The Anomaly's Path

The iron cage creaked as it settled on the stage, surrounded by thick, chains of mana suppression.

From VIP Booth 7-A, I rested my chin on my hand, looking down at the boy inside. He looked pitiful — bruised, starved, wearing torn rags. To the wealthy nobles and lords in the lower rows, he looked like broken goods.

A rogue, who had killed his own team and failed his mission. Garbage to be tossed away. They had no idea what they were looking at.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" the auctioneer shouted, his voice echoing through the hall. He pointed dramatically at the cage. "Tonight, we have a special, unlisted item from our deep vaults! A slave with incredible talent!"

Murmurs immediately broke out through the crowd below.

"A slave?" someone called out from the second-floor balconies. "Why are you selling Syndicate garbage on the main stage?"

"Is he tamed?" another voice shouted. "We don’t buy wild dogs that bite their masters!"

The auctioneer cleared his throat, holding up his hands. "Rest assured, esteemed guests! The boy is bound by mana suppression cuffs! Furthermore... he possesses a rare, conceptual Control Affinity!"

I clicked my tongue behind my mask, annoyance rising in my chest.

That bastard Archivist, I thought.

The Archivist had told the auctioneer to reveal the boy’s power.

They knew everyone down there would be interested in a conceptual power, and they knew I was planning to buy him. By showing off his power instead of his crimes, they were making him more valuable — forcing me to pay more. It was a classic move to drain my money, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Conceptual powers were extremely rare. Unlike normal elements like fire or lightning, a conceptual power dealt with abstract rules — in his case, the ability to control, twist, and rewrite things around him.

In the game, that Control power was what made him a nightmare. He didn’t kill his squad in a direct fight. He used his power to scramble their minds and senses during a mission, making them see monsters where their own teammates stood.

They panicked in the dark and killed each other while he sat back and didn’t even lift a finger. Later, he used the same power to hack security systems, rewrite bank records, and steal money from noble houses without leaving a trace.

Of course, a conceptual power had limits.

He couldn’t control someone whose mana and willpower were much stronger than his. He also had to understand the system he was trying to hack — he couldn’t just rewrite anything without knowing how it worked first. His power needed knowledge and focus to work properly.

That was how Arthur eventually killed him — Arthur’s divine sense and strong will were completely immune to the boy’s tricks.

Still, for someone in the underworld, the power was broken...

I didn’t have a single conceptual affinity myself. Even if I had other strong affinities, I still envied that kind of ability, even if it came with a future villain attached.

"The starting bid for this item..." the auctioneer raised his wooden gavel, "...is Five Million Gold Credits!"

"Six million!" a noble called out lazily. "A Control Power would be useful for managing my estate guards."

"Seven million!" a rich merchant countered.

"Eight million!"

"Ten million!"

The price began to climb fast.

The moment his affinity was mentioned, the crowd’s hesitation vanished. Nobles and merchants who had previously ignored the boy were now waving their bidding tokens, eager to get their hands on a rare tool.

I jumped into the bidding, raising my token. "Twenty million."

Down on the stage, several buyers glanced up at VIP Booth 7-A. A collective grumble went through the crowd. Most of them had hoped I wouldn’t care about a slave, but seeing my booth light up made them narrow their eyes.

"Thirty million!" a noble shouted, glaring up toward my window.

"Forty million!" another called out.

I realized what was happening, and a wave of pure irritation washed over me. These bastards are doing this on purpose.

They knew I was in the High-VIP booth with a lot of money.

They remembered how I had messed with the auctioneer earlier, jumping into bids and driving up prices. Now they were bidding against me on purpose, just to push the price higher. They knew I really wanted this boy. They were getting payback.

"Sixty million!" I raised my bid again.

"Sixty-five million!" the noble shot back, a smug smirk on his face.

"Eighty million!" another merchant joined in.

I leaned back against the couch, grinding my teeth under my mask.

I should have sent a message to my mother asking for more money, I thought bitterly. I had been avoiding her messages for the past few days because of how busy I was, and now I was paying for it out of my own pocket.

The bids kept rising until they hit one hundred and twenty million.

Seeing that the crowd was stubbornly pushing the price just to spite me, I decided to end it in one move. I leaned forward and raised the bid.

"Two Hundred Million Gold Credits."

A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the massive auction hall.

The noble who had been smirking froze mid-breath. The merchant dropped his token onto the floor. Down on the stage, the poor auctioneer looked like he had been struck by lightning, his jaw hanging open as his left eye twitched violently.

