The Great Villain! Goes Gambling...?

Lucian surveyed the scene before him, a slow smirk curling his lips. Finally—a competent army. The goblins had their uses, but humans were simply better. Even if they were drunkards.

"At ease," he commanded, his voice carrying an edge of authority.

The men rose from their knees, standing taller now—proud, empowered, their Dominion Codices humming with newfound strength.

"First order of business: indoctrination." Lucian's tone was blunt, leaving no room for discussion.

The barkeep, the only one not entirely swept up in the moment, raised a skeptical brow. "And what's that supposed to do?"

Lucian chuckled, his amusement evident. "It lets me gain more Dominions, obviously." His violet eyes gleamed. "And I'm sure all of you would like a share of whatever I unlock in the process."

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room. Greed and ambition—reliable motivators.

Lucian turned his attention back to the barkeep. "Since you're the most sober one here—aside from Ignir, of course—" he flicked a glance at the boy before resting a firm hand on the man's shoulder, "you'll be leading the recruitment."

The barkeep blinked, then scoffed. "Me?"

"Nothing like a local to convince the local populace, eh...?" Lucian trailed off, suddenly realizing he didn't know the man's name.

The barkeep smirked. "It's Varen, milord."

Lucian laughed. "How noble-sounding. Very well then, Varen—I assume you already know how to execute my orders?"

Varen stroked his chin, his expression shifting into one of calculation. "Of course. It takes one to know one, and I happen to know nearly everyone in this town."

"Confident. Good." Lucian nodded approvingly, then turned to Ignir, who stood expectantly, looking at him with wide-eyed anticipation.

Lucian crouched slightly, meeting the boy's gaze. "You, child—" He ruffled Ignir's hair, an almost playful glint in his eyes. "You're coming with me."

Ignir tilted his head. "Where?"

Lucian's smirk deepened, his eyes glowing with an eerie violet light.

Lucian paused for a moment, a glint of mischief flickering in his eyes. "Now that our little army has been set in motion... it's time for some reconnaissance." He leaned down to Ignir, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "In other words... we're going gambling."

Varen chuckled from the sidelines. "I'm sorry, milord—just didn't expect that."

Lucian flashed a sly grin, his tone lighter than before. "Leadership requires versatility, Varen. A little luck never hurt anyone."

He joined in the laughter, the tension from earlier easing. "I don't blame you. I'll be taking a little tour around the city while you do my work for me. We'll keep in touch."

Varen placed a hand over his chest, bowing slightly. "Leave it to us."

The other men nodded in agreement, their expressions eager and determined, driven by the promise of power.

One man, standing to the side and brandishing a jagged sword—the only real weapon in the room—grinned confidently. "Aye, and I'll keep an eye on Varen in case he tries to backstab us."

Before he could finish, a rusted coin hit him square in the gut, making him double over with a wheeze. Varen's Codex glowed faintly, the Dominion of Poverty activating just enough to make his point.

"Shut it," Varen said, laughing at the man's expense.

Lucian watched the exchange with a smirk. Seems I picked the right man for the job.

"Well, I'm off," Lucian announced, waving at his followers before stepping out.

Varen watched Lucian disappear into the streets, his expression thoughtful. As the men around him began discussing their new powers with enthusiasm, Varen couldn't help but wonder if he'd just made the best—or worst—decision of his life.

He glanced at his own Codex, feeling its faint hum. "A leader who doesn't look down on the likes of us, huh?" he murmured to himself, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. "Guess it's worth a shot."

Once outside the slums, Lucian's senses were once again assaulted by the pungent smells and bleak sights of the area. He grimaced slightly, huffing in irritation.

"I can never get used to this," he muttered.

Ignir, walking a step behind, offered a timid smile. "...You'll get... used to it."

Lucian glanced down at the boy, a rare smile touching his lips. "Of course, child. How can I be a leader if I can't adapt to the environment of my own followers?"

With that, Lucian led the way out of the slums, heading toward the bustling market district, Ignir trailing behind him with a mix of awe and curiosity.

