[Timeline: Year 2041 (16 Years Since The Start)]

[Location: The Hidden Valley]

[System Notification]

[Target Location Confirmed: The Abyss Gate - Level 10.]

Damien stared at the blue holographic screen floating above the white flowers.

The words burned into his retinas, chilling him despite the warm sun of the valley.

"An Abyss Gate," Damien whispered, the wind rustling his black hair.

"And a Level 10 at that."

He walked away from the piano, his mind racing through the lore he had memorized a lifetime ago.

In the original novel, Abyss Gates weren't regular doors.

They were wounds, they were artificial tears in the fabric of reality created by the Void and Abyss Cultists to bypass the Divine Barriers that protected the mortal plane.

Most Gates were Level 1 or 2, spitting out abyss worms or low-tier imps. A Level 5 Gate required a National Army to close.

But a Level 10?

"A Level 10 Gate connects to the Deep Layers," Damien muttered, pacing the grass.

"That isn't just monster territory, that is the domain of Demon Dukes, Abyssal Leviathans and Demi-Gods."

He stopped pacing. His expression darkened as he looked at his hands.

He was strong. At Peak 6th Order, he could level a mountain with a swing of his sword.

He could dominate the minds of lesser creatures with a glance, but in the face of the Deep Abyss?

"I'm an ant," Damien admitted, the realization bitter on his tongue.

"The residual pressure of a Level 10 Gate alone would crush a 6th Order Mage into paste. If I try to break in now to save them, I won't be a hero. I'll just be a casualty."

He clenched his fist. The air around his hand cracked, small fissures of void appearing from the sheer pressure of his grip.

He needed to be stronger. He needed to break through the mortal limits and enter the 7th Order.

He needed to condense a Domain, a space where his will became absolute law.

And more importantly, he needed the Gate to open slowly.

"I can't force a Level 10 Gate," Damien reasoned.

"I need the Cult to trigger the ritual. I need the Plot to run its course. I need the main protagonist, Alaric, to start the chain reaction."

To save his parents, Damien didn't mind sacrificing one or two people; he had to make sure his plan was foolproof.

He had to make sure he wasn't doing more harm than good, as since the system already said they were alive, he had to make sure he didn't make their situation worse.

Thinking deeply, a plan slowly formed in his mind.

He would infiltrate the Academy, he would watch the Protagonist trigger the events.

And while the Hero played his part, Damien would farm every ounce of Destiny Points, experience, and resources the Academy had to offer.

"I have to get to the Central Continent," Damien said. "Tonight, before the protagonist group arrives."

Thinking about the academy, Damien already had an idea of just how to get in.

He opened the System Shop.

His [Shadow Warp] had a range of fifty kilometres. The Central Continent was an ocean away.

"System, search for Inter-Continental Transport."

[Item Found: Greater Teleportation Scroll (Single Use)]

[Description: Tears a stable hole through space to a coordinate of your choosing. Range: Planetary.]

[Cost: 10,000 DP]

Damien grimaced. "Expensive. But necessary."

[Purchase Confirmed. Balance: 200,000 DP.]

A scroll made of shimmering, starlight-infused parchment appeared in his hand.

Picking it up, he walked back to the piano. Lying on the keys was a mask.

He reached for it. But he hesitated.

It was a white, porcelain mask. Similar to the one he had worn as Zero during the Capital Revolution.

"No," Damien whispered, pushing it aside. "

Zero is a terrorist. Zero is a symbol of rebellion. If I walk into the Academy wearing that, the Demi-Gods guarding that place will vaporize me on sight."

He reached into his spatial storage and pulled out a different mask.

It was made of polished silver. It was a half-mask, covering only the upper right side of his face, leaving his mouth and his left eye.

It was elegant, tragic, and refined. A mask for a phantom, not a revolutionary.

He slid it onto his face. The cool metal settled against his skin.

"Tonight, I am not the Revolutionary Zero," Damien said, his voice dropping an octave. "I am the Maestro Mozart!"

He unfurled the scroll.

"Destination: The Grand Opera House, Central Capital."

[Activating...]

The scroll burst into blue flames. The space around Damien twisted, folding in on itself, and the Hidden Valley vanished.

…..........…..

[Location: The Central Continent – The Capital of Arts]

[The Grand Opera House – Backstage]

The air here smelled different. It smelled of expensive perfume, velvet, and old wood.

Coming back to this place, Damien couldn't help but sigh.

Ever since he made the persona called Mozart, he had come to play here multiple times, each time gaining a larger and larger following.

Now materialized in the shadows of the flames. The roar of the crowd was muffled, a dull thrum of thousands of voices waiting in anticipation.

"Three minutes to curtain!" a stage manager hissed, running past with a clipboard.

