No! I don't want to be a Super Necromancer!

Lian Yue's approach was not sudden but it was deliberate.

Even before her feet touched the steps, people were clearing space without being asked.

That was the effect of reputation.

Young Mistress of the Divine Pearl Sect, a woman whose name was etched onto dozens of ancient treasure bids and whispered across the upper floors of every auction house in the eastern provinces. She collected rare weapons like they were candy. If she didn't want something, it probably wasn't worth owning.

And tonight, she clearly wanted a better look at Damien Bloodbane.

She descended the stairs in flowing jade robes that shimmered like dew on a lotus leaf, each step measured, her expression unreadable beneath eyes that gleamed with interest and calculation.

Her six masked guards remained perfectly still behind her, but their body language shifted slightly. Protective, alert, and just a little bit curious themselves.

Damien barely looked up as she approached.

"You made quite the impression," Lian Yue said, her voice like honey cooling over porcelain. "But do take care. Qian Yuze has a long memory and a shallow sense of honor. That is a dangerous combination."

Damien's gaze flicked toward her, calm and unreadable. "Thanks for the warning."

That was all.

No praise. No flirtation. Not even a glance of surprise that one of the capital's most elusive heiresses was speaking to him in public.

Lian Yue tilted her head slightly, the jade ornament in her hair catching the light.

That was unexpected.

Men usually tried too hard to impress her. Or stared too long. Or tripped over their own words trying to be clever. Even the proud ones stammered a little when she spoke first.

But this one? This handsome youth?

He dismissed her like she was just another stone on the path.

"How curious," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Fatty gave her a respectful bow as he followed Damien. "Young Mistress."

She offered a faint nod in return, eyes still on Damien's back.

He was already walking away, hands in his pockets like the world owed him a nap and a pork bun.

"Hmph." she muttered, expression curling with both frustration and interest. "He actually ignored me."

One of her masked guards tilted her head. "Should we intervene, Mistress?"

She snapped her fingers once. "No. We follow. Quietly. I want to see how the story ends."

The masked guards exchanged silent glances, then melted into the shadows behind her.

Lian Yue watched Damien's retreating figure for a moment longer.

"He's not faking indifference." she murmured. "He really doesn't care about talking to me. Does he not know who I am? Or is he so powerful to the point that I am irrelevant? Interesting."

Another guard stepped forward. "Do you want him as a protector, or a pet?"

She tapped her chin with one slender finger, amused. "Neither. Maybe just someone worth watching for once."

The moment Damien and Fatty stepped into the cool Beijing night, something shifted.

The air was too quiet for a city this alive.

Too still.

Too expectant.

The plaza outside the Imperial Serpent Auction House, normally bustling even at this hour, had emptied like someone had silenced the world. Merchants had packed early. The mana lights flickered with an uneasy rhythm.

Even the street performers had vanished, as if warned by instinct.

Because Qian Yuze was waiting.

He stood beneath the dragon-shaped fountain at the center of the square, where shimmering streams of liquid mana flowed like silent waterfalls. The glow reflected off his formal military coat, dark wine red with gold trim, the crest of his house stitched proudly on the chest—a phoenix curling protectively around a sabre.

But more than the clothes, it was the presence.

He hadn't come alone.

Two bodyguards flanked him. Not posturing thugs. Not mercenary muscle. These were trained killers, with the stance of former special forces and the quiet stillness of men who knew how to finish a fight. Their mana was restrained but palpable. Eyes sharp. Hands too close to their belts.

They weren't there to bluff.

They were there to break.

And Qian Yuze… he looked ready to enjoy every second of it.

"You really thought you could walk away?" he said quietly, almost conversational. But the edge in his voice could have cut glass. "With my item. My win. My moment."

He took a slow step forward, smile curling without warmth.

"Hand over the orb," he said, voice low and sharp. "And I'll let you keep your legs."

Fatty stepped slightly in front of Damien, but Damien reached out and gently eased him aside. He tilted his head.

"So tell me, snake prince," he said mildly. "Who do I thank for raising someone like you?"

Qian Yuze's face darkened. But he answered with a slow, almost ritualistic pride.

"My father is Colonel Qian Jian. Fourth Military Region. He controls the eastern mana corridors, the artillery channels, the strategic deployment hubs. Without him, half the coast goes dark."

His smile stretched wider.

"My mother is Tang Meihua. Heiress to the Silver Phoenix Bank. She holds more military debt than the entire Western Treasury. Her signature decides whether half your generals get paid on time."

He opened his arms slightly, as if inviting thunder.

"I sit on the Silver Phoenix board. And the Qian family council. I carry more weight in this city than half the military command chain. And I've buried people for less than that smug look on your face."

He stepped closer again, his tone turning cold and certain.

"So I'll ask once. Give me the orb or… Hehehehe. You wouldn't die. But you would very much wish that you were."

His bodyguards chuckled and cackled like a bunch of hooligans. One cracked his knuckles.

Damien raised an eyebrow.

"That's a lot of responsibility," he said casually. "Especially for someone who's been losing all night."

Qian Yuze's smile twitched. Then it disappeared.

"Oh, you think this is funny?" His voice climbed. "You think this is some back-alley scuffle? I'll have you blacklisted from every academy. I'll freeze your bank accounts, mark your file as treason-adjacent. I'll put a mana bounty on your head so fat, the monks at Golden Pagoda will crawl out of seclusion just to collect it."

He leaned forward, voice nearly a growl.

"You've got no name. No house. No backing. So unless you're ready to get on your knees and beg, you better start—"

Damien pulled out his chronolink.

And casually hit speed dial.