[The Imperial Palace – The War Room]

"Burn them!"

Emperor Aurelius slammed his fist onto the tactical map. Pure, unadulterated mana drove the blow

Under this force, spiderwebs of fissures raced across the map of the Capital, severing the streets he was trying to save.

Gone was the calm, collected tone of the ruler who had sat on the throne for fifty years. In its place was the roar of a cornered beast.

"They are chanting his name, Your Majesty," the Commander of the Royal Guard said.

Even this veteran soldier, a man who had stared down dragons, looked pale as he glanced out the window at the thick columns of smoke rising from the lower city.

"The Lower Districts have erected barricades. The City Watch is overwhelmed; rocks and firebombs are raining down on them. They aren't afraid of us anymore."

"Then make them afraid!" Aurelius screamed.

His aura, a terrifying 7th Order pressure, flared uncontrollably.

The crystal chandeliers overhead shattered, raining glass shards onto the cowering council members.

"Mobilize the Iron Legion! Send the Griffon Riders! If they want a martyr, give them ten thousand! I want the streets washed clean by dawn!"

The Emperor breathed heavily, his chest heaving, his eyes bloodshot and wild.

"He thinks he can break my Empire with a speech?" Aurelius spat, pacing the dais like a caged tiger.

"He thinks a ghost story about the Voss family will topple a thousand-year reign?"

Aurelius laughed, a manic, dangerous sound that sent a shiver through the ministers.

"I have the gold. I have the armies. I have the mages. Ideas do not stop fireballs, Commander. Go. Execute the Purge Order on the slums."

The Commander saluted, his hand trembling slightly. "Yes, Your Majesty."

He turned to leave, his boots clicking sharply on the marble.

But before he could reach the heavy oak doors, they burst open.

No soldier stood in the frame. Instead, the Minister of Coin stumbled in, looking as if he had seen a phantom.

His silk robes were drenched in cold sweat, and his knuckles were white as he clutched a magical ledger flashing with an urgent, pulsing red light.

"Your Majesty!" The Minister gasped, falling to his knees and sliding across the floor.

"You... you must stop the Legion! We cannot deploy the army!"

"What?" Aurelius hissed, stepping down from the dais, his shadow looming over the man.

"Have you lost your mind? The city is in revolt!"

"It's not the riot," the Minister wheezed, holding up the flashing ledger as if it burned his hands. "It's the Bank."

"The Imperial Bank?" Aurelius scoffed. "What about it?"

The Minister looked up, his eyes wide with the terror of a man watching his life's work dissolve into ash.

"It's empty, Your Majesty. The gold... it's all gone."

…......................…

[The Financial District – One Hour Earlier]

While the Lower Districts burned with the fires of revolution, the Financial District remained cold and quiet.

Here, the buildings were carved from pristine white marble, and the streets were spotless.

The Imperial Central Bank stood like a fortress, a monolith of wealth guarded by massive 5th Order Golems.

The heavy brass doors swung open.

A woman walked in.

She was stunning. Her wavy auburn hair cascaded over a suit of black silk that hugged her voluptuous curves, tailored sharp enough to cut glass. She wore dark, rimless glasses that hid the calculating glint in her eyes.

Isabelle.

She moved not with the hesitation of a maid or a terrified refugee, but with the lethal grace of a predator entering a pen of sheep.

She walked straight to the High Teller's desk. The lobby was busy with nervous nobles and merchants, all trying to withdraw small amounts of cash due to the rumors of riots outside.

"I would like to make a withdrawal," Isabelle said. Her voice was smooth, carrying a supernatural charm that turned every head in the room.

The High Teller, a snooty elf with spectacles, looked down his nose at her.

"The bank is currently limiting withdrawals due to the... unrest. Come back tomorrow."

Isabelle smiled. It was the smile Damien had taught her, arrogant, assured, and dangerous. The smile that said, 'I own you, and you don't even know it yet.'

"I don't think I will," she said softly.

She reached into her spatial bag and pulled out a stack of documents, slamming them onto the marble counter.

THUD.

The sound echoed in the quiet hall like a judge's gavel.

"These are Imperial War Bonds," Isabelle announced, her voice magically amplified to ring through the entire hall.

"Class A. Guaranteed by the Emperor's personal treasury."

She pulled out another stack. And another. And another.

"And these are Promissory Notes from Duke Valdemar, Duke Leto, and Count Orlock."

The pile grew until it blocked the Teller's view.

"I hold forty percent of the Imperial debt," Isabelle said coldly, adjusting her glasses.

"And I am calling it in. Now."

The Teller went pale.

"M-Madam... you can't... this amount... it would liquidate our liquid assets! Who are you?"

Isabelle leaned forward, lowering her voice to a lethal whisper.

"I represent the Golden Coin Consortium," she lied effortlessly.

"And my analysts tell me that this Empire is a sinking ship. I want my gold. Every. Single. Coin."

"Security!" The Teller squeaked, his voice cracking.

Two massive Golems stepped forward, the floor shaking with their weight.