"Where is he? Where is Mozart?"

Damien stepped out of the shadows.

"I am here."

The stage manager froze. He looked up at the tall man in the black suit and the silver half-mask.

The aura coming off him was terrifyingly calm, like the surface of a deep ocean.

"O-Oh! Mr. Mozart! You... you cut it close! The audience is getting restless. The Duke of Aurea is in the front row!"

"Let them wait," Damien said smoothly, walking past the man.

"Anticipation sharpens appetite."

He walked to the edge of the curtain and peeked out.

The Opera House was a sea of gold and crystal.

Three thousand of the most powerful people on the Central Continent were packed into the seats. Mages, Nobles, Merchants. All people who run the current-day world.

Damien scanned the Royal VIP Box.

He was looking for the Headmaster. But the seat of honour was occupied by a woman.

She appeared to be in her forties, wearing crimson robes that flowed like blood. Her eyes were sharp, intelligent, and dangerous. She held a glass of wine, looking utterly bored.

Dean Alice. The Head of Recruitment for the Imperial Academy.

Damien smiled behind his mask.

'The Headmistress, that reclusive Demi-God didn't come herself. understandable.'

It made sense. The true rulers of the Academy rarely showed their faces. Dean Alice was the gatekeeper. She was the one he needed to impress.

Knowing this adjusted his cuffs.

[Skill Equipped: Siren's Chord (Grade S)]

[Effect: Weaves Intent into sound waves to manipulate emotional states. High-level mental influence.]

A skill he had also purchased a while back

"It's show time!" Damien whispered.

The lights in the house dimmed.

The crowd went silent.

A single spotlight hit the center of the stage, illuminating the grand piano.

Damien walked out.

He moved with the grace of a predator entering a clearing. Every step was measured.

To the audience in front, he neither bowed nor waved; he simply ignored the audience them, treating them as non-existent

After a few seconds, he sat on the bench, placing his hand on the keys

He didn't play immediately; instead, he let the silence stretch.

He let it become heavy, suffocating. He wanted them to be uncomfortable. He wanted them to be desperate for sound.

Then, he struck.

BOOM.

A single C-minor chord. But infused with his King's Greed Intent.

The shockwave hit the audience. A wave that emotionally stirred their hearts.

Three thousand people felt a sudden, crushing weight in their chests. It was the feeling of standing at the edge of a cliff. The feeling of being small.

Then, the melody began.

Lacrimosa.

But not the version they knew. Damien played it faster, harder. His fingers were a blur. The notes gliding through the air.

He wove the Siren's Chord into the music.

To the audience, the music seemed to paint a picture.

They saw cities burning. They saw kings falling. They felt the despair of a world ending.

The Duke in the front row gripped his armrests, sweat pouring down his face.

"What... what is this sorrow?"

In the VIP box, Dean Alice sat up straight. The boredom vanished from her face. She leaned over the railing, her eyes narrowing.

"He's playing an ordinary song," Alice murmured, swirling her wine.

"He's projecting his Will. It's... magnificent!"

Damien shifted the tempo.

From despair to Rage.

The music became violent. A storm of arpeggios that sounded like thunder. He poured the Dragon Fear into the low notes.

'You are weak,' the music whispered to them. 'You are sheep. You need a shepherd. You need power.'

The audience was entranced. They were no longer nobles. They were addicts, drinking in the mana he was feeding them.

Damien built the crescendo. Higher. Louder.

He pushed his 6th Order aura to the limit, confining it strictly to the stage so it didn't crush them physically, but mentally... they were on their knees.

Then, he stopped.

He ended on a high, sharp note that hung in the air like a blade.

He lifted his hands.

Silence.

Absolute, terrified silence.

Damien stood up. He looked at the crowd. He saw the tears. He saw the shaking hands. He saw the fear and the awe.

He had them.

He gave a slight, dismissive nod.

Then he turned and walked off stage.

Behind him, the silence broke. The Opera House erupted into chaos. People were screaming, crying, cheering. It was hysteria.

But Damien didn't look back.

He walked into the wings, where Barnaby was waiting with a towel and a glass of water.

The merchant, now greyer and heavier than before, looked pale.

"Showoff," Barnaby grinned nervously. "I think you broke the Duke."

"Did it work?" Damien asked, taking the water.

"Look at the VIP box," Barnaby pointed.

Damien glanced back through the curtain.

Dean Alice was standing up. She wasn't clapping.

She was pointing at the stage and barking orders to her assistant.

"She's probably sending an envoy," Barnaby whispered. Good job, young lord."

Damien smiled beneath the silver mask.

"Good," Damien said, loosening his tie.

"Stage one is over. Now... let's see if I can get the job"

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