[Opening Scene: Rules Are Meant to Be Broken]
The Black Pearl Auction House enforced three unbreakable rules:
No violence within its hallowed halls.
No refunds once a bid was placed.
Never question the Shadow Patron's authority.
Lianna traced the rim of her poisoned wine glass, watching the emerald liquid swirl. The vintage was exquisite—a rare Elven toxin aged in dwarven oak barrels. She could taste the subtle notes of nightshade and betrayal.
How quaint.
Across the gilded auction floor, the Alchemist Guild's representatives preened like peacocks, their gold-stitched robes marking them as the favorites to win tonight's prize: the last Moonbloom Herb in existence.
The herb that could complete the Phoenix Elixir.
The herb that belonged to her.
"Lot 47," the auctioneer announced, his voice trembling as attendants wheeled in a glass case. Inside, a single silver leaf pulsed with otherworldly light. "Starting bid: one million gold."
The guildmaster stood immediately. "Five million!"
Gasps rippled through the crowd. A reckless opening bid—meant to intimidate.
Lianna took a slow sip of her wine. Let the games begin.
[The Bidding War]
For twenty minutes, the bids climbed:
Six million from a veiled sorceress.
Eight million from a merchant king.
Ten million from the guildmaster, his jowls quivering with rage.
Then—silence.
The auctioneer raised his gavel. "Going once... twice..."
Lianna set down her glass.
"Twenty million."
Every head turned. The guildmaster's face purpled. "Who dares—?"
She stood, letting her hood fall. The crowd recoiled as if struck.
Recognition.
Fear.
The auctioneer's gavel clattered to the floor. "M-My Lady Shadow Patron..."
The title hung in the air like a guillotine's blade.
[The Guild's Fatal Mistake]
The guildmaster's beady eyes darted to his guards. A silent command passed.
Idiot.
Lianna sighed as six armored men converged on her. "Rule Number One," she reminded them.
The first guard reached for her arm—
Sizzle.
His gauntlet melted into his flesh. Screams erupted as the others stumbled back, their weapons dissolving into toxic sludge.
The guildmaster staggered. "Impossible! That herb requires—"
"—a master alchemist?" Lianna plucked the Moonbloom from its case. "Funny. I invented the recipe."
She crushed the herb in her bare hand. Silver liquid dripped between her fingers—and where it fell, the marble floor burned with phoenix-shaped flames.
[The Ghost Emperor Intervenes]
The balcony doors burst open.
There, framed in moonlight, stood the Ghost Emperor, his silver mask reflecting the chaos below. His presence froze the room like a winter gale.
"You," he said, pointing at Lianna.
She smirked. "Me."
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to their locked gaze—
Then the guildmaster lunged with a hidden dagger.
Crack.
Lianna snapped his wrist without looking. The blade clattered to her feet. She kicked it up—
—and buried it in the guildmaster's thigh.
"Rule Number One," she whispered as he collapsed.
The emperor's gloved hands clapped. Once. Twice. Three times.
"Seize her," he ordered—but his knights didn't move.
Because Lianna now held another black token: the Mark of the Shadow Army.
"Your Majesty," she purred, "your dogs seem confused."
[The Escape]
The auction house erupted into pandemonium.
Lianna:
Drank the last of her poisoned wine while dodging crossbow bolts.
Flung a chandelier at the emperor's feet to cover her retreat.
Leapt from the balcony into a waiting griffin-drawn carriage.
As the vehicle soared into the night, she glimpsed the emperor watching from the broken window—his mask half-shattered, revealing a smirk that matched her own.