[Location: The Imperial Capital – The Golden Palace]

The War Room of the Human Empire was usually a place of cold calculation and absolute authority.

Maps of the continent covered the walls, and the fate of millions was decided with the stroke of a quill.

Today, however, it smelled of fear.

"Explain this to me," Emperor Aurelius said.

His voice was quiet, but the air in the room vibrated. As a peak 7th Order Mage, his anger was a physical weight that pressed down on the chests of the twelve council members kneeling before him.

He threw a stack of reports onto the obsidian table. They slid across the surface, scattering like dead leaves.

"The Western Armory," Aurelius listed, ticking a finger.

"Burned to the ground three days ago. All the enchanted cannons? Gone."

"The Mining District of Sector 4," he continued.

"A riot broke out last night. By the time the suppression squad arrived, the mines were empty. Four thousand slaves... vanished into thin air."

The Emperor slammed his fist onto the table.

CRACK.

The obsidian fractured.

"And now, my Spymaster tells me that Duke Valeris, my cousin was found dead in his bed this morning, with a hole in his chest where his heart used to be."

Aurelius stood up, his eyes glowing with terrifying magical light.

"Who is doing this? Is it the Elves? The Demons? Who is dismantling my Empire from the inside?!"

The Minister of Defense, a fat man sweating through his silk robes, raised a trembling hand.

"It... it is not a nation, Your Majesty. It is him."

The Minister pulled a piece of parchment from his sleeve. He unfolded it with shaking fingers.

Drawn in crude black ink was a simple symbol. A perfect circle with a diagonal slash through it.

Ø

"Zero," the Emperor hissed.

The name sucked the heat out of the room.

For two years, that name had become a curse word among the nobility.

It started small. A warehouse burned here. A slave transport hijacked there. But then, the "Red Night" happened.

In a single night, the magical collars of ten thousand slaves in the Outer Rim simultaneously deactivated.

No one knew how. The collars were made by the Church, powered by divine magic. They were supposed to be unbreakable.

But Zero broke them.

"He's like a ghost," the Spymaster whispered, his face pale.

"We have no description. No mana signature. He strikes, leaves this symbol, and vanishes."

"He uses weapons we have never seen. Artifacts that explode with the force of a 4th Order spell but carry no magic."

"And the people?" Aurelius asked, his voice dangerous. "What do the rats in the slums say?"

The Spymaster hesitated.

"Speak!"

"They... they call him the 'Breaker of Chains', Your Majesty. They pray to him. In the Lower Districts, they have started painting his symbol on their doors. They believe... they believe he is a god sent to punish the wicked."

Aurelius laughed. It was a cold, mirthless sound.

"A god? He is a terrorist. A rat."

The Emperor walked to the window, looking out over his Golden City. From here, it looked pristine. But he knew that down in the shadows, a cancer was spreading.

"Find him," Aurelius commanded. "Turn the empire upside down. Burn the slums if you have to. I want Zero's head on a pike by sunrise."

.....

[The Lower Districts – The Slums]

While the Emperor raged in his tower, the "rats" were indeed praying.

In a cramped, moldy basement beneath a tannery, fifty people were huddled together. They were beggars, runaway slaves, and commoners who had been crushed by the Empire's taxes.

The room was dark, lit only by the eerie blue glow of a strange device sitting on a wooden crate.

It was a rectangular slate of black glass and metal, no bigger than a book. A "Black Mirror."

These devices had started appearing in the black markets a year ago. No one knew who made them.

They didn't run on mana; they ran on "batteries"strange blocks that hummed with mana.

"Is it time?" a young girl asked, clutching a rag doll.

"Hush," an old man said, adjusting the metal antenna on the device.

"He always speaks at the darkest hour."

The screen flickered. Static hissed.

Then, the image cleared.

It was a simple black background. And then, the symbol appeared.

Ø

The people in the basement gasped. Some fell to their knees.

