January of 1811 A.D. had arrived, marking the dawn of a new year in this turbulent era. While ordinary citizens across the continent lit candles and prayed for hope, prosperity, and a life free from the shadows of war, others whispered different prayers into the cold winter air. They prayed for chaos, for the strength to trample their enemies, and for the power to dominate a world that only respected brutality. In this age, cultivation was the only ladder to heaven, and the clans at the top were more than willing to drench the earth in blood to maintain their fame and overpowered status.
Though it was deep winter, the expected snow had yet to fall on the island. Only a biting, dry wind swept through the streets of Neue Fiona—a wind that could easily claim the lives of those born without magic or internal energy to keep their blood warm.
The time on Hermes's wristwatch read exactly 4:57:45 PM.
Hermes walked with a steady, noble gait, flanked by Chief Zamor on his left and Justin on his right. The architecture here was a jarring blend; the stone foundations and timber beams screamed of 15th-century medieval Europe, yet the streets were cluttered with modern eyesores. Rusty lamps flickered with low-quality gas, and tangled webs of black wires—a mess of primitive electrical engineering—draped across the buildings like a spider's web. Below these wires, the wet market was a hive of activity, crowded with villagers haggling over the day's catch.
'It's a disaster,' Hermes thought, scanning the weary faces of the vendors. 'No private investment, zero security, and a regime that clearly treats them like dirt. No wonder everyone wants to migrate.'
If he were in their position, he'd flee too. He understood the desperation of a man trying to save his family from starvation.
They finally arrived at the Village Hall, a tall, imposing structure of grey stone that sat at the heart of the district. As they stepped through the heavy oak doors, Hermes felt an immediate wave of heavy pressure. Every head in the lobby turned. The staff and the locals alike fixed the newcomers with unwelcomed, suspicious glares.
Justin's hand twitched toward his coat, his eyes sharpening as he prepared to scold the locals for their disrespect toward his master. Hermes caught the movement and gave a subtle, sharp shake of his head. 'Don't make a scene,' the gesture commanded.
"Calm down, everyone!" Zamor shouted, clapping his hands once. The crowd instantly looked away, pretending to return to their business, though the tension remained thick enough to cut.
However, one person didn't look away.
Standing behind the main reception desk was a woman who seemed entirely out of place in this drab stone hall. She had short, chocolate-brown hair pinned back by a delicate flower clip, and a jaunty red cap sat atop her head. A vibrant violet scarf was draped elegantly around her neck, contrasting with her crisp, professional receptionist outfit. She had the poised, slender physique of a high-fashion model, yet her expression was a mask of simmering annoyance.
This was Ilona, the Chief's personal secretary and the primary gatekeeper of Neue Fiona.
"Good afternoon," Ilona said, her voice like velvet wrapped around a blade. She bowed deeply, her violet scarf brushing the desk. "Welcome to the Neue Fiona Village Hall. I am Ilona, the receptionist and sole secretary to the Head of this village."
When her eyes shifted to Hermes, he felt a jolt of genuine alarm. 'This girl... her aura is disturbing.'
"Ooh... Chief Zamor," Ilona turned her gaze toward her superior, her smile widening into something terrifyingly artificial. "It is rare to see you with strangers. I wonder, why has our superior brought them here instead of coming to see me this morning as planned?"
"Umm, t-t-they are my guests," Zamor stammered, his bravado from the street evaporating.
"I cannot believe you spared the time to guide them personally," Ilona said, reaching out to pinch Zamor's arm with a saccharine smile. "Especially when you refused to see me earlier, you know."
"Ilona, please! Ouch! Okay, I'm sorry!" Zamor winced, pulling his arm away. "Kindly assist them with their request?"
Ilona let out a dramatic sigh and straightened her cap. "Oh, my apologies. Where are my manners? Cough. Welcome, gentlemen. Hopefully, you won't commit mischief or bring chaos to our village. What can I do for you?"
Justin stepped forward to speak, but Hermes held out a hand, choosing to take the lead himself.
"Greetings, madam," Hermes said, placing a hand over his heart with the effortless grace of a high-born noble. "I am Aljen, a merchant of the Southern Cimeria Desert, and this is my butler, Justin. We wish to register as valid visitors. We are a harmless duo, purely interested in business exploration. If there is a fee, the full amount is ready for immediate transfer."
Ilona's half-lidded eyes scanned Hermes from his boots to his gas mask. She felt a strange, magnetic pull from his presence—something that didn't fit the image of a mere desert merchant.
"Mister... you're stra—?" She almost blurted out the word 'strange,' but Hermes interrupted her.
"Aljen. Just Aljen," he said, his voice dropping into a commanding, yet polite register. "Please, call me Aljen, madam."
Ilona faltered. Behind that black mask, she couldn't see his face, but the sheer weight of his presence made her worry that she might have already offended someone far more powerful than a simple merchant.
