The doors opened onto the Mezzanine, and the sound hit Reed first.

It wasn't the clang of steel or the scream of goblins that echoed from the lower levels. It was a low, sophisticated hum. The clatter of ivory chips on felt, the soft chime of crystal glasses, the murmur of bets being placed and fortunes being lost.

It smelled of expensive perfume, aged whiskey, and desperation.

Reed stepped out, adjusting the cuffs of his velvet coat. He paused at the obsidian railing overlooking the main Casino Floor.

It was working.

The "Tier 1" strategy was live. The floor was packed, not with mud-caked adventurers, but with the upper crust of the region who had crossed the new bridge. Merchants in silk tunics, minor nobles dripping with jewelry, and guild officials trying to look impartial while eyeing the roulette wheels.

Bone-Maids moved through the crowd like clockwork dolls. Their skeletal forms were draped in elegant velvet waistcoats, their porcelain bones polished to a high shine. They dealt cards with rattling precision, their lack of eyes somehow making their poker faces unbeatable.

Void Bunnies drifted through the air, phasing through tables to deliver cocktails, leaving behind faint trails of purple smoke.

High above, a shadow darted between the rafters. Riva. The Harpy was in stealth mode, swooping down with surgical precision to lift a shiny monocle from a merchant's pocket before vanishing back into the darkness. Reed pretended not to see it. It was a "service tax."

"System," Reed whispered. "Status."

[ECONOMY: TIER 1 ACTIVE]

[Guest Count: 84]

[Average Spend: 15 Gold/Hour]

[Greed Mana Density: HIGH]

"High density," Reed noted, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the room.

He could see it. A golden, sickly mist was rising from the tables, swirling around the guests' heads like cigar smoke. Greed. It was a volatile mana type. If it built up too much, the dungeon would destabilize. Guests would start fighting, cheating, or worse... winning.

But Maira was already on it.

The Demon Maid stood near the central pit boss station. She was multitasking with terrifying efficiency. Her left hand held a magical slate displaying the live feed from the "Classic Dungeon" where Lena was currently screaming at a wall, while her right hand wielded her red quill over the ledger.

She walked past a high-stakes poker table where a fat merchant was sweating profusely, betting his ship's cargo. Maira didn't touch him. She simply tapped her clipboard with the quill.

Scritch.

[SKILL: LEDGER SIPHON]

A stream of the golden Greed mist was sucked right out of the air and into the tip of her pen. The merchant blinked, wiped his brow, and suddenly looked less manic. He folded his hand instead of going all in on a pair of twos.

Maira adjusted her glasses, a faint flush of satisfaction on her cheeks. She turned and walked toward the bar, where Luma was waiting.

Luma looked... incredible.

The High Slime had evolved past the need for a holographic uniform. Tonight, she was wearing herself. She had shaped her outer membrane into a floor-length, high-slit evening gown made of translucent, deep blue slime. It shimmered under the mana-lights, flowing like liquid silk every time she moved. It was elegant, alien, and entirely functional.

Maira reached the bar and tapped Luma on the shoulder. She touched the tip of her pen to Luma's arm. The harvested Greed mana flowed from the quill into the slime like gold ink into water.

Luma glowed brighter, humming a happy, bubbly note. She absorbed the volatile emotional energy and neutralized it, metabolizing the toxic greed into harmless, ambient light.

"The Filtration System works," Reed smiled, leaning on the railing. "Maira steals the stress, Luma eats it. Sustainable ecosystem."

"Lord Reed!"

Reed winced. He knew that voice.

Lord Valerius broke away from a crowd of admirers near the roulette wheel. The "Whale" looked fantastic. His skin was glowing with the aftereffects of his weekly slime treatments, and he was wearing a suit that cost more than the bridge Reed had just built.

"My dear boy!" Valerius shouted, waving a wine glass. "You must see this! I'm up five hundred gold! The system is broken! I'm robbing you blind!"

"Enjoy the streak, Lord Valerius," Reed called down, forcing a smile. "The night is young."

Valerius laughed, turning back to his entourage. "You see? He admits it! I am the King of Luck!"

Reed watched him bet it all on Black. The wheel spun. It landed on Red.

"Damn!" Valerius cheered, slapping the table. "Again!"

"Perfect," Reed muttered.

Then, the air changed.

It wasn't a sound. It was a silence.

At the main entrance, the heavy velvet curtains parted. The ambient chatter of the room didn't stop, but it dampened, as if the air pressure had suddenly dropped.

Madam Vesper had arrived.

