Villain Hiring: Help! Author Wants Me Dead

The lift was smooth, too smooth for something floating entirely on mana circuits and glowing crystals.

I had seen castles fall and skies burn, but the silence right now ate at me in a way I couldn't explain.

My mind inadvertently jumped on that little girl, Pixie...

All this time, the only other thing running in my mind, other than the possible re-invasion of the hollows, was about Pixie.

After all...what I told her was only half the truth.

The ground beneath my feet, still unstable, made my stomach fall.

The girl beside me, tall and draped in shimmering silks that clung to her like liquid gold, flashed her perfect smile at the hovering cameras as we walked out of the elevator.

Auctioneer, they called her.

But she was more than just a pretty face. She was the Lapui House's charm in a dress.

Every blink and breath was designed to distract the guests while everything else happened behind the shadows.

"Don't worry," she said, her voice melodic as she brushed her earpiece, "the crowd is eating it up. They love your legend, Lord Romero."

"Of course they do," I muttered, watching the glowing walls around us flicker as we walked towards the main fifth-floor entry.

"Did you say something?" she asked sweetly.

"Just admiring your people skills," I replied.

The corridor was wide and velvet-lined, every wall polished so well it shone like ice under torchlight.

Guards in red and gold stood at each corner, while the crowd inside the balcony hall rose to their feet the moment I stepped out.

The room didn't fall silent, though—oh no.

Nobles loved their voices too much.

"Lord Romero! A pleasure to see you again!"

"Is it true the Jade King is attending this auction?"

"My cousin said you were in the East lately—any news from the borderlands?"

"Has trade resumed beyond the Glass Wastes?"

I didn't slow down, but I nodded at a few familiar faces.

I recognised lords from the Eastern Goldridge Mines, the Rusian Guild of Artificers, and even a priest from the Crescent Monastery.

The topic, thankfully, stayed far from the Romero household. They all wanted to talk about the world—the broken, battered world we now lived in.

"The West is boiling again," one merchant said grimly. "Three awakened beasts razed a merchant fleet last month."

"The Wailing Forest is spreading fast nonetheless~" whispered a masked woman in blue.

"It's growing faster than the old maps predicted."

"The Monoliths are still humming, even now," said another. "What do you make of it, Lord Romero?"

I kept my answers vague.

"Nothing hums without reason."

"The world's changing," I said.

"Lord Romero!"

The first to approach me directly was a tall man with skin like polished bronze and a long, white cape trailing behind him.

He moved with the confidence of someone used to ruling rooms. His name clicked into place in my memory.

Duke Almaris of the Eastern Scorchlands.

Head of the Almaris Trading Consortium.

War profiteer turned land baron.

Smelled like burnt sugar and sandalwood.

"It has been too long!" he said, offering a hand that sparkled with more rings than fingers.

"Lord Romero," he said warmly. "I wasn't sure if you'd really come. It's good to see an old face."

I remembered him.

"It's been a while," I said, walking slowly as he kept pace.

"The auctions have been busy lately. Everyone's buying up old mana weapons—scared of what's coming," he said, voice lowered. "Have you heard about the Seven Isles? They're building ships. Big ones."

"They're always building something," I replied.

"This time they're hiring war mages," The man added. "That's not trade. That's planning for a fight."

I didn't answer, letting him smile awkwardly as he stepped aside.

Another stepped up—this one older, slower, but no less dangerous.

Lady Mariene Vastra, the White Widow of Daunt.

Seventy-something.

The lady still wore her late husband's armour embellishments over her gowns.

She had a sharp tongue, and her connections were even sharper.

The 5 foot 8 inches lady followed me as she leaned on a silver cane that looked like a vulture's neck.

"Venus D. Romero," she said, her voice like broken glass dipped in honey. "Still making children cry, or have you softened with age?"

"I do both, depending on the child," I said, my lips twitching as the auctioneer lady gave me a sidelong glance.

Mariene's lip twitched. That was the closest thing to laughter you'd get out of her.

"I suppose you've heard the news from the far north," she continued.

"Whole villages, gone. Not burned. Not raided. Just...missing."

"I have."

She tapped her cane once on the floor.

"The weak are being erased.

And no one knows by what.

Or who?"

Then came the third—an unexpected one.

Prince Callum of the Southyork.

He was a young guy in his early twenties, dressed too richly for someone trying to be subtle.

But he had eyes that saw.

And the worst part?

I didn't trust him.

"Lord Romero," he greeted, offering a respectful nod. "Are you aware the Jade King has accepted an invitation to tonight's auction?"

"Am I supposed to clap?"

Callum smiled thinly. "Not unless you enjoy irony. The same man who refused to share mana-mapping technology with the East is now here, selling heirlooms he once declared sacred. He must be desperate."

"Desperate men are more useful than proud ones," I said.

Callum tilted his head. "Do you think that's why the gods gave us systems? Because we were too proud to grow on our own?"

I paused.

That one earned my attention.

"Maybe," I said after a long silence. "Or maybe it was the only way to force evolution."

He didn't speak again. Just nodded, slow, thoughtful—and drifted back to his seat.

The corridor buzzed again. Dozens more called out to me, some just to be seen. Others to gauge my expression. They didn't know what was coming.

No one did.

The auctioneer, still walking beside me, leaned in.

"We're ready."

I nodded and turned toward the balcony's edge.

The obsidian platform was already hovering silently just past the railing, lights adjusting to frame it in a radiant halo.

I stepped up onto the rail.

One last breath.

And then—

I jumped.

The air rushed past us, but the mana did its job. My boots hit the obsidian with barely a whisper, and the auctioneer landed beside me like a pebble on glass.

The mic floated up, catching the tension like a flame to dry grass.

It was then that I noticed that the whole crowd had finally quietened down.

A whole of 7 floors and thousands of ears attentively focused on our figures.

All waiting.

And so...I gave them exactly what they feared.

***