"I... I see," she whispered, her sullen expression finally cracking.
Ilona's internal alarm was ringing. Her feminine intuition, sharpened by years of dealing with the shady underbelly of village politics, told her that the man behind the gas mask was far from a simple merchant. She didn't like his fashion, his strange behavior, or the heavy, noble weight of his presence.
"My apologies, sir," she said, her smile sharpening into something purely sarcastic. "But your request is a little broad and lacks legal entries. Have you even bothered to learn the laws of this territory and the requirements for entry?"
Hermes nodded without hesitation. "I am well aware of them."
He wasn't lying. As a former developer of the game, he had literally helped write the basic code of this world's legal system. However, even he had to admit that some of the finer articles were a bit fuzzy in his memory.
"How convenient," Ilona retorted. "Then I don't need to waste two hours lecturing you. But sir, as you are empty-handed—carrying nothing but the clothes on your back—I assume you have a passport or a valid government I.D.?"
She waved her index finger from right to left, a mocking gesture of denial. "No ID, no evidence, then no entry. That is the method we use here." She tapped a wooden board behind her covered in dense, bureaucratic text. "This lists the proper procedures for licenses, citizenship, and registration. I assume you'll be giving up now?"
She was confident she had trapped him. But to her surprise, the young Don simply folded his arms and tilted his head with a firm, unbothered gesture.
"I see your point," Hermes replied. "Legal documents are essential for security. However, as I mentioned, mine were lost during the voyage or left at our hotel. Is there no other legal avenue for a man of my standing?"
"Apparently not," she sighed with mock pity. "But I will tell you the three basic rules of Neue Fiona. First: Thou shalt not kill. Second: Thou shalt not steal or covet thy neighbor's goods. Third: Thou shalt not conduct any suspicious activity related to the Mafia. Violation results in instant execution. Or, if you're lucky, an honorable deportation."
'This girl is dangerous,' Hermes thought, glancing at Justin. He saw his butler's eyes darkening with a murderous intent.
'Please, Justin, don't make this harder than it is,' Hermes thought, trying to project the message. 'This is our chance to infiltrate peacefully.'
Justin sighed, his interpretation of Hermes's look slightly skewed: 'Don't kill them yet, Justin. I'll be the one to deal with this annoying fool. I've got this.'
The tension was reaching a breaking point when Chief Zamor finally stepped in. He knew this was his mess—if he had only invited Ilona to lunch, she wouldn't be being this difficult.
"Ilona, please. Just give them what they want," Zamor said, stepping forward. He reached into his coat and produced two folded papers embossed with the official seal of the Camelia family.
Ilona took the papers, her brow furrowing as she broke the seal. When she realized what they were, her eyes went wide. "These? Chief... is this the illegal residence tool, [Cuncon]? You're asking me to go beyond the law?"
Zamor didn't back down. He reached out and placed his hands over hers, closing the distance between them. Ilona's cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and she averted her gaze, her heart fluttering despite her irritation.
The [Cuncon] was a forbidden magical artifact—a "black box" of bureaucracy. It was a tool used by the most dangerous elements of the world—cartels and shadow syndicates—to hack into government population databases and create permanent, legal identities out of thin air. In his past world, it was the equivalent of a high-level hacking rig used by anonymous groups to bypass border security. Being caught with one meant ten years in prison and a staggering fine of 600,000 luzers.
"Listen to me, Ilona," Zamor whispered, his voice intense. "These two saved my twins. Do you really want to deport the saviors of my children? They are merchants from a foreign land. If we mistreat them, we lose everything. This young man has promised to invest. He will turn this village into a city-state—the first of its kind in Western Scily! Think of the tourism, the prosperity!"
Hermes gave a slow, solemn nod of confirmation.
"But... but it's against policy!" Ilona stammered, her hand trembling in the Chief's grip. "I don't want to use my power for this. If the manager finds out, I'll be taxed, or worse, imprisoned. Chief Zamor... do you realize the cost of this crime? This is the first time you've ever asked me to do something like this."
The weight of the decision hung in the air, the forbidden papers glowing faintly with a dark, magical residue between them.
"It is not a crime if no one knows," Zamor said, his voice dropping into a grave, low register.
"What?" Ilona's eyes flew open, her hands instinctively covering her mouth. Her shock was palpable. "Chief, you are the head of this village! You of all people should know the consequences of this. If the law is violated and word leaks out, the people won't just sue you—they will revolt! The authorities will descend upon us!"
Hermes sensed the genuine fear radiating from the woman, but he also sensed something deeper: a secret she was guarding that made her terrified of any legal scrutiny. He decided to test the waters.
"Madam," Hermes raised his hand, cutting through the escalating argument. "May I ask the real reason for denying us a simple tourist card? Is it the law, or is it something else?"
