In the bustling commercial city known as the "Gateway of the World," home to a population of four hundred thousand and countless more temporary residents engaged in trade and daily activities, the marketplace was as lively as ever under the midday sun. The constant exchange of goods and coins flowed like an endless river. Yet, amidst the crowded streets and bazaar alleys, one could always spot groups of individuals dressed in identical attire. These people were members of trade guilds, operating collectively and with remarkable expertise—an ability that often left independent merchants envious.

Admission to these guilds supposedly required an interview, but most traders believed the selection process was arbitrary. Many successful applicants had no prior experience in commerce, further fueling suspicion. Although numerous guilds existed, only a handful of seasoned merchants had uncovered the secret behind their success. These guild members employed strange tactics during transactions—both before and during deals—to unfairly maximize their profits, leaving their trade partners at a significant loss.

One such independent merchant, Musialin, found himself at the brink of ruin. He had lost a large portion of his goods to the GP Trade Guild and was particularly distressed over an heirloom necklace that protected him from mental manipulation. Upon arriving in the city, he had set up his usual stall in the mid-spring district, paid the city's land tax, and aimed to sell off his stock within a week. However, despite offering high-quality eastern garments, he hadn't sold a single item.

Musialin was on edge. In the past, he would sell most of his goods at high prices within a week and offload any remaining stock to westbound traders at reasonable rates. But this time, he had made no sales at all. Accepting his losses in frustration, he decided to move north to another trade city. Just as he prepared to leave, two individuals wearing matching outfits approached him. Recognizing them as trade guild members, he listened as they offered to buy his entire stock.

Desperate, Musialin eagerly accepted and followed them to the guild's office. It wasn't until he found himself signing the contract that his protective necklace activated, snapping him out of a trance. His eyes narrowed as he reviewed the agreement—his entire stock was being purchased for less than a quarter of its actual value. Stunned, he wondered how he had come so close to signing such a terrible deal. When he looked up, he found himself facing a beautiful woman, dressed in noble attire, watching him with mild surprise.

"Aren't you going to sign?" she asked.

Musialin set down his ink pen, his eyes flickering toward his necklace. He stood abruptly, intending to leave, but the two guild members blocked his way.

"If it's about the price, I can raise it," one of them said smoothly. "How does five Arthurian gold coins sound?"

At that moment, Musialin nearly erupted in anger. Not only had the price not improved—it had actually decreased. He had no idea what was happening, but he wasn't going to stay and find out. Pushing past the guards, he fled down the stairs and out of the building. He immediately sought out the city guard, but with the shift change at dusk, they were difficult to locate. Before he knew it, he found himself cornered in an alley by a group of guild members, all dressed in red.

Stolen novel; please report.

"If you tell anyone, we will find you," a young man in his early twenties warned, gripping Musialin's shoulder. "And we'll make you wish for death."

Shaking with fear, Musialin managed to escape and rushed to the tavern where he was staying. Alone in his room, he pieced together what had happened—he had been subjected to a mental attack and only survived thanks to his necklace. His frustration boiled over. He was now certain that the GP Trade Guild had sabotaged his sales and manipulated him for their own gain.

Midnight arrived, and Musialin, exhausted, decided to sleep. But just as he settled in, the sound of warning horns and distant screams shattered the silence. He rushed to his window and froze in shock. In the far distance, magical explosions ripped through the city, reducing buildings to rubble.

Cursing his ill fortune, he quickly packed only the essentials and attempted to escape the city. The main roads were chaotic, with people stampeding over one another in a desperate rush. Instead, Musialin slipped into the narrow alleyways, hoping to slip out unnoticed.

Then he heard it—the thunderous roar of a dragon.

Looking up, his heart nearly stopped. A forty-meter-long skeletal dragon with massive twisted horns hovered in the sky, unleashing its terrifying cry. Musialin fell to his knees, his eyes locking onto the figure astride the dragon—a being draped in a deep purple robe. Though its face was hidden, two enormous horns protruded from its head. Musialin could only utter one word:

"Demon…"

As he struggled to stand and flee, a terrifying aura washed over him. His vision blurred, cracks of pain spread across his body, and he could see eerie, ominous energy radiating from the dragon rider. With a final surge of dread, darkness swallowed him.

Above, atop the skeletal dragon, Hazard surveyed the city, his cursed aura and dominion spreading like a plague, harvesting gold coins as life after life was snuffed out. He briefly wondered if his thirty necromancers had managed to seal all the city exits. A quick glance confirmed his suspicions—no one could escape. Soldiers who came too close simply collapsed, their brains liquefied by mental assaults in mere seconds.

With a satisfied smirk—if he had the ability to smile—Hazard turned his gaze toward the city's great fortress, a massive structure though still dwarfed by his own castle. Raising his hands, he summoned vengeful spirits, sending them swarming toward the keep. His target was every soul within the fortress, including a high-ranking warlord, whom he spotted sprinting toward the upper levels.

Hundreds of wailing spirits rushed in, consuming lives and turning them into golden coins. If Hazard could laugh, he would have. Instead, he merely watched as the fortress lord—a battle-worn man in golden armor—emerged to confront him.

Hazard unleashed a barrage of dark energy blasts, watching as the knight sliced through them with ease. The man's holy-infused sword shimmered with golden light, effortlessly cutting through the malevolent projectiles like butter.

Hazard almost burst into laughter. He had faced countless mages before, all of whom either dodged his attacks or summoned magical barriers—predictable tactics he was fully prepared to counter. But this time, as he saw the knight conjure a shield, his eyes widened.

A radiant, holy barrier stood between them.

For the first time, Hazard felt a flicker of surprise. He barely had time to react before the knight lunged forward. The skeletal dragon roared, snapping its jaws at the warrior. But Hazard's attention was elsewhere—toward the depths of the fortress, where many had begun fleeing underground.

He could already guess what they were trying to reach.

Gazing up at the moonlit sky, he grinned wickedly, swearing by the shadows cast upon the land.