She didn't look like the other guests. She didn't look like a gambler. She looked like a funeral procession of one.

She wore a gown of midnight-blue silk that swallowed the light around her. A heavy veil obscured her face, but Reed could feel her gaze sweeping the room. She ignored the slot machines. She ignored the bar. She ignored Valerius.

She looked up.

Straight at the Mezzanine. Straight at Reed.

[WARNING: HIGH-LEVEL SORCERESS DETECTED]

[Mana Signature: SHADOW / DIVINATION]

[Threat Level: CALCULATED]

"She's not looking at the décor," Reed realized, his hand tightening on the railing. "She's looking at the wiring."

Vesper raised a gloved hand and offered a small, mocking wave. Then, she began to walk toward the stairs. She moved with a fluid, predatory grace, the crowd instinctively parting around her without knowing why.

"Showtime," Reed exhaled.

He walked down the stairs to meet her. He needed to intercept her before she started poking holes in the reality of his operation.

As she ascended, the scent of her magic hit him. It wasn't the ozone of lightning or the sulfur of fire. It smelled like old books, cold nights, and ink.

She stopped three steps below him, putting them at eye level. Up close, the veil was semi-transparent. He could see sharp, pale features and eyes that were entirely too intelligent for his comfort.

"Lord Reed," Vesper said. Her voice was low, smoky, and amused. "A pleasure to finally meet the man who turned a hole in the ground into a tax haven."

"Madam Vesper," Reed replied, offering a slight bow. "Welcome to The Twilight Casino. I trust the journey across the bridge was smooth? Your carriage certainly... turned heads."

"The bridge is sturdy," Vesper said, stepping up onto the landing. She didn't look at him; she looked past him, staring at the obsidian walls where the mana lines were buried. "Dwarven steel. Paid for in cash, I assume? Or did you barter something... rarer?"

"We pay our debts in gold, Madam," Reed lied. "Like any legitimate enterprise."

"Legitimate," Vesper chuckled. She reached out and touched the wall. Her glove glowed with a faint, grey light. "Is that what we're calling this? A Necrotic Node repurposed into a resort? It's clever. Most Dungeons hoard death. You hoard... vices."

She turned those sharp eyes on him.

"But I'm not here for roulette, Reed. And I'm certainly not here for the buffet."

"Then what can I offer you?" Reed asked, letting a sliver of his [Overlord Aura] leak out. Just enough to show he wasn't prey. "Information? A private table?"

"A drink," Vesper said. "Something strong. And a conversation about the color purple."

Reed's heart skipped a beat. She knew.

"The bar is this way," Reed said, gesturing to the private lounge area behind the velvet ropes. "I'll have Luma mix you a special."

They walked to the bar. Luma, sensing the tension, flowed over immediately. Her slime-dress rippled as she curtsied, the hem of her gown momentarily merging with the floor before reforming.

"Hello!" Luma chirped, her voice bubbling. "I am Luma! I am the garnish! What would you like?"

Vesper looked at the slime girl. She didn't recoil like Thorne. She looked... hungry. Not for food, but for knowledge.

"A High Slime," Vesper murmured. "Stabilized. Sentient. And wearing herself as couture. Fascinating." She looked at Reed. "You feed her emotions, don't you? That's why the room feels so... light."

"We run a clean shop," Reed said, pulling out a stool for her.

"I'll have wine," Vesper said to Luma. "Red. Dry. And don't dissolve the glass, dear."

"I'm practicing!" Luma promised, producing a bottle from under the counter and pouring with surprising accuracy.

Vesper took the glass. She swirled it, watching the light catch the liquid.

"Let's cut the pleasantries, Lord Reed," Vesper said, taking a sip. "I am an Information Broker. I sell secrets to the Guild, to the Kingdom, and to anyone with enough coin. I know Valerius lost a fortune here. I know Commander Thorne left with a bruised ego and a dented breastplate. And I know about the Siege."

Reed froze. "The Siege?"

"Malakor," Vesper whispered the name. "The Necromancer. The Guild thinks he vanished. I know he brought an army here a few weeks ago. And I know that army didn't leave."

She leaned in close. The scent of cold ink grew stronger.

"You didn't just defeat him, Reed. You ate a part of him. Or rather, your Core did."

Inside Reed's chest, Elara woke up.

She knows, the Banshee spirit whispered, sending a spike of freezing cold through Reed's ribs. She smells the Dead Lord on us.

Reed clamped down on the reaction, forcing his face to remain neutral. "That is a dangerous accusation, Madam. The Authority burns Necromancers."

