Chapter 41: The Sovereign's Regression
The tea in the Sanctuary was still warm when Damon stood up, the scent of lavender and ozone clinging to his cloak. He looked at Saya, who was peacefully sketching a flower, unaware that her husband was about to step back into a world that considered him trash. "I have some business in the lower sectors," he said softly. "I'll be back before the moon rises."
He didn't use a flashy portal. He stepped through a fold in reality, emerging in a grimy alleyway on Earth. Instantly, he felt the suffocating "noise" of the planet—the petty greed, the loud mana-scanners, and the rigid Guild system. Damon reached into his internal space and pulled out the [Visage of the Nameless]. As he donned the mask, his features shifted into a sharp, aristocratic Diamond-rank countenance, but he made sure his [Void Heart] stayed buried under layers of suppression. He didn't want to alert the Masters of this universe; he just wanted to earn enough "clean" money to justify the luxury he intended to give Saya.
He arrived at the Abyssal Spire registration. When he produced his battered, Tier-5 Epsilon Player Card, the atmosphere shifted from curiosity to mockery.
"Is this a joke?" Kargan, a Gold-rank Vanguard, laughed as he snatched the card. "You've got the face of a king and the rank of a cockroach. You're one of the Top Ten Most Useless Players on the leaderboard! Why are you wearing a vanity mask? Hoping the monsters will be too intimidated by your 'good looks' to eat you?"
Damon didn't respond. His eyes remained cold, reflecting a man who had seen the birth and death of stars. He simply needed the "Carrier" slot. To the world, he was a poser with a fake face; to himself, he was a silent predator.
"Enough talk," Ryker's voice cut through the air. The diamond-rank leader approached, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Damon. There was a faint itch in Ryker's memory—a feeling of overwhelming power—but he looked at the Epsilon card in Kargan's hand and scoffed. "A vanity item... I thought for a second you were someone formidable. I don't care what face you wear, Epsilon. Pick up the crates. If you slow us down, I'll leave you for the Crawlers."
Damon shouldered the heavy pack, his 12-billion-credit inventory hidden in a pocket dimension. He stepped into the dungeon, the "weakest" member of a 30-man team, ready to play the part of a lucky fool.
To be continued....