"I wouldn't do that," a deep, rumbling voice came from the door.

Barnaby stepped in.

He wasn't in his bear form, but his human guise was terrifying enough, a towering, seven-foot wall of muscle wearing a suit that looked ready to burst at the seams.

He cracked his knuckles, the sound like a gunshot in the silent bank.

"You deny a withdrawal?" Barnaby grunted, his eyes glowing with faint purple mana.

"That sounds like... robbery."

Isabelle turned to the crowd of nervous nobles behind her.

"Did you hear that?" she asked the room, feigning shock.

"The Imperial Bank refuses to pay. Do you know why?"

She leaned in, whispering loudly enough for everyone to hear.

"Because Zero was right. The vaults are empty. The Emperor spent your savings on his war."

Panic is a funny thing. In the slums, it creates fire. In the Financial District, it creates a vacuum.

"My money!" a Baroness screamed, her composure shattering as she rushed the counter.

"Give me my gold!" a Merchant shouted, pushing past her.

"They're bankrupt! Sell! Sell everything!"

The chaos was instantaneous. The nobles, already terrified by Zero's broadcast, lost their minds.

They stormed the counters like wild animals. The Golems tried to hold them back, but even they couldn't fight a mob of terrified rich people without starting a civil war.

Isabelle watched the mayhem unfold. She calmly gathered her papers, turned around, and walked toward the exit, flanked by Barnaby.

"Did we get the gold?" Barnaby whispered as they exited the building into the cool night air.

"We didn't need the gold, Barnaby," Isabelle whispered back, checking her ledger with a satisfied smirk.

"We just needed them to think we wanted it."

She looked back at the bank. The magic screens displaying the value of the Imperial Currency were flashing red. The line on the graph was dropping straight down.

"The Imperial Credit just lost 60% of its value," Isabelle said, marking a line through a page in her book.

"We just killed the Emperor's army without drawing a sword. Guards won't fight for free."

…................…..

[The Imperial Palace – The War Room]

"The currency has crashed?" Emperor Aurelius stared at the Minister of Coin, his mind unable to process the words.

"Print more! Use magic!"

"We can't!" The Minister sobbed, clutching the hem of his robe.

"The market has lost confidence! The soldiers in the Iron Legion... after hearing reports that their wages are worthless. They are refusing to march!"

Aurelius staggered back. He looked at his hands, hands that could summon meteors, hands that could crush mountains.

But he couldn't crush inflation. He couldn't burn a deficit.

For the first time in his life, the 7th Order Mage felt powerless.

BOOM.

A massive explosion rocked the palace grounds, shaking dust from the ceiling.

"What now?!" Aurelius roared.

The Commander of the Guard looked at the magical display, his face ashen.

"The Western Gate! It's been breached! The rioters... they have Magitech explosives! High-grade ones!"

…....................

[Rooftop Overlooking the Palace]

Damien stood on the edge of a clock tower, the wind whipping his cloak around him.

He watched the city below. It was a masterpiece of orchestrated chaos.

To the East, the Financial District was in a blackout as the economy flatlined. To the West, the slums were a sea of torches, marching toward the Palace.

In the center, the Palace sat like a golden cage, locking the Emperor inside with his own fear.

Damien's system interface floated in the air, scrolling with beautiful, chaotic data.

[Mission Objective: Destabilize Economy - COMPLETE]

[Mission Objective: Incite Rebellion - COMPLETE]

[Imperial Army Status: Frozen / Mutiny]

[Current DP: 150,000]

"Check," Damien whispered to the wind.

He pulled a small communication crystal from his pocket.

"Hephaestus. Is the Jammer ready?"

"Aye, Boss," the Dwarf's voice crackled through the static, sounding giddy with excitement.

"I've tuned the frequency to the Imperial Mana Signature. When you give the word, I'll turn every wand in the capital into a stick."

"Hold it," Damien ordered. "Wait for the Griffons."

He looked North, toward the distant horizon where Leona was waiting.

"The Emperor has one move left," Damien analyzed, his eyes cold.

"He can't pay his soldiers. He can't suppress the riots. He has to recall the Loyal Legions from the borders to save his own skin."

As if on cue, a flare went up from the Palace. A magical signal. Red and Black.

The Recall Order.

Damien smiled. It was a genuine smile this time.

"And... Mate."

He spoke into the crystal again.

"Isabelle. Barnaby. Get to the extraction point. We're done here."

"Already there, Young Master," Isabelle's voice came back, breathless but triumphant.

"I managed to short-sell the grain market before we left. We made... a lot."

"Greedy," Damien chuckled. "I taught you well."

He stood up, adjusting his mask.

The city was burning, the economy was dead, and the Voss name was cleared. The plot had been shattered, the pieces rearranged to his liking.

He turned his back on the burning capital.

"Let the Emperor rot in his pile of worthless gold," Damien said to the wind. "We have an appointment with the future."

He stepped off the ledge, dissolving into shadows before he hit the ground.

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