For the next hour, North simply waited, letting his body recover. He sat on the worn stone benches, observing the duels unfold one after another—fast, brutal, and filled with displays of power that made his own abilities feel lacking. The realization struck him harder again.

His one Image—Borrowed Might—wasn’t enough.

Not if he seriously wanted to compete. He could jump, dodge, and throw a punch however he wanted, but against someone who could hurl ice shards from across the arena or move as fast as Fei Chen, it meant absolutely nothing. He was outmatched in every way. Even if he won a few fights through sheer tactics and luck, it wouldn’t take long before he hit a dead end. And ultimately, the root of the problem came back to the same thing. Money. With enough resources, he could buy more Images, train with better methods, strengthen his Imaginary Island. But without them? He had three more fights at best—assuming he didn’t get severely injured in one of them. If he did… then maybe his next fight would be his last.

There was simple truth to his observations: Most fights end in under five minutes. Distance control was crucial. Multiple Images provide tactical flexibility. Defensive Images alone weren’t enough.

North adjusted his plans immediately. He would come to the arena every day, spending a few hours just watching how Visionaries fought. He would train nonstop at home, working on his physical strength and finding ways to fully utilize and buy more Images. He would learn and adapt, collecting every bit of knowledge he could until he could compete on equal footing.

With that plan in mind, he spent the next two hours meticulously taking notes—analyzing movement patterns, attack styles, and how different Images interacted with each other. It was mentally exhausting, but crucial. However, after a while, boredom crept in. And boredom led to restlessness. With a stretch, North stood up, deciding it was time to call it a day.

As he made his way toward the exit, his ears caught something interesting.

A small group of Rank 3 Visionaries, standing by the entrance, talking in hushed but excited voices. North slowed his steps, casually drifting closer, just within earshot.

"I heard someone killed Yue Lingxi last night."

Then one of them, a broad-shouldered man with a heavy scar down his left cheek, leaned forward.

“What?"

The first speaker, a lean man with sharp eyes, nodded. "Yeah, it’s true. Someone found her dead body in an alley and called the authorities. They’ve already suppressed the news, but…" he trailed off, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. "I wonder what’s going through their heads right now."

North pretended to adjust his sleeves, staying within range.

A third Visionary, a woman in deep purple robes, crossed her arms. "Well, it’s the Festival of Session. Tons of foreigners in the city, all acting like they’re still in the wilderness. Whoever did it probably thought they could get away with it."

"They won’t," the scarred man scoffed.

"You think the Lustrous Sky Clan will let this slide? Not during their own festival?"

The sharp-eyed man chuckled. "That’s what makes it interesting. They have to handle this carefully. Yue Lingxi wasn’t just some wandering Visionary—she had connections."

Then the woman sighed. "The Fourth Young Master won’t let this go. He’ll turn the city inside out if he has to."

North remained still, his expression neutral, but his mind raced. They were already investigating, which he had expected.

The scarred man shook his head. "If the killer's smart, they're long gone," someone chuckled darkly. "Otherwise..." He drew a finger across his throat.

Well…North shivered, he hadn’t thought of it that way.

…

…

North kept his pace steady as he walked through the streets, though his heart pounded against his ribs. The news of Yue Lingxi's death would soon spread like wildfire , and each hour made his position more precarious.

His mind raced through the events of last night. Technically, I'm innocent. I didn't kill her. But try explaining that to investigators.

The more he thought about it, the more questions arose. Why did Fatty and Li Yi leave her body there? Were they in such a hurry after finding the Wings of Destiny Image? Or did they not find it at all?

He cursed his panic from last night. When the template transfer happened, he'd been so shocked by his transformation that he hadn't even thought to search her body for the Image. Such a basic oversight—but then, he'd been a bit preoccupied with suddenly becoming a jade beauty. It was a mistake—a potentially costly one. But regret was pointless. The past was done.

Now a more immediate issue climbed onto his head, one he couldn’t ignore. What if they somehow find out I was near her when she died?

What if they traced me to that alley? What if someone, somewhere, had noticed me? This wasn’t something he could wave away with a dismissive hand or fix with money. There were strange Images that could track others' scent, rewound time in an area to see past scenes. He wasn’t safe and nor could he guess what method the size of this clan would employ. Ultimately, this was a serious problem—one that had to be solved immediately.