A Two Hundred Million Gold Credits was an absurd, terrifying sum. It was enough to buy a territory or fund a private army for a year.

A wave of fear hit the buyers in the lower seats. It hit them like cold water. They had been poking a monster in a High-VIP booth — someone who could throw around a two hundred million gold credits without even flinching.

If someone with that much money and power got angry, they could destroy their businesses or ruin them by morning. They were dealing with someone who might be from the Astra Union or a great noble house.

Slowly, every single buyer put their tokens down, shrinking back into their seats.

"Two... two hundred million..." the auctioneer stammered, wiping thick cold sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "Bidding two hundred million going once... going twice..."

3... 2... 1...

Bang!

"Sold to VIP Booth 7-A!" the auctioneer yelled, slamming his gavel down so hard it almost cracked the wood.

Inside the iron cage, the boy raised his head.

Through the dark glass of my booth, I saw his pale face and dark hair. His eyes — a striking, cold shade of sharp silver — locked straight onto my window. He couldn’t see me, but he stared at the source of that insane bid with a mixture of confusion and quiet hostility.

I let out a long, exhausted sigh, leaning my head back against the cushions.

My money is almost completely gone, I thought painfully. I am never coming back to this underground shit-show again.

Beside me, Caster, Julia, and Malva were staring at me in silence. Caster looked like he was about to faint, his jaw slack behind his mask, while Malva just watched me with a complicated look in her eyes.

"Caster, Julia, Malva," I spoke up, keeping my voice calm. "Go wait for me near the secondary transport gate outside. I’ll handle the final transfer alone and bring the boy."

Caster blinked, snapping out of his shock. "A-Are you sure, boss? What if—"

"It’s fine," I cut him off smoothly. "Just go ahead and secure our ride."

Understanding that I wanted privacy, the three of them nodded, and quietly exited VIP Booth 7-A, leaving me alone in the room.

A few minutes later, a soft knock came at the door.

"Enter," I said.

The door opened, and the auctioneer walked in, accompanied by the short-haired messenger girl — the Archivist’s actual assistant.

Both of them bowed deeply the moment they stepped inside. The auctioneer looked terrified, a nervous sweat glistening on his neck, clearly feeling the chill in the air from how much money I had just dropped.

"My... My Lord Loki," the auctioneer stammered, holding a tray with both hands. "We have brought the items you purchased tonight, along with the ownership papers for the asset."

On the tray was a small spatial storage ring containing everything I had bought tonight. I picked up my mana-link watch — the black band on my wrist that worked as my ID, schedule tracker, and bank access. I tapped it against the black payment reader the assistant held out.

Beep.

A huge amount of money was deducted instantly. My balance on the floating screen dropped, leaving me with barely twenty million gold credits out of the fortune I had started with.

I grabbed the spatial ring and sent a quick pulse of mana inside to check everything. All the items I had bought tonight were there — the staff for Julia, the short swords for Lyra, the Grandmaster sword art for Malva, and the enchanted dwarven hammer for Caster.

Mixed in were the useless things I bought just because I had too much money — the glasses that changed my vision with music, the watch that showed a floating clock, and the weird folded rock that turned into a chair when touched with mana.

Seeing everything was there, I tossed the ring into my Void Pocket and didn’t think about it again.

"Where is the boy?" I asked, standing up.

"He... he has been moved to holding room four on the lower level, My Lord," the auctioneer said quickly, handing me a key and a parchment contract. "This is the key for his suppression cuffs, along with the ownership seal. He is officially yours."

"Good," I said, taking the key and contract. "Leave us. I’ll handle him myself."

"Understood, My Lord!" The auctioneer bowed and sprinted out of the room like his life depended on it. The messenger girl gave a respectful nod before quietly retreating into the hallway, leaving me to head down to the lower level alone.

_

I walked down the hallway in the lower area, my boots echoing softly. I reached holding room four, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

The room was small, lit by a single dim mana lamp attached to the stone wall. Sitting on the cold floor, his back pressed against the corner, was the boy. His wrists and ankles were bound by mana-suppression cuffs, his dark hair messy, his pale face smeared with dirt and dried blood.

As the door closed behind me, his sharp silver eyes snapped up, locking directly onto me.

Silence settled over the small room.

"..."

"..."

We stared at each other for a long moment. Neither of us said a word.