"They do," Vesper agreed. "Director Vane would glass this mountain if he knew. But you aren't a Necromancer, are you? You're something... weirder."

She traced the rim of her glass.

"Standard dungeons emit Blue Mana. Fear. Joy. Pain. But you... you are leaking Violet. You are sitting on a Void Shard, Reed. A pure, unstable, untaxable Void source."

The air in the lounge dropped ten degrees.

"What do you want, Vesper?" Reed asked, dropping the act. "Blackmail? Gold?"

"I have gold," Vesper waved a hand dismissively. "Gold is boring. Gold creates inflation. No, I want what you have. I want access."

"Access to what?"

"The Void Mana," Vesper whispered. "I have... clients. Mages who operate in the grey areas. They need energy sources that the Authority can't track. They need juice that doesn't show up on the Guild registers."

She set the glass down.

"You have a surplus. I have a distribution network. We could be partners."

Reed stared at her. It wasn't a threat. It was a business proposal. She wanted to be his fence for illegal magical nuclear waste.

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I write a report," Vesper shrugged. "I tell the Guild that Dungeon D-0731 is harboring a Class-S Hazard. Inspector Vex arrives. Vane arrives. And your little casino burns down."

Reed was so tired of hearing about the dungeon authority every time he had a break to breathe. He got quiet, out of anger and frustration.

She took another sip of wine.

"But I'd rather not do that. I like this place. The ambiance is... soothing. And frankly, I'm bored of the capital."

Reed's mind raced. He was broke. He needed money to run the lights. But selling Void Mana was crossing a line from "Tax Evasion" to "International Arms Dealing."

Then again... he was already a heretic.

"I can't sell you the raw mana," Reed said slowly. "It's too volatile. It causes Shadow Rot. You'd kill your clients."

"I don't want raw mana," Vesper smiled, reaching into her sleek black clutch. She pulled out a small, crystal vial. It was empty, but etched with complex containment runes. "I want refined product. Concentrated. Like the 'Steam' you use to drug your Paladin."

Reed blinked. "How do you know about the Steam?"

"I have eyes everywhere, Darling," Vesper winked behind her veil. "Even in the stairwells."

She slid the vial across the obsidian bar.

"Fill this. With Void-infused liquid. Potion base. Wine. I don't care. Just give it a kick. I'll sell it to the warlocks as a 'Mana Booster.' We split the profits 60/40."

"70/30," Reed countered instinctively.

Vesper paused. Then, a genuine laugh escaped her lips.

"60/40," she insisted. "But I'll handle the bribes, having the Authority look the other way." She smirked. "Which means less inspections, and more freedoms."

Reed froze. "Bribes? How so?"

"I have my own ways of getting around the Authorities," Vesper said casually. "From the Adventurer's Guild, to other dungeons, and black market services. If you deal with me... I can ensure you less holy fire coming your way. And your Inquisitor can come back here and relax in your steam."

Reed looked at the vial. He looked at Luma, who was innocently polishing a glass with her own arm. He looked at Maira across the room, siphoning Greed from a noble while checking the security feed of Brin screaming as he was thrown in the air.

He saw Riva, the fast silent shadow diving from the rafters every now and again.

He was running a criminal empire. He might as well be good at it.

"Deal," Reed said.

He reached out and took the vial.

"But we do this my way. No direct Void. I'll brew a variant. Something stable."

"I trust your creativity," Vesper stood up, smoothing her silk dress. "I'll be back in three days for the first batch. Don't disappoint me, Lord Reed. I'd hate to have to burn this lovely rug."

She turned to leave, tossing a heavy bag of gold onto the bar.

CLUNK.

"A down payment," Vesper called over her shoulder. "Put it on Black."

She walked away, parting the crowd like a dark sea.

Reed stared at the bag. He opened it.

[ITEM ACQUIRED: BAG OF GOLD]

[Amount: 1,000 G]

[Source: The Shadow Broker]

"We're in the drug trade now," Reed muttered to Luma.

"Yay!" Luma cheered, having no concept of morality. "Does that mean we can buy more shiny cups?"

"Yes, Luma," Reed sighed, pocketing the gold. "We can buy all the cups."

He looked down at the vial in his hand. The glass felt cold.

[QUEST ACCEPTED: THE PURPLE STUFF]

[Objective: Brew a stable Void Potion.]

[Reward: Black Market Access.]

[Time Limit: 3 Days.]

Reed rubbed his temples. The "Tired Dad" energy was heavier than ever.

"Maira!" he called out. "Set up an alchemy station. We need to cook."

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