Ilona hesitated. Her gaze flickered downward to the desk, her fingers fidgeting nervously with the edge of the [Cuncon] papers. Hermes watched her closely. 'She's hiding something,' he realized. 'And she thinks revealing it puts her life in danger.'
"Alright," Hermes said, raising his hand to stop her before she could stammer out an excuse. "You don't need to tell us. We'll leave. Thank you for the hospitality, Chief, but it's a waste of time if we aren't even given the chance to prove we are simple merchants. I won't stay where I'm not welcome."
"Wait! Hold up!" Zamor barked, slamming his hand onto the table. The sound echoed, causing several civilians to jump. He quickly lowered his voice as a dozens of eyes turned toward them. "Ilona, please... I'm begging you. Consider the future of our village. Think of what these men can bring us."
Ilona let out a long, weary sigh. The rigid professional mask finally crumbled. "Alright, fine. I'll do it. But," she paused, her eyes locking onto the Chief's with a sudden, sharp focus, "I expect an equal price for my service."
Zamor laughed heartily, the tension breaking instantly. "Don't worry about the price! I'll give you special treatment. You can live with us at the Camelia House for the time being. I'll personally guarantee you the best room, and you'll spend the entire week enjoying our family's company. Give or take?"
'Wait, isn't that just blatant bribery?' Hermes thought, blinking behind his mask. 'And Chief, you realize we can hear you, right? No one accepts a bribe that cheap... unless she's already in love with you. Or she has an incredibly specific fetish for staying with your family.'
To Hermes's surprise, Ilona didn't protest. She began to giggle quietly, looking down at a small picture of the twins tucked under the glass of her desk. Her smile turned almost petrifying as she glanced back at Zamor. She whipped a pen from her pocket and signed the papers with a flourish.
Ilona stood up and began to chant under her breath. She traced a complex geometric pattern in the air above the two [Cuncon] papers.
Suddenly, the papers erupted in a brilliant, twinkling light. The glow was so intense that the entire hall went silent. Several villagers began to stare, but Ilona whipped her head around, her eyes flashing with a cold, terrifying gaze that promised a swift end to anyone who kept watching. The onlookers immediately returned to their business, trembling.
'Note to self: Never make an enemy of this woman,' Hermes thought, a bead of cold sweat rolling down his neck.
"Sir Aljen and his companion, please come closer," Ilona said, her voice warm and sweet again. It was a jarring transition. She pushed the glowing papers toward them. "Please fill these out. You must ensure all information is correct and unbiased. The fee is 5 Luzers, but since our beloved Chief has already paid... you needn't worry."
"Thank you," Hermes said, bowing. "Is this all?"
"Yes," Ilona nodded. "Just the signatures."
Hermes and Justin exchanged a glance. It felt too easy—and highly illegal.
'Damn, what should I name myself?' Hermes murmured.
"I'm finished," Justin announced, sliding his paper back to Ilona.
'What? Justin, you're already done?' Hermes panicked. 'I haven't even touched the pen!'
Justin saw Hermes staring and gave him a confident, radiant thumbs-up. He clearly thought he was being praised for his efficiency.
"Now," Ilona instructed Justin, "sign over your printed name and press your thumb into this box. It contains the Magical Ink of Truth."
"Easy," Justin scoffed. "Like killing the small fries that attacked us last night."
Zamor and Ilona shared a confused glance and laughed it off, assuming it was a joke. Justin pressed his thumb down. The paper flared with a vibrant blue flame before shrinking and hardening into a small, glossy ID card.
"Congratulations, Mr. Justin," Ilona smiled. "You are now a registered visitor of this island. Enjoy your vacation."
"Aljen? What's taking you so long?" Zamor asked, noticing Hermes standing frozen over his paper. "Do you need help with the translation?"
Zamor leaned in to peek, but Hermes reflexively folded the paper shut. "A-ah, no need! Just... give me some space, sir."
Justin leaned into Hermes's ear, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "Boss... if you're afraid of leaking your true identity, give the word. I'll kill everyone in this building right now."
Hermes's eyes bugged out behind his mask. "No! Please restrain yourself! I'm fine! I'm just... reviewing the details! Just reviewing!"
"Don't hustle yourself, Sir," Ilona chimed in with a wink. "But remember: write only the truth. If you lie about your identity, the paper will turn a violent red to signal the deception. If it's the truth, it burns blue. The magic cannot be fooled."
'What the heck, girl?!' Hermes clenched his teeth. 'I know that! That's exactly why I'm terrified!'
His mind raced. If he wrote Hermes Archnemesis, the paper would burn blue—confirming his identity and instantly alerting the Chief and the entire village that the "Tyrant Don" was standing in their lobby. He'd be dead within seconds.
But if he wrote Aljen, would the magic consider it a lie? Could he use his name from his previous life?