"...Well?" I finally broke the silence, crossing my arms. "Are you going to speak, or are you just going to sit there looking like a beaten dog?"

The boy didn’t flinch. He narrowed his eyes, his voice raspy and dry from lack of water. "If someone intends to talk to another person, it is common sense to introduce themselves first. Aren’t you a noble? Or did no one bother teaching you basic etiquette?"

I blinked behind my mask.

This little brat...

Even sitting in rags with suppressed mana, his arrogant, sharp-tongued personality was fully intact. He reminded me painfully of myself whenever I was pushed into a corner.

I let out a slow sigh, reaching up to remove my mask. I pulled it off, letting my white hair fall naturally over my forehead. My deep blue eyes looked down at him in the dim light.

"Fine," I said smoothly, striking a dramatic, self-assured stance. "I am Leo von Celestial. Heir to one of the Four Great Houses, a high noble, absurdly handsome, and the man who just spent a two hundred million credits to buy you out of a cage. You should feel honored to even sit in my presence, brat."

"..."

The boy stared at me. His expression slowly twisted into an unbelievable look of disgust and sheer disbelief, as if he had just watched a goat try to recite poetry.

The silence that followed was deafening.

My cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment. Damn it, that sounded way cooler in my head.

I coughed into my fist to clear the awkwardness, quickly dropping the pose. "Moving on. What’s your name, kid?"

The boy let out a cold, hollow scoff, looking back down at his chained wrists. "...I don’t have one. My fuckass parents never bothered to name me before they tossed me out. The Syndicate handlers just called me ’Asset 09’ or ’Trash.’ The scum in my unit called me ’Zero.’ Take your pick."

"Trash name, huh..." I said flatly.

"Anyway," I continued, leaning against the wall. "You belong to me now."

The boy’s expression hardened, his jaw clenching tightly. "Belong to you? I’d rather rot in this pit than be a noble’s lapdog."

"Is that why you killed your squad?" I asked. "Because they tried to turn you into a lapdog?"

His eyes flickered with a sudden, violent spark of rage. His breathing hitched, his fingers curling into tight fists against the floor.

"They were scum," he spat out, his voice dripping with venom. "They sold us out to the Syndicate for extra pay, beat us when we complained, and expected us to die quiet deaths in the dark. They brought me here to sell me off. I just gave them what they deserved before they could finish the deal."

"Indirectly, right?" I replied, raising an eyebrow. "Used your Control Affinity to mess with their perception during a mission, made them think their own partners were monsters, and watched them kill each other to pieces in the dark."

The boy froze, his pale face turning even paler. "How... how do you know that?"

"I know a lot of things," I said simply. "And honestly? I don’t blame you. If I were in your position, I would have killed them too. Surviving by any means necessary isn’t a crime in my book."

I walked forward, stopping a few feet in front of him, and looked down into his silver eyes.

"Here’s the reality of your situation," I told him flatly.

"You killed their team members — even if they were trash, that doesn’t matter to them. The Syndicate isn’t made of nobles who care about justice. They’re a group of dogs who only care about results and profit. They might keep you alive for a while if they see your talent, but the moment you’re not useful, they will either kill you or lock you away permanently. You leave here alone, they will hunt you down and string you up within two days. You have no money, no backing, and no power."

He gritted his teeth, trying to put up a cold, defiant front, but I could see right through it. Beneath that prickle of pride and hatred, he was terrified. He wanted to live. He wanted to survive at all costs. He was just like me — struggling against a world that kept trying to grind him into dust.

Of course, I can’t forget what he becomes in the game, I reminded myself quietly. He’s a future underworld villain. If I don’t keep a tight leash on him, he’ll turn around and bite me the moment he gets strong enough.

"I’m giving you a job," I continued, my voice dropping into a cold, heavy tone. "You’re going to work for me."

"And if I refuse?" the boy sneered, trying to hold onto his pride. "What if I just break your throat the moment these cuffs come off?"

I stopped moving.

I looked down at him, letting my eyes turn entirely cold. A dense, suffocating wave of killing intent erupted from my body, flooding the tiny room. The temperature in the room seemed to plunge into freezing territory as my aura pressed down directly on his shoulders, making the chains rattle against his frame.

The boy’s breath hitched. The defiant smirk on his face completely shattered, replaced by pure, instinctual dread. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even blink under the weight of my gaze.

"You have two choices," I whispered, my voice echoing like ice cracking in the dark. "Obey me... or die right here in this room."