North’s mind raced through possibilities. He hadn’t heard any news about Fatty and Li Yi, which meant one of two things. They had been smart enough to run the moment they found the body. They were still in the city, lying low, waiting for a chance to act.

The first was more likely. If they had half a brain, they would have already left under everyone’s noses. That meant all attention would turn toward finding someone else to pin this on.

What are my options? he thought, analyzing his situation. Leaving the city now wasn’t a good option. With his current strength, survival outside the city walls would be nearly impossible and the wilderness was full of beasts and unseen dangers.. Unlike a protagonist, he had no hidden master, no mysterious artifact, no conveniently discovered inheritance that would skyrocket his abilities overnight.

That left only one possibility. He had to increase his strength. Fast. And then, when the time was right—disappear. But raising strength quickly wasn’t simple.

Frustration bubbled up in his chest like poison. Three days. He'd been in this world for just three days, and not one had passed without a life-threatening crisis. And now, he had to make plans about escaping the clutches of the clans. The constant stress was starting to wear on him.

The obvious solution for safely travelling the wilderness was to increase his strength quickly, yet reality wasn't so simple. To grow stronger, he needed resources. To get resources, he needed money. And to get money fast, he had only a few dangerous options—fighting in the arena, gambling, taking on a mercenary job, or scamming some idiot rich young master. Even if he somehow got his hands on an absurd amount of money in the next few days, there was another problem.

Ranking up still followed certain laws. Forcing an Imaginary Island to expand too quickly was like trying to build a skyscraper without proper foundation—it might stand for a while, but eventually, it would collapse catastrophically. And such damages could prevent him from ever reaching Rank 3, assuming he even lived that long. And given his measured potential of seven liters of Nether Essence, his path to higher ranks was already narrow enough without adding self-inflicted wounds.

North returned home and immediately began packing his stuff. Running from hundreds of Visionaries hunting you down was stupid—but not being prepared to run was even stupider. His new ability to switch templates wasn't just an escape route—it was a weapon. He had to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. And if things truly spiraled out of control? If he found himself cornered, trapped, with no way out?

Then he would simply change templates and make a successful escape.

That was where his next plan came into play.

Young masters, proud and powerful, carried the best Images. They relied on their strength to protect them, never imagining that strength itself could be their weakness. A beautiful face, a moment of dropped guard... that's all it would take.

Strength? It could be substituted. With enough high-ranking Images, he could become strong overnight—but none of that mattered if he was dead.

Strength is a luxury. Survival is a necessity.

That realization settled deep into his bones, not as panic, but as clarity. His heart raced, but his mind was sharper than ever. Fear, he was learning, was the greatest teacher in this world. It stripped away pretense, morality, hesitation. Fear either broke you or forced you to break through your limitations.

North picked up a mirror, holding it up to his reflection. It shifted continuously as he studied it. It was a face that invited admiration, trust, and most importantly—carelessness.

His heart was calm. There was no longer any hesitation in changing templates. Why should there be?

At the end of the day, the body was nothing more than a house, a temporary house for will and ambition.

A house of flesh and bones.

It could be burned, disfigured, broken, or even killed.

And yet, he would remain. Who he was—what he was—was not bound to a template. If wearing this face meant he could trick a rich fool out of their fortune, grow stronger and have his freedom, then so be it.

If it meant playing a role, bending expectations, shifting identities like a snake shedding its skin, then he was more than willing.

At the end of the day, only the goal mattered.

And his goal was survival. And he would go to any extent to achieve it. To survive. He stared into those eyes—sometimes his original ones, sometimes those of ethereal beauty.

What was conventional morality in a world where strength meant life and weakness meant death?

Why cling so hard to Earth's values when they'd only get me killed here?

…

With a new plan in motion, North’s original timeline had been shredded. What was once a long-term goal—gradually learning to fight, accumulate resources, and rank up over the next few months—had now been compressed into mere days. A week at most. He had no choice. If he wanted to survive the incoming storm, he needed to fast-track his strength by any means necessary. Tonight, he would return to the Festival of Session. But this time, he wouldn’t just be watching. Tonight, he would go fishing.

The day was still bright, so in the meantime, he let his consciousness drift inward, entering his Imaginary Island. It had been several hours since he had spread the Decade Boundary Expansion Soil, and now was the time to see the results. Upon entering, he found himself once again standing atop the floating landmass, suspended in the vast white nothingness.

