"So... I'm Khan V.Sokolov. Just call me Khan. Since we're eating fruit together in a dirty alley, I think I deserve a name, your Highness." Khan takes another bite of the sun-shape apple.
After nodding to his another bullshit of helping her find the 'irregular', the demon princess shared one of her sunfruits to him.
"Miriel. Just... Miriel." She said, the name coming out stiffly.
"Alright, Your Highness Miriel." He allowed himself the faintest smile. "I'm pretty curious. Why did you ask me if I'm the irregular? Do I really look like one?" Khan tries to regain a little bit of his shattered pride.
"This one thought you might be one, because... This one can't sense any mana from you at all."
[Trait: True Earthling - Unable to gather or manipulate mana.]
The worthless trait re-emerged inside his head as his smile crooked.
Of course.
So that was why she thought he was special.
[Congratulations. Your crippling weakness has been mistaken for a divine blessing.]
[Would you like to start a cult? I can help with branding.]
Khan ignored it.
He looks at Miriel, who took another slow bite of the sunfruit.
"Besides, you are... Not affected."
"Uh... Affected by what exactly, your Highness?" Khan asked, genuinely confused.
"This one's Aura. It's the concentrated aura of the Demonic Royalty, that usually caused humans to vomit or faint from sheer instinctual terror. Do you really not feel the urge to run? To scream?"
As Miriel asking him, her violet mana flared out from her body, threatening every living beings who dared to get close to her.
Khan raised an eyebrow. "With due respect, your Highness, I used to work in a room with fifty stockbrokers screaming over a crashing market while the air conditioning was broken. Trust me, your aura registers about a two out of ten on my stress scale."
"'Stockbroker'? Is it a cult?" Miriel tilted her head.
"Yes. A very crazy, very devilish cult. They worship an invisible, all-powerful entity called 'The Market'. Everyday, they gather in tall stone temples and perform bloodless rituals — sacrificing the savings and futures of ordinary people in exchange for favor from their dark god."
Miriel was now looking at him with genuine concern. The juice ran down her fingers, but she didn't wipe it away.
"Some of them even make pacts with lesser devils — beings they call 'hedge funds' and 'investment banks.' These devils lend them power, but the price is always their souls… or at least their ability to sleep at night."
The system was losing its mind.
[I'm both impressed and concerned for your mental health at this point.]
Miriel was quiet for a long moment, processing everything he had just said. Then she asked, very carefully:
"...And you used to be one of them?"
Khan's eye twitched.
He looked away toward the alleyway. The sun was down from the opposite rooftop.
"...Let's move. As far as I know, there's a Corrupt Storm heading to this city. We have to make preparation." He muttered.
They slipped deeper into the alley. Only when the noise of the market square had faded to a distant murmur did they finally stop and Khan poke his head out of the narrow passage.
He froze.
This was not the nice part of the town.
The street before them was a filthy scar across the city. Mud mixed with worse things squelched underfoot.
Rats the size of small dogs scurried openly in broad crimson daylight, fighting over scraps.
Beggars huddled in every shadowed corner, wailing for coin with voices long since broken by hunger and despair.
Thugs leaned against crumbling walls, knives visible, eyes lazy but sharp — minding their own business until someone looked worth robbing.
Half-dressed prostitutes leaned in doorways, calling out to passersby with smiles that had worn thin years ago, their invitations sounding more like exhausted sighs than seduction.
Miriel's violet eyes widened behind him. She gasped — a soft, regal sound of pure disbelief.
"This… this is a human city?" Her voice carried the weight of old palaces and silk banners. "This one expected the lands of the Hero to shine with sacred light. Temples of marble and gold. Gardens where even the flowers sing the Goddess's name. Yet what this one sees is… filth and desperation worse than the lowest alleys of the Magelan underbelly after the rebels burned half the capital."
'Rebellion? So her kingdom getting cooked from the inside?' Khan wondered.
He gave a low, sardonic chuckle. "Welcome to the real world, Your Highness. Even the Hero's continent has slums. Turns out destiny doesn't pay the rent."
Miriel pulled her hood lower, but her snow-white fingers trembled slightly on the edge of her cloak. "This one has fled for years… yet never imagined the human realm could be so… decayed."
