What began as bundles and bags, soon towered higher than Galen’s own height, becoming a mound, a hill, a monument built from coin, bills, and contraband. It loomed like a grotesque altar to crime. The people walking past stopped in their tracks. Onlookers, drawn by instinct, gathered and let out awed exclamations.

“Money.” “How much do you think all that is…?”

For a brief moment, greed glinted in their eyes; bright, fleeting, gone in a blink.

“Everyone, don’t move!”

Galen’s shout snapped like a whip. His sword left its sheath with a metallic hiss, and his gaze scanned the growing crowd with sharp distrust.

He locked eyes with the man standing before him, a man veiled in a robe. For a second, he hesitated.

“Go.”

It sounded almost reluctant. As if Galen wanted to look away. As if this was mercy.

His attention shifted, no longer on the robed man, but beyond him, to the rear,to the shadows, to the figures beginning to press forward.

“There!”

His voice pitched higher now, laced with urgency.

Thugs. Muscle. Enforcers. Pouring in from every side.

These were the remnants of organizations crushed in the night, swarming like hornets to reclaim their stolen pride. The air thickened, sour and heavy with the promise of blood. A single spark, and corpses would hit the ground.

Galen clenched his teeth, then spoke; hard and loud, for all to hear.

“I thank you, but no further. One misstep, and your heads could be the next to hang from the streetlamps.”

It was a bluff. Or perhaps, it was truth disguised as one. Either way, it was a gamble. A bold, dangerous move.

Because Galen had something he had to protect. Not just the people gathered here. Not just himself. But the evidence. The mountain of proof. The chance to bring these bastards down. Even the robed man, still technically a criminal, was useful for now.

“I’ll let you go. For now. So move. Quickly.”

Galen raised his sword, pointing it not at the retreating man, but at the mass of thugs.

“Galen! Have you lost your damn mind?! Stop us, and we’ll wipe out your entire investigative team!”

“Did you plan this, Galen?! You turned the whole sewer against us! Your corpses will swing from the roadsides!”

“We’ll kill the guards, and their families! Every last one, strung up in the streets!”

“You bastard! You think this little show will catch us?!”

“You want money? Fine! How much? Name your price! Come over to our side!”

The threats poured in. Brutal. Ruthless. They filled the air like poison.

This was their domain. The underworld. Even law enforcement barely tread here, and never without risk.

Then, suddenly, 

Laughter.

Loud. Wild. Rising over every shout, every insult. The man in the robe tilted his head back and laughed, like he was mocking them all. Like none of this mattered. His voice was strange, too clear. Too calm.

He stopped laughing just as abruptly as he’d started.

“Catch me? Money?” His voice rang out like a bell, cutting through the chaos.

Another laugh followed. Short. Sharp. Then his tone shifted. Bitterness bled into it, fire curling beneath the surface.

“You’re offering such safe little words? As if I care about catching you. As if I care about money. Idiots.”

The crowd froze. The gangsters, too.

There was danger in that voice. A heat that is a bit deeper than fire. A threat not spoken, but felt.

And then he said it:

“I want to kill every bastard glaring at me right now. I want to burn away the filth clogging these sewers. Your death. The downfall of those who spread the rot. That’s what I want.”

A declaration of execution. Not a threat. A vow.

His words settled like a curse. Even the guards, even Galen, found themselves speechless. The thugs, once sneering, were now visibly shaken, licking their lips, casting uncertain glances.

“Why are you just standing there?! Get him! Cut him down! Rip his guts out!”

The shout cracked the spell. The mob surged forward. Galen snapped back to reality and shouted to the civilians.

“Everyone, run! Get out of here!”

“Tatatak” Flames burst from the robed man’s hand. He hurled it, Onto the mountain.

Onto the pile of money. Of drugs. No one even had time to scream.

The fire swallowed it whole. It coiled around the pile and burst into a towering blaze, feeding off the sewer’s own rot. It spread like it had a will.

“What the hell?!” “It’s all burning! He burned it all!”

“Money! Save the money!” “Wait, wait! That’s our evidence, what are you doing?!” “Aaaagh! Hot, hot!!”

Greed overpowered fury. The gangsters, forgetting vengeance, rushed to save their goods, only to find themselves consumed. Screams rose. The fire showed no mercy.

People scrambled away. Others rushed in. Some to escape, some to salvage. The two collided.

Chaos…Madness.

The fire blazed like judgment, and those trying to claw through it for profit added fuel to its hunger. Galen stood frozen for a moment, watching it all unfold.

Then he turned, searching. Through the flames. Through the panic. There he was.

Amid the inferno, calm and still. Watching. The same man who had laughed like a lunatic stood silent now, serene.