'Damn it, Stump G,' he cursed the game's creator. 'You've put me in a corner where the truth is a death sentence and a lie is impossible.'
'Oh, whatever. May my luck be with me!'
Steeling his resolve, the young Don gripped the pen and scrawled the name he had carried from his previous life: Aljen. He followed Ilona's instructions, pressing his thumb firmly into the box of magical ink.
For a few heart-pounding seconds, nothing happened. Then, the paper erupted.
Everyone in the lobby, from the jaded staff to the gossiping civilians, gasped in unison. The flames weren't the steady blue of truth or the violent red of a lie. Instead, the paper was consumed by a deep, swirling purple fire. The magic burned rapidly, and when the light faded, the resulting card was a dark violet hue—the space for the "Username" was left eerily blank.
Hermes stared at the card, his mind racing. 'Purple? This wasn't in the game specs!' In his knowledge, there were only two possibilities: either the Chief had provided a corrupted [Cuncon] tool, or this was another "gift" from Stump G—a bug designed specifically to mess with his head. He could almost hear that bastard laughing in the distance.
"Ms. Ilona, there's something wrong with my card," Hermes said, holding it up.
Ilona tilted her head, her index finger covering her mouth in genuine confusion. "That's... strange. This is the first time I've seen a violet card, and the name field is empty. What could it be? If you wish, Mr. Aljen, we can redo the process. I have a spare."
'Crap, no more!' Hermes's eyebrows shot up behind his mask, and he waved his hands frantically in refusal.
"Oh boy, I don't think that's necessary," Chief Zamor intervened, stepping between them. "The card identifies him as a tourist, just like his butler. There's no need to repeat the process and waste more of your energy, Ilona."
"Umm... I guess so," Ilona sighed, though she still looked skeptical. "According to policy... well, I'll just ask the manager about it after my break. Anyway," she stretched her arms wide and forced a radiant smile, "Welcome to Neue Fiona, Mr. Aljen. I hope you enjoy your visit and your stay. If you need anything, just ask, and we will 'take care of it' as soon as we can."
As she spoke, her gaze turned predatory, sending a shiver down Hermes's spine. 'She's definitely going to charge me a terrifying price for this later,' he thought, sweating.
"Thank you very much, Madam," Hermes replied with a stiff bow.
Once they were safely outside the Hall, the cool evening air hit them. Hermes let out a massive sigh of relief. "Woah, that was close... I am never doing that again."
"Well, it's already evening," Chief Zamor said, stretching his weary limbs. "Why don't we head back to my house for dinner? My children would love to see you again."
"Chief, we appreciate the offer," Hermes said with a tired, polite laugh, "but we must decline. We have some business to attend to on our own."
Zamor looked surprised. "Separating? But you don't even know your way around this place."
"Don't worry, we can handle ourselves," Hermes assured him. "You should return to your family or check on your men at the clinic. We'll meet again, I promise."
"Wait! Before you go," Zamor called out, reaching into his vest. He pulled out a small, heavy platinum emblem. In the center was the sigil of a White Wolf surrounded by seven sharp claws pointing in different directions.
"What is this?" Hermes asked, inspecting the cold metal.
"It's a seal of the Camelia household," Zamor explained briefly. "This emblem identifies you as a special guest and a trusted friend of my family. It will grant you passage through almost any checkpoint in this village. Consider it a primary weapon if you encounter trouble. I... I just have a bad feeling about the near future."
"That's quite the gift," Hermes smiled, tucking the emblem into his chest pocket. "I'm honored to be a 'trusted acquaintance' of the Village Chief."
"Hoho, you should be! If you can't find a place to stay, our doors are always open." Zamor patted Hermes's shoulder one last time before disappearing into the evening shadows.
As soon as the Chief was out of sight, Justin pulled a hand-drawn map from his pocket. "Boss, should we head out? We should check this mark here." He pointed to a densley packed area on the edge of the map.
"That's District 5, isn't it?" Hermes asked. "The one the Chief said was crawling with criminals?"
Justin nodded. "As expected of Don Hermes, you saw through it immediately."
"Justin, let's postpone the investigation of District 5 for now," Hermes said calmly, his eyes scanning the flickering gas lamps of the "safe" districts. "My guts tell me something is fishy right here, under our noses. Voltaire once said that life is thickly sown with thorns, and the only remedy is to pass rapidly over them. The longer we dwell on misfortunes, the greater their power to harm us."
Justin's expression turned grave. "What does that mean, Boss?"
"It means they are hiding something right here in the 'protected' districts," Hermes answered, his brow furrowing. "The more we push into their secrets, the more trouble we'll find. But I need to know the truth. Justin, lend me your hand as we unfold the secrets of this territory. I want to find out exactly what is going on in my land."
"Affirmative, my Don," Justin replied, placing a hand over his heart with absolute loyalty. "I will follow your lead to the end."