His Imaginary Island was small, barely the size of a single room, its surface covered in soft grass that swayed in a breeze that didn’t exist.

At first glance, nothing had changed.

Frowning, North walked the perimeter, scanning the island for any visible differences.

No new structures.

No sudden expansions.

No immediate transformation.

The Decade Soil was supposed to help expand the boundary, but if there had been any growth, it was too subtle for the naked eye to detect. Not wanting to jump to conclusions, North reached for his measuring instrument—the standard tool used by Visionaries to map and track their Imaginary Island’s growth. He set the device down and began the process. For the next few minutes, he carefully mapped the area, tracing the new limits of his domain. And finally—he had results. His island had expanded. But the increase was less than half a meter. North exhaled slowly, feeling a mix of relief and frustration. It had worked—just barely.

According to ShouGuo’s teachings, to safely advance to Rank 2, a Visionary needed to expand their Imaginary Island at least threefold before even attempting the breakthrough.

This wasn’t just about size—expansion was necessary for stability. The more landmass a Visionary had, the more Nether Essence could be generated. And Nether Essence was everything: The larger the Imaginary Island, the greater the quantity of Nether Essence produced. The denser the Nether Essence, the more potent it became, naturally compressing into a higher-quality energy.

That compression process was what allowed a Visionary to advance. But right now? His growth was pitiful. The entire kilogram of Decade Soil had been used, and all it had given him less than a half meter of land. It was better than nothing, but nowhere near what he needed.

North ran a hand through his hair, staring at the barely changed landscape with mild irritation. This wasn’t going to work. If he wanted real progress, he needed something stronger. Something that could expand his Imaginary Island without harming its foundation. The problem? That kind of high-quality resource wasn’t just rare—it was also expensive. Far more expensive than he could afford. And that meant only one thing.

Maybe this is why young masters are so arrogant, he thought grimly. Having resources to grow quickly without worrying about foundation damage must be nice.

Thus, tonight, he had to make sure his plan succeeded. And then find a way to safely leave the city in the next few days possibly.

The general outline of his plan was, though he couldn’t travel alone, he could travel with those caravan, merchant or similar parties travelling between places.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

…

Evening approached peacefully, no authorities knocking at his door. Earlier, North had wandered into the city's shadier districts, searching for certain supplies. He wasn't surprised to find an openly operating poison shop—in a world of visionaries, even deadly substances were just another trade good.

The shop itself was wedged between a herb dealer and a blacksmith. Inside, glass containers lined shelves in neat rows, their contents ranging from innocent-looking powders to dark smelly liquids.

"Welcome, young master," the shopkeeper, a thin woman with calculating eyes, greeted him. Dried herbs hung from her ceiling, and the air smelled sweet in a way that made North's nose scrunch. "Looking for something specific?"

"I need something subtle," North said, maintaining his young master facade. "Something that incapacitates without obvious signs."

The woman's smile widened slightly. "Ah. of course." She reached beneath her counter and brought out a lacquered box. "Dream Mist powder. Tasteless, colorless. Mix with wine. The victim simply... drifts off. Peaceful. Clean."

"Side effects?"

"Minor headache upon waking. Nothing traceable."

She named a price that made North wince internally, but he kept his expression neutral.

"And something faster? In case the first option... proves inadequate."

She produced a smaller vial filled with green liquid. "Toad Skin Potion, three drops on skin causes unconsciousness in five seconds. More expensive, but very reliable. Popular among young masters with... specific interests."

North bought both, trying not to think too hard about how many others had made similar purchases. The woman wrapped his items carefully before handing them to him. He paid as his pockets cried, carefully tucking the small packages away after.

…

Outside, the sun was already hiding behind the mountain horizon, spilling orange over the otherwise blue blanket. Mountain peaks jutted into the sky like broken teeth, their shadows stretching long across the valley. The view was picturesque and peaceful except for the traffic on the streets, like restless fireflies in the growing darkness.

North had again decided to walk the festival to save every bit of penny, his boots clicking against the worn stone path.

Like yesterday, this time he didn't stop in the outside festival for too long. Instead, he directly made his way through the cramped market stalls. And then what he did was to find books related to history of the world, extensive maps of the area, how to properly utilize Images, Honest in Dishonesty, Ways to Rob your fellow Visionaries without Suspicion, and Mysterious Ways Imaginary Island Works.

