raised.
"By Neptune's beard..." the fisherman muttered. "I asked for snapper, not two homeless people falling from the sky!"
I looked around. In the distance, I could see District 9's harbor growing smaller. Black smoke from Gorman's warehouse rose high into the sky, becoming the only sign I'd ever been there.
I survived. But I was stranded at sea.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
[Escape Successful.]
[New Location: The Silent Sea - Coastal Zone.]
[Current Quest Update: "Survive the Guild War" -> PAUSED.]
[New Quest Generated: "Ocean's Greed"]
I laughed. Softly at first, then louder. My laughter made the old fisherman back away in fear, probably thinking I was a sea madman.
"Sorry, Old Man," I said, standing on shaky legs but grinning widely. "Does this boat accept passengers without tickets? I can pay with... crisis management consulting services."
The fisherman raised his harpoon. "Get off my boat, or I'll make you shark bait!"
"Aggressive negotiation," I commented, patting Miri's newly-conscious head. "I like your style, Sir."
I stared at the city I'd left behind.
Act one complete. I'd lost my shop. I had enemies: the Prince, the Guilds, and Hired Assassins.
But I still had the Infinite Grimoire. I still had Miri. And now, I had an ocean full of monsters, myths, and water deities that had never been made into cards.
"Miri," I said, gazing at the horizon. "Do you like seafood?"
Miri licked her lips, forgetting her dizziness instantly. "Yes. The expensive kind."
"Good. Because we just started business expansion into the maritime sector."