Lucian strolled confidently through the bustling streets, admiring the wares on display—despite being, quite literally, broke.

"Let me ask you something, child." He placed one hand on his chin, the other tucked neatly behind his back.

Ignir glanced up at him, curious. "What is it?"

Lucian's lips curled into a mischievous grin. "What is power?"

"Uhh… Dominions?" Ignir offered hesitantly.

Lucian burst into laughter, spinning dramatically on his heel before turning to the boy. "Wrong!" he declared, his voice full of theatrical flair.

He gestured toward an old woman buying vegetables, his eyes gleaming. "It's money!"

Lucian grinned as Ignir gave him a puzzled look. "Power comes in many forms, child. Dominion, respect, fear... but money? It bends all of them. A wealthy leader doesn't need to convince—people follow willingly."

A few market-goers scoffed, but Lucian didn't mind. Let them laugh—he knew that in this city, gold would open doors faster than threats.

One woman, seated behind a stall selling wooden figurines, made her disdain clear with a loud scoff.

"Of course, a noble dressed like that would say something so shallow," she muttered, her voice dripping with disdain.

Lucian whirled toward her with another exaggerated spin, striking an overly dramatic pose. "Silence, wench!" he declared, pointing at her with theatrical indignation.

The woman's brow twitched. "Excuse me!?" She placed a hand on her chest, feigning offense.

"I'll have you know, I'm not just any wench," she huffed, lifting her chin with pride. "Even in your wildest dreams, you couldn't fathom beauty such as mine."

She turned her back to him with a flourish, but kept one eye on him, smirking mockingly.

"Oh really?" Lucian grinned, striking another exaggerated pose. "Take a closer look, then." He angled his face, emphasizing what he clearly believed to be perfection.

The woman scoffed. "Whatever."

Lucian's smile twitched. He cleared his throat, adjusting his collar dramatically. "Come, Ignir," he announced. "It seems the people here have no appreciation for true beauty."

Ignir followed, struggling to stifle a laugh.

Lucian and Ignir continued down the bustling street, Lucian's mood clearly soured by the earlier encounter. His steps were brisk, his expression tense.

Then, his eyes lit up as he spotted a grand sign hanging above a large, bustling building: "The Dragon's Wager."

"We have arrived!" Lucian proclaimed, planting his hands on his hips and pointing dramatically at the building.

"This is where we secure our fortune, Ignir!" His previous irritation melted away, replaced by gleeful ambition. With a proud stride, he made his way to the entrance—only to be abruptly stopped by a guard.

The man stood tall, clad in classic leather armor with an iron greatsword strapped to his back. A silver-rank adventurer's badge gleamed proudly on his chest.

The guard eyed them both, his expression unamused. "Sorry, no entry."

Lucian arched an eyebrow, gesturing at his lavish attire. "Do you not see what I'm wearing?" he scoffed, clearly insulted.

The guard sighed. "Not you—him." He jabbed a thumb toward Ignir. "No slaves allowed inside."

Ignir blinked in confusion, pointing to himself. "Me…?"

"Don't listen to him, child," Lucian interjected, tapping his foot impatiently. "He isn't a slave," Lucian snapped at the guard. "And second of all, what do you expect me to do? Just leave him outside?"

The guard remained stoic, but there was a hint of skepticism in his gaze.

Lucian's eyes narrowed, his tone gaining a sharp edge. "If you can't recognize the difference between a servant and a slave, perhaps I should speak to your manager about how they hire their staff."

The guard hesitated, clearly weighing his options.

The guard shrugged, clearly uninterested in making a fuss. "Fine. But at least get your so-called servant some better attire."

Lucian puffed out his chest, undeterred. "I will!" he proclaimed confidently, then muttered under his breath, "After I make some money here."

The guard raised an eyebrow, his expression flat and unimpressed. Great, another broke noble who thinks gambling will restore his fortune, he thought, rolling his eyes as he stepped aside to let them through.

Lucian gave a triumphant nod and strode past the guard with Ignir in tow, his mood lifted once more. The flicker of excitement in his eyes was unmistakable—finally, the promise of riches was just beyond the door.