North hadn't realized before, but actually most of the market was flooded with these kinds of books. A few of them were even quite famous. A lot of new Visionaries purchased them eagerly, their eyes bright, though older ones showed disdain, their faces creasing with familiar contempt.

He kept his large haul of books inside his Imaginary Island. It was very convenient; instead of carrying stuff in bags and hands. Visionaries could store most of their things like Images inside their Imaginary Island, the only limitation was the living. They would be dead or explode in mere seconds. North had no idea why as he seemed to breath inside just fine.

Thereafter, he headed straight for the Plum Gardens. But instead of rushing in, he posted up in a good observation spot. Young masters trickled in at first—one here, two there. But as true night descended, they arrived in waves. The rich ones stood out immediately. They moved differently, carried themselves like they owned the air they breathed. Each one drew their own circle of followers like moths to flame.

These young masters clustered into distinct groups, each trying to outshine the others. Some showed off treasures, others boasted of their latest advancements. It soon became a game of who could attract the most sycophants. Ultimately, It was a showcase of wealth and power, a contest of who could posture the most elegantly, who could attract the most admirers, who could speak with the most authority. And more importantly, It was a gathering of men too comfortable in their own status to suspect a thing.

North leaned against the wooden pillar, his cup swirling with fragrant wine, watching the gathering of young masters like a hunter observing prey.

“The textile market has been particularly profitable this season,” a tall, refined-looking young man in deep blue robes announced, a confident smirk resting on his sharp, angular face.

His name, Wei Jian, was familiar even to those who weren’t from the city—his family controlled nearly half the silk and fabric trade in the Lustrous Sky Clan’s domain.

“Even the elders of the clan have recognized our growth,” he continued, adjusting the silver ring on his index finger. “We received exclusive rights to supply the next Festival of Hundred Lanterns. The profits will be astronomical.”

Around him, several others nodded and praised his family’s business acumen.

“A well-earned monopoly, indeed,” one of them chuckled. “Who else could handle such large-scale supply chains? Even the Imperial Trading Guild has eyes on you.”

Wei Jian laughed modestly, though the glint in his eye showed he fully agreed.

North’s fingers tapped lightly against the cup in his hand. Monopoly over textiles? A trade empire backed by the clan? He could already imagine the coin pouches sitting heavy at Wei Jian’s waist.

A little further ahead, another conversation caught North’s ear.

"Did you hear about Young Master Liu's new Image?" Someone asked. "Cost his family thirty thousand Rain Stones."

"Thirty thousand?" Liu preened under the attention. "Well, quality has its price. Not everyone can afford the best."

A young man in white stepped forward, his robes bearing the mark of the Azure Cloud Trading Company. "Speaking of prices, our latest shipment of formation cores arrived yesterday. Limited supply, of course. But for friends..." He let the implication hang.

"The Ming family appreciates such friendship," another youth spoke up. "Father always says business flows better between companions."

A particularly arrogant voice rose above the others. "The Four Seasons positions? Please. My father has already spoken with the clan's evaluation committee. Some things are simply... predetermined."

Then he slipped away from the main gathering, finding a secluded spot behind one of the garden's many spirit trees. He pulled out the knockout vials from the small poison shop, checking them one last time. Then he considered his targets.

The loudest young masters would be too obvious—they'd have followers watching their every move. The truly powerful ones were too dangerous. But there, soon spotted many who fit the mark perfectly, like someone new money from the merchant class. Wealthy enough to have good Images, but not established enough to have real protection. Most importantly, he kept stealing glances at passing jade beauties while trying to act uninterested.

"Time to test this template," North thought, feeling the familiar shift ripple through his body. His features softened, until they adopted a perfect balance between delicate beauty and melancholic fragility.

[Installed Archetype: The Tragic Beauty Template.]

[You'll subtly draw people in, making them curious, invested, and emotionally engaged. The template gives credibility to any half-spun sob story, enhancing the effect of any deception. Meanwhile, creating an unspoken vulnerability, making others lower their guard.]

But despite this dramatic transformation, he remained in his own clothes. There was no need to change. Given his now absurdly high face value, others would simply assume he was a mysterious beauty with eccentric tastes—a rare flower with unusual preferences, someone whose odd choices only added to their allure. And allure was everything. It was also embarrassing but what else could he do when he wanted to live. Anyway, the key to deception wasn’t simply about appearance—it was about perception control. People saw what they expected to see. In a place like this, where perception dictated everything, that was all that mattered. Secondly, he simply wasn't comfortable in them.

