In the New Suburb, Catherine, the cloaked "Phantom Blade," sat crookedly on a rooftop, leaning against a chimney that looked ready to collapse.
She clasped her severed arm, stroking the wound that had been sealed shut by dead flesh and bone after her ability took effect.
Amid waves of hazy phantom pain, countless fireworks burst across the distant night sky, bathing the entire