“Hey!”

Galen pushed forward, shoving through bodies. But the man disappeared. Gone. Swallowed by the crowd. A whisper in the smoke.

All that remained were the flames; bright, vivid, terrible. The fire ate away at the pile, burning money, drugs, everything.

“Ah…” “Mmm…”

Even the fleeing onlookers stopped. Staring. It was mesmerizing.

The fire only burned the filth. The corrupt. The tainted things. It was violent, yes, but pure. Terrifying, but contained.

Like the laughter of a prince beneath a robe.

And then,  The sun broke through.

Light spilled into the sewer district for the first time that morning, cutting through the lingering shadows. And in the golden glow, the flames and the scrambling gangsters stood revealed in full.

Everyone saw it. Everyone watched the fire.The madness.

Burning. Never ending. Until only ash remained. And then it was gone. The flames died with dignity, leaving behind no trace but soot, and silence.

The people disperse and confused. The gangsters left too, silently, though they ground their teeth with impotent rage.

“Whew…”

Galen staggered. The morning chaos had shaken him.

He trudged back to the shabby guardhouse, his limbs heavy.

“You’re back?” The fire mage was waiting inside.

“You didn’t go out to put the fire out?” Galen asked.

“Why would I? It wasn’t going to spread.”

“You’re a fire mage. That’s your job.”

The mage chuckled, deep wrinkles creasing around his eyes.

“You know, sometimes a forest needs a fire. Not destruction, purification. My interference would’ve been meddling.”

“Great wisdom. Meanwhile, I nearly shit blood from stress out there. While someone sipped tea and watched the fireworks.”

“I had a guest. Secretly.”

“…What?”

“You guarded the front. Everything he left behind is still intact.”

“…Did you see him?”

“If I had, I’d be a corpse.”

“…I see.”

“I’ll stay here. If something comes up, I’ll step in.”

“Thanks, old man.”

Galen nodded, then stepped into his office. There, on his messy desk, sat a package. Brazenly left in the open. He hesitated. Could it be cursed? Trapped?

“Seems fine,” the mage called from behind. “I came in early,was worried the crucible might go out.”

“…You’re sharp.”

Galen opened the package.

“Oh…” He couldn’t help but gasp.

Earlier, he’d cursed the loss of evidence. Now, here it was. Real evidence. Enough to bring down criminals who’d always slipped through the cracks.

“Who… who sent this?”

Even the old fire mage leaned in, his eyes wide.

Galen already knew.

“The one who burned the sewers. The arsonist.”

That man.

He didn’t realize he’d broken the law just now,his hand trembled slightly as he lit his cigarette.

“Sssss…” The flame licked the match. He stared into it.

And heard the echo of that wild, clear laughter, like a phantom at his ear. Galen,             the mad dog of the guard. The one who never compromised with crime.

“…You know, old man. Maybe this sewer does need a purifying fire.”

“See? I told you so.”

For the first time, Galen thought, 

“The criminal was kind of cool.”

[You devour one of the lower fate schemes that threatened you. The fate of the one who planned the scheme has been twisted!] 

[The foundation of the important fate demon has been weakened. The momentum of the lower fate crisis and death toward you has weakened]

[You have changed your fate with an excellent strategy. You have devoured the lower fate foolishness, indifference, laziness, and incompetence! You have acquired the transformation score] 

[You have deceived many people. The thoughts of people gather to strengthen your fate. The power of the lower fate deception becomes even stronger]

The alarms greeted him early that morning as I returned to the Royce estate.         The madness I’d ignited from night to dawn still lingered like heat in his blood. It was a satisfaction so full, it felt like hunger finally sated.

He stepped into my room.

“You’ve been at it all night?”

Sophia was still sitting there. Unmoving. Her pale yellow eyes, half-lidded, lifted to meet his. They were swollen. Tired.

“What’s your answer?” Hel asked.

“…I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Voice trembling. Eyes shut tight. She was scared, but she had made her choice.       It was a pitiful response, prepared all night. But he was in a good mood.

“Not bad. But I don’t like it. I’ll say it again. Kill yourself.”

“I-I said I’m sorry…”

“Kill yourself. Then do it again. And again. If you’re still alive when I wake up, I’ll be disappointed.”

Her stunned face only made him smile more, he laid  down, content.

[The opponent is deeply fascinated by your lower fate’s charm. The opponent’s fate is slightly distorted.] 

[The lower fate’s luck attribute, money luck, is strengthened.]

And with those messages rising before him , he fell into the deepest sleep he’d had in a long time.

In His dream, fire danced. Fire that burned filth away.

Turns out, playing with fire…

Is a lot more fun than He thought.