Exiting the dungeon turned out to be significantly easier than entering it.
Usually, Silas had to tiptoe past the territorial slime colonies on the second floor, a process that involved a lot of distracting throws of stale bread and praying. Today, however, the dungeon seemed to hold its breath.
As he walked, the shadows in the corridor didn't just hide him; they seemed to bend around his silhouette, smoothing over his presence like water closing over a stone. He passed a group of three goblins sharpening rusty knives. In the past, this would have meant a frantic skirmish.
Now? He walked right by them. The lead goblin looked up, sniffed the air, shrugged, and went back to ruining his cutlery.
"Invisibility is cheating," Silas murmured to himself, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I love cheating."
He reached the dungeon exit and stepped into the blinding afternoon sun. The transition from the damp, musty air of the Oubliette to the fresh breeze of the Oakhaven plains made him stretch his arms wide.
"Ah, natural light," he sighed. "The enemy of my mysterious aura, but the friend of my vitamin D deficiency."
He checked his interface again. The [Void Sovereign] class title pulsed with a faint, violet light at the top of his status screen. It felt heavy, like wearing a crown made of lead. He quickly minimized it. He didn't feel like a sovereign. He felt like a guy who needed a bath and a meal that didn't involve jerky.
The walk to Oakhaven took an hour. The city was a sprawling mess of timber and stone, surrounded by high walls meant to keep out beasts. To Silas, it was just a place where the rent was high and the ale was watered down.
He headed straight for the Adventurer's Guild. It was a boisterous building near the city center, always smelling of sweat, spilled beer, and unwashed leather.
Pushing open the heavy oak doors, Silas was hit by a wall of noise. The hall was packed. It was the afternoon rush—adventurers returning from grinding, looking to turn in their loot and brag.
Silas straightened his tunic, fixed his hair, and strode toward the reception desk. He moved with a fluid grace he hadn't possessed before. It was the [Void Step] passive, he realized. His center of gravity had shifted, making his movements eerily smooth.
"Silas Vane," a cool voice greeted him before he could reach the counter.
Sitting behind the polished mahogany desk was Livia. She was the head receptionist, a woman with sharp glasses, even sharper wit, and a neat bun of silver hair that suggested she managed chaos with a clipboard.
Livia was one of the few people immune to Silas's charm. Or at least, she pretended to be.
"Livia, my favorite administrative angel," Silas leaned on the counter, flashing his best smile. "Did you miss me?"
"I missed the sound of you complaining about the quest rewards," Livia deadpanned, not looking up from her ledger. "It's been a quiet afternoon. Did you actually clear a quest, or are you here to use the bathroom again?"
"I am wounded. Truly." Silas clutched his chest. "I have returned from the depths of the Whispering Oubliette, victorious. I am here to turn in... this."
He slapped the small pouch of rat teeth and the few copper coins he'd scavenged on the counter.
Livia eyed the pile. "That's barely enough to cover the Guild tax, Silas."
"Ah, but the experience was priceless," Silas countered smoothly. "And I'll be paying my rent in cash today. No 'I'll get you next time, I promise' for this guy."
He pulled out the heavy pouch of gold coins he'd found in the hidden room. The clink of solid gold on the counter silenced the conversation of the two adventurers standing next to him.
Livia paused. Her eyes flicked to the gold, then up to Silas. She adjusted her glasses. "That's... a significant amount for a D-rank dungeon run. Did you find a treasure chest?"
"Something like that," Silas said, keeping his voice light. "You know me, Livia. Luckier than a leprechaun with a rabbit's foot."
Livia stared at him for a long moment. Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to solve a puzzle. Silas felt a sudden prickle of paranoia. Did she know? Could she sense the Void?
But she just sniffed and pulled the gold closer. "I'll process this. Your cut of the materials is forty silver. With this deposit, your debt to the Guild is cleared. Don't spend it all on hair gel."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Silas winked.
He collected his receipt and turned to leave, but a large hand clamped onto his shoulder.
It was a heavy hand, calloused and crushing. Silas didn't flinch—he just felt the Void inside him stir, eager to snap the fingers like dry twigs. He suppressed the urge. Down, boy, he thought to the dark energy.
"Well, well," a gravelly voice boomed. "Look who it is. The pretty boy."
Silas turned. Standing behind him was Garrick "The Maw," a C-rank adventurer built like a walking mountain. He had a scar running down his face and an ego twice the size of his massive warhammer.
"Garrick," Silas greeted, his voice pleasant. "You're looking... robust today. Have you been working out? Or just lifting heavy mugs?"
The adventurers nearby snickered. Garrick's face flushed a shade of angry red.
"Funny," Garrick spat. "I saw you coming out of the Oubliette. You were moving fast. Too fast for a D-rank scrub like you." He leaned in close; his breath smelled like onions. "You find something in there, Vane? Something you didn't report?"
"Other than the crushing existential dread of poverty?" Silas asked, raising an eyebrow. "No. Just rat teeth. Want one? I think I have a cavity in my pocket."
Garrick shoved him back. Silas didn't stumble. The shadows under his feet seemed to grip his boots, anchoring him. It was instinctive. [Void Step] was more than just a speed boost; it was stability.
Garrick's eyes narrowed. "You didn't stumble. You usually stumble."
"I've been practicing my balance," Silas said. "Yoga. Very trending among the elites."
"You think you're tough?" Garrick gripped the handle of his hammer. "How about you and I step outside? I could use some target practice."
The room went quiet. Livia stood up from her desk, her mouth opening to shout a warning.
Silas looked at Garrick. He really didn't want to fight. He was tired, hungry, and his new class was a mystery he hadn't solved yet. If he accidentally turned Garrick inside out with Void magic, the paperwork would be horrendous.
But he also couldn't back down. Not here. Not if he wanted to survive in this world.
Silas locked eyes with Garrick. He didn't say a word. He just activated [Sovereign's Gaze].
The world shifted into grayscale. He saw Garrick's muscles, the flow of adrenaline, and the beating of his heart. But he saw something else—a faint, dim flicker in Garrick's left knee. An old injury. A weakness.
Silas smiled. It wasn't his usual charming smile. It was cold, empty, and terrifyingly confident. It was the smile of something that looked at the void and found it amusing.
"Garrick," Silas said softly. "Your left knee is swelling. You favor it by three degrees when you shift your weight. If we fight, I won't aim for your face. I'll aim for that knee. And you'll never walk without a cane again."
Garrick froze. The color drained from his face. He subconsciously rubbed his left knee. "How... how did you..."
Silas deactivated the skill. The color returned to the world, and he let his usual lazy grin slide back into place. He clapped a stunned Garrick on the shoulder.
"Magic," Silas whispered conspiratorially. "Or maybe I'm just very observant. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a date with a landlord who is significantly scarier than you."
He walked past Garrick, through the crowd of silent adventurers, and out the door.
As the cool evening air hit his face, Silas let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
"Okay," he whispered, his heart pounding against his ribs. "That was a bluff. Totally a bluff. I have no idea if I can actually take him. But by the gods, it worked."
He hurried down the street toward the lodging district. He needed to pay his rent, lock his door, and figure out what the hell being a Void Sovereign actually entailed before his luck ran out.
But as he walked, he didn't notice the man in the dark hooded cloak standing in the alleyway across from the Guild. The man watched Silas leave, his fingers tracing the edge of a cracked amulet in his palm.
"The Codex has chosen," the man whispered, his voice like dry leaves skittering over stone. "The Sovereign returns."
He vanished into the shadows, leaving no trace he had ever been there.