They moved cautiously, Khan keeping his young body relaxed but his old eyes scanning every shadow. The System helpfully painted blue boxes above heads as they passed:
[Beggar – Level 3]
[Status: Starving, hopeless, considering selling his left kidney for soup.]
[Thug #2 – Level 17]
[Status: Bored, horny, and one wrong look away from stabbing.]
Khan steered Miriel around a puddle that smelled suspiciously like regret and spotted a wooden sign swinging above a basement stairwell: The Iron Tooth – Games, Ale, and No Questions Asked.
His trader instincts lit up like a Bloomberg terminal on a crash day.
Through the dirty windows and open door, he could see the inside clearly.
The tavern was packed. Dim lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting flickering light over crowded tables playing some kind of card game.
'System scan'
[Name: Street rat Pip]
[Status: Desperate — Has already lost three days' wages. Considering stealing from the winner.]
[Name: Varlak]
[Status: Slightly Drunk, Overconfident — Thinks the next hand will fix everything.]
"Gambling den," he whispered. "Perfect. Rich players, loose coin, and nobody asks where you came from."
He turned to Miriel. "I think we found a way to prepare for what was coming, Your Highness. By the way, do you happen to know any martial arts? Just in case things get… lively."
Miriel lifted one elegant crimson eyebrow. "This one was trained in the Demonic Shadow Blade Style of the Royal Court since she could walk. One does not survive years of rebellion without learning how to dance with knives."
"Good enough for me." He offered her his arm like a proper escort. "Stay close. Try to look like my mistress — rich, bored, and slightly above all this. It'll sell."
They descended the creaky stairs into a smoky haze of cheap ale, cheaper cigars, and the unmistakable clack of cards.
The interior was dimly lit by hanging lanterns with cracked glass and sputtering oil. Long wooden tables scarred with knife marks filled most of the space, surrounded by mismatched stools and benches that looked one fight away from collapse.
The floor was sticky underfoot. Sawdust had been scattered in half-hearted attempts to soak up old messes, but it only added to the grime. In one corner, a one-eyed bard strummed a battered lute while singing an off-key song about a whore and a dragon. A few patrons laughed too loudly at nothing in particular. Others nursed tankards with thousand-yard stares.
They stayed near a table, monitoring the game.
Five players were in the middle of a hand. The dealer — the sharp-eyed woman with the missing tooth — dealt two cards face-down to each player, then burned one and laid three community cards in the center: a Knight of Flames, a Coin of Shadows, and a Blade of Storms.
'Why do I have a sense of deja vu…', Khan thought.
The players bet, then another card was revealed, followed by more betting, then the final river card.
It was Texas Hold'em wearing a cheap fantasy costume. Suits renamed, face cards rethemed as knights and lords, but the core rules — hole cards, community cards, betting rounds, closest to twenty-one without busting in earlier rounds but full poker hands here — were unmistakable.
A particularly thuggish brute at the table was winning far too consistently. Broad-shouldered, scarred knuckles, a crooked nose that had been broken multiple times, and a smug grin that never quite reached his cold eyes. He was playing dirty — Khan had seen the sleight of hand when the man "scratched" his arm and palmed a card during the last shuffle.
'System scan.'
[Name: Grimgor the Knuckle]
[Status: Greedy, Planning to clean out the table before midnight.]
[Notice: Bottom dealing, palming high cards and using a marked deck.]
Khan's mouth curled into a thin, unpleasant smile.
'Here we go.'
He leaned toward Miriel and murmured, "Please watch my back, your Highness. This should be entertaining."
Before she could reply, Khan stepped forward and dropped his pouch of silver onto the table with a loud clink.
"Room for one more?" he asked casually.
The dealer eyed the coins, then nodded. Grimgor looked him up and down, sizing him up like fresh meat, and grinned wider.
"Welcome to the table, stranger. Hope you brought more than that."
Khan took a seat directly across from the thug, rolling his shoulders once as he accepted his first two hole cards. Miriel standing close to him.
[Heroic move. Teaching gambling cheaters a lesson with your one and only skill. Truly, the stuff of legends.]
[Internal thought from Khan: Shut it. I'm about to enjoy this.]