The VIP box smelled of vintage wine and sudden, sharp terror.

Duke Valdemar dropped his cigar. It burned a hole in the expensive velvet carpet, sending a thin trail of smoke into the air, but he didn't notice.

His eyes were wide, darting frantically between the massive holographic face of "Zero" floating in the auction hall and the man sitting comfortably beside him in the shadows.

"You..." The Duke's voice trembled, cracking under the weight of the realization. He stumbled back, his hand glowing with the gathering mana of a 4th Order Fire Spell.

"You are him! You are the terrorist!"

Damien didn't stand up. He didn't even put down his wine glass. He simply tilted his head, the silver mask catching the flicker of the Duke's spell like a mirror.

"Terrorist is such a vulgar word, Duke," Damien said, his voice calm, terrifyingly polite. "I prefer... Saviour!."

"Die!" The Duke screamed, thrusting his hand forward.

Damien sighed.

Enough talking.

He snapped his fingers.

[Gravity Art: Heavy King]

CRUNCH.

It was in an instant, there was no battle. There was no struggle.

The air pressure inside the VIP box instantly increased by fifty times. It was as if the gravity of a small moon had concentrated entirely on the Duke's shoulders.

The Duke was slammed into the floor. His bones snapped like dry twigs. The fire spell in his hand sputtered and died, suffocated by the sheer weight.

"Gah... ah..." The Duke wheezed, his face pressed into the carpet, blood pooling from his nose.

He couldn't move a finger. He could only look up at Damien's polished boots.

"Shh," Damien whispered, bringing a gloved finger to the lips of his mask.

"The show is starting. And it would be rude to interrupt the main actor."

Damien stood up and walked to the balcony railing. Below, the panic had paused. Every noble, every guard, every slave was staring up at the massive projection beaming from the ceiling.

And across the city, from the mud of the slums to the marble of the palace, millions of people were watching the same face.

'Two years,' Damien thought, looking at the chaos below. '

For two years, I have planned this exact moment. Every warehouse burned, every slave freed, every rumor whispered... it was all for tonight.'

He tapped the small node on his throat.

"Citizens of the Empire."

His voice boomed from the speakers, distorted by magitech but commanding. It echoed off the walls of the palace and shook the wooden shacks of the poor.

"For two years, you have asked the same question. The Emperor asks it in his war room. The guards ask it in the barracks. You whisper it in the dark."

On the screen, the masked figure leaned forward.

"Who is Zero?"

In the slums, the beggars looked up from their misery. In the barracks, soldiers froze.

"Is he a man? Is he a group? Is he a demon sent to destroy the world?"

"No."

The masked figure shook his head slowly.

"Zero is not a man. Zero is the hunger in your belly while the nobles feast!"

"Zero is the cold you feel while they burn magic to heat their pools."

" Zero is the anger you feel when they steal your hard earned money!"

Damien gripped the railing. He wasn't just acting anymore. The anger he projected was real, though controlled.

"I am not a leader. I am a mirror. I simply reflect the ugliness of this Empire back at itself."

"And do you know why the Empire hates me? Do you know why they hunt me?"

The projection changed. The image of the "Zero" mask faded, replaced by a document. It was an old, yellowed scroll bearing a seal that had been banned for two years.

The Crest of the Black Dragon. House Voss.

"Because I remember," Zero's voice softened, becoming somber.

"Two years ago, a Noble House tried to pass the 'Commoner Relief Act.' They wanted to open the grain reserves. They wanted to treat you like human beings."

A gasp went through the crowd. The Voss family? The traitors?

"And for that crime... the Emperor slaughtered them."

Damien watched the reaction of the crowd. He saw the confusion turning into realization.

Deep inside, a pang of bitterness hit him.

'I still haven't found you,' Damien muttered inwardly, his thoughts drifting to the empty ruins of his childhood home.

'Father. Mother. Two years of searching the continent, and I haven't found a single trace of where you went or where your bodies lie.'

He clenched his fist behind his back.

'But even if I can't find you yet... I can at least wash the mud off your names. I can make sure that when people say 'Voss,' they don't think of traitors. They will think of martyrs.'

'Thankfully Isabelle, Barnaby and Cipher have become so skilled over the years I was able to forge this document quite easily"

'Adding to Alfred being able to teleport and steal the seal, to the public eyes this document is definitely genuine!'

He spoke into the microphone again, his voice rising with righteous fury.

"They called Lord Theron Voss a traitor because he loved you more than he loved the throne! They killed his wife because she dared to feed the poor!"

"I did not put on this mask to hide, Citizens. I put it on because they killed the ones who showed their faces!"

In the War Room of the Imperial Palace, the Emperor stood frozen. His face went purple.

"Cut the feed!" Aurelius roared, blasting the crystal ball with lightning. "He's weaponizing the Voss name! Cut it now!"

"Voss family bastards! Even when they're gone they never give me any peace of mind!"

But the feed didn't cut. The Black Mirrors ran on batteries items Damien and the dwarves had made and distributed over the years.

Same as the network.

On the screens, Zero pointed a finger directly at the viewer.

"They want you to be afraid. They want you to think that power belongs to the 7th Order Mages and the Dukes."

"But look at them now."

The hologram shifted to a live feed of the Auction House floor. It showed the fat nobles cowering under tables, the guards panicking in the dark, stripped of their dignity.

"Take away their lights, take away their gold, and they are just frightened children."

"Do not fear! Do not falter! Do not yield!"

Damien's internal system started pinging wildly.

[Alert: Public Sentiment Shifting...]

[Reputation Update: House Voss (Traitors) -> House Voss (Martyrs)]

[Destiny Points Calculation...]

Damien watched the notifications scroll by. His internal voice was cold, calculating.

'It worked. The narrative is being rewritten. By clearing the Voss name, I've inherently changed the plot of the world. The 'Villainous Family' is now the 'Tragic Hero Family.' The Destiny Points from this alone will be astronomical.'

He looked back at the camera. Time for the finale.

"I wore this mask to save you," Zero declared, his voice rising to a crescendo. "But today, I tell you this..."

"Everyone can wear the mask."

"For the sick mother at home! For the poor father! For the tired children!"

"SMILE!"

The digital smile on the mask seemed to widen, glowing with an intense, manic light.

"A new era is coming. An era where nobles do not exist. Welcome... to the Era of Zero."

ZZZZZT.

The hologram vanished. The lights in the auction house flickered back on.

But the silence remained.

For three seconds, nobody moved.

Then, from outside the auction house, a sound began. It started low, like distant thunder, and grew until it shook the stained-glass windows.

It was a roar.

Thousands of people in the streets. Tens of thousands in the slums.

"ZERO! ZERO! ZERO!"

In the VIP box, Damien finished his wine. He placed the empty glass on the table next to the flattened corpse of the Duke.

"Well," Damien whispered to the dead man, adjusting his cuffs. "I'd say that went well."

He stepped into the shadows.

[Shadow Art: Step]

He vanished just as the doors to the VIP box were kicked open by the Royal Guard.

They found nothing but a dead Duke, an empty wine glass, and a single playing card left on the table.

A Joker.

And drawn on the face of the Joker was the symbol that would haunt the Empire for the rest of its days.

Ø

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.