The next part of the plan was simple but required perfect timing:

Attract attention as a mysterious beauty. Play hard to get, but show interest. Arrange a private meeting. Use the poison. Take everything valuable. Repeat until someone notices young masters' disappearances. And Disappear.

If anything goes wrong, North thought, I can always switch templates and vanish into the crowd.

Let's choose our first victim, He started scanning the gardens. Most young masters clustered near the central pavilions, showing off and competing for attention. He needed someone isolated, someone rich enough to be worth the effort, but not so powerful that they could send an army after him if things went wrong.

His eyes landed on a near-empty table, set far from the main crowd, tucked into a quieter corner of the Plum Gardens. A single young master sat there, dressed in deep violet robes embroidered with golden clouds, the mark of a merchant family with wealth but no direct clan authority. He looked annoyed, restless, like someone expecting company that never arrived. The half-finished bottle of fine aged wine on the table told North everything he needed to know—he had come here to socialize, to impress, but no one had stayed.

Perfect. Isolated. Hungry for attention. Probably carrying resources to prove himself.

North adjusted his expression, letting his features settle into a quiet sorrow, the kind that pulled attention without demanding it. Internally, he found it very funny. Like a clown, preparing for the show.

…

The young master looked up the moment North stepped closer, his brows rising slightly, caught between surprise and intrigue. North didn’t speak right away, just lingered near the empty seat, his gaze distant, as if deep in thought.

"This seat taken?"

His voice was soft, carrying just enough to invite curiosity, but it made him shiver inwardly like he had dipped his finger in the hot oil.

The young master straightened, his posture shifting from mild irritation to polite attentiveness. "Ah—no, not at all! Please, sit."

North lowered himself into the chair with deliberate slowness, careful not to rush, letting the fabric of his robes brush against the table as he settled. Small movements, calculated gestures—they built the illusion of someone delicate, refined, and, most importantly, in need of saving. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Instead, the young master poured himself another small cup of wine, clearly debating whether he should offer some or wait for North to request it.

North let the pause linger just long enough to increase the weight of curiosity. Then, he sighed softly, barely loud enough to be heard over the distant festival noise.

The young master’s ears practically perked up. "Something troubling you, Miss?" he asked, his tone now laced with concern.

North lifted his gaze, eyes holding a flicker of hesitation, as if debating whether to speak.

Then, he smiled faintly. "I shouldn't trouble a stranger with my burdens."

And just like that, the hook was set.

The young master laughed awkwardly, caught between curiosity and the undeniable effect of a tragic beauty template. "No trouble at all, notrouble" he said, waving a hand. "I happen to be an excellent listener. It would be a waste not to share my wisdom, don’t you think?"

North tilted his head slightly, as if considering, before offering a small, reluctant nod. "Perhaps," he murmured, fingers lightly tracing the rim of his cup. "But wisdom is often wasted on the lost."

The young master’s brow furrowed, his interest fully locked in. "Lost? A beauty like you shouldn’t be lost." He chuckled, trying to regain some control over the conversation. "Do you know who I am?"

North cringed inwardly, but outward, smiled just enough to be infuriatingly mysterious. "Someone important, I assume?"

The young master’s chest puffed up slightly. "You could say that. My father controls one of the largest transport businesses in the Lustrous Sky Clan. You’ve probably heard of the Golden Serpent Caravans?"

North had not. He nodded anyway. "Impressive," he said, taking a small sip of his untouched wine, just enough to wet his lips. "So you must be well-connected."

The young master grinned, fully enjoying the attention now. "Of course! I have business dealings with some of the biggest names in the city. If there’s something you need, I can probably arrange it."

North lowered his gaze, letting his expression soften, his voice drop just enough to sound hesitant. "There is something. But… it’s not a conversation for a open place."

That did it. The young master’s eyes widened slightly, his mind already racing through a dozen possible scenarios. Was this about money? A secret deal? A confession? A request for help that only he could provide? Well, the breathtaking Jade beauty before him definitely seemed to worth the trouble. So why there was a need to hesitate.