"Zero," they whispered.

To the nobles, that symbol meant death. But to these people? It meant that for the first time in history, someone was punching back.

Zero wasn't just a killer. He was a provider. When he burned a granary, the food mysteriously appeared in the orphanages the next morning.

When he killed a slave master, the keys were left on the doorsteps of the cages.

He was their vengeance. He was their hope.

The screen changed. A distorted, masked voice cut through the static.

"Citizens of the Empire..."

The old man wept. "He speaks."

.....

[Downtown Capital – The Gilded Cage Auction House]

While the slums worshipped and the Palace panicked, the man responsible for it all was sipping a glass of 50-year-old Elven wine.

Damien sat in a private VIP box overlooking the auction stage.

He looked nothing like a terrorist. He wore a tailored suit of midnight-blue silk, cut in a style that was just slightly different from the current fashion, making him look exotic and wealthy.

A silver Venetian mask covered the upper half of his face, leaving only his sharp jawline and amused smile visible.

"Lord Valdemar," the Duke sitting next to him said, puffing on a cigar.

"You seem in high spirits tonight."

"I always enjoy a good show, Duke," Damien replied. His voice was altered by a small node on his throat, deeper and smoother than his natural tone.

He looked down at the auction floor. The room was filled with the fat, the greedy, and the corrupt. Nobles who bought people like cattle. Merchants who sold rot as medicine.

Damien's system interface floated invisibly in his vision.

[Status Update]

[Identity: Zero]

[Reputation (Empire): Terror / Myth]

[Reputation (Slums): Messiah]

[Chaos Level: 85%]

Almost there, Damien thought.

"And now!" The Auctioneer below shouted, gesturing to a covered cage.

"The main event! A pristine High Elf, captured from the Silver Woods!"

The cover was pulled off. Inside the cage, a female elf wept, chained in iron.

The nobles cheered. The bidding started at a million gold.

"Disgusting, isn't it?" Damien said casually.

"I know!" The Duke laughed.

"Only a million? She's worth at least two!"

Damien turned his head slowly to look at the Duke. Behind the silver mask, his eyes were cold.

"That wasn't what I meant."

Damien reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small, rectangular device. It was the master controller for the Black Mirror Network.

Thanks to the blueprints from the Dwarf Hephaestus and Damien's own Creation skill, he had flooded the capital with these devices.

The Empire thought they were just magical artifacts. They didn't understand the concept of a "Broadcast Network."

They didn't understand that information was a weapon.

"Duke," Damien said softly. "Do you know who Zero is?"

The Duke scoffed.

"That rat? I hope they catch him and flay him alive. He's bad for business."

"I heard he's closer than you think," Damien smiled.

He tapped the screen of his device.

[Execute: Protocol Broadcast_Override]

ZZZZZT.

The magelights in the auction house died.

Pitch black darkness swallowed the room.

"What is this?"

"Guards! Lights!"

"My jewels!"

Panic ensued. The nobles screamed, pushing and shoving.

Then, a light appeared.

A massive holographic projection beamed from the ceiling, hovering in the center of the auction hall. But it wasn't just here.

At the same moment, every Black Mirror in the slums lit up. Every public viewing screen in the market square was hijacked.

Even the magical crystal ball in the Emperor's War Room flickered and changed.

The image was of a figure sitting in a dark room, wearing a black hoodie and a mask with a painted, digital smile.

The voice boomed across the entire capital, echoing from the highest spire to the deepest sewer.

"Good evening, Capital."

In the VIP box, the Duke froze. He dropped his cigar. He stared at the screen, then slowly turned his head to look at the man sitting next to him in the dark.

Damien swirled his wine, the light from the hologram reflecting off his silver mask.

"You really should have bid higher, Duke," Damien whispered.

On the giant screen, the masked figure leaned forward.

"My name is Zero. And tonight...I'm going to play with you for a bit."

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