"Where would you prefer to talk?" he asked, clearly trying to sound composed but failing miserably.

North let out a slow breath, as if deciding whether or not to trust him. Then he leaned forward just slightly, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Let’s take a walk through bamboo Forest."

The young master blinked. "The bamboo gardens?"

North nodded. The young master swallowed, eyes darting to his half-empty wine cup, then back to North. There was just enough nervous excitement in his gaze to confirm that he was thoroughly ensnared.

"Alright, lead the way."

North stood, his movements fluid and elegant. The young master followed nervously, shoulders straight, trying to look calm and collected but failing miserably. He acted if he had never touched a woman before, which might not be true. But there was something about the girl before him that excited him, made him happy. As they walked toward the shadowed pathways leading into the bamboo forest, North couldn't help but smile slightly to himself.

This was almost too easy.

The path wound away from the festival, leading into a grove where tall green bamboo stalks with golden leaves swayed gently in the evening breeze, rustling in melodies. The deeper they went, the fewer people there were, until at last, they were alone. The young master cleared his throat, nervous energy practically radiating from him. His earlier confidence had evaporated like morning dew, replaced by the awkward anticipation of a man who couldn't believe his luck.

"So, uh… You wanted to talk?" His voice had lost some of its earlier bravado, replaced by nervous anticipation.

North fought back a wave of urge to vomit there on his face for what he was about to do. Focus on survival, he reminded himself. Pride won't keep you alive. Still, the shame burned as he reached out, taking the young master's trembling hand in his own. The last rays of sunlight caught his figure just so right, making his face look almost ethereal. The poison needed mere seconds to work through skin contact. North kept his expression soft, vulnerable, letting his lips quiver slightly as if on the verge of revealing some great secret. The young master's back straightened like a drawn bow, he gulped, thinking his luck was too good, at the same while, his imagination clearly running wild.

North could practically read the thoughts racing through the young master's mind: She's chosen me. Of course she has—how could she resist? She must need protection. Perhaps she's fleeing from an arranged marriage? Or carrying some great secret? Maybe this was fate.

Just a few more seconds, Through all this, North maintained his mask of demure hesitation while internally counting down to the poison's effects.

Five seconds ticked by. The young master's eyelids suddenly grew heavy.

The young master blinked rapidly, confusion flickering across his face. His lips parted as if to speak, but only a slurred mumble came out.

"I… my head… feels… heavy…"

His knees buckled. Then—collapse. He hit the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, completely unaware that he had just been poisoned.

North let out a long sigh, rolling his eyes at how easy it had been. He kicked the unconscious body with his foot just to be sure. No reaction. Good. With a quick shift in thought, his Tragic Beauty template dissolved, and his original appearance snapped back into place.

He crouched down, searching through the young master’s robes with practiced efficiency. Images, unfortunately, couldn’t be stolen—as long as they remained inside a Visionary’s Imaginary Island, they were locked away. But money? Money was very real. And this idiot had a lot of it. North found several pouches strapped to his waist, their weight satisfying as he untied them. Heavy. Much heavier than he expected.

With a flick of his wrist, he opened one, glancing inside. Glowing silver Rain Coins, neatly stacked.

North smiled. Perfect.

He did a quick second sweep of the unconscious man’s pockets, checking for anything else of value. Nothing significant. Just some small jade accessories, probably family heirlooms—too dangerous to sell. North clicked his tongue and gave the young master another light kick.

"Rich, but boring."

Still, money was money. Standing up, he reached down and began removing the unconscious man's outer robes, stripping him of his expensive silk layers and tossing them as far into the bamboo thicket as possible. If the fool woke up naked and confused, it would delay his chances of running off and causing trouble. And to make sure of it, North grabbed him by the collar and dragged his unconscious body deeper into the grove, away from any casual passersby.

Once satisfied with the location, he let go, brushed off his hands, and took a final look at his handiwork. The young master lay sprawled in the dirt, bare-chested, completely unaware that he had just been stripped of both his dignity and his wealth. In a few hours, he would live, though his pride might not survive the experience.

North exhaled and then, almost casually, tossed the stolen pouch into the air before catching it again, weighing it happily in his palm.

"Not bad, not bad."

With a satisfied smirk, he turned and headed back toward the open areas of the Plum Gardens.

The night was still young, but it was destined to be short. Thus, he needed to find his next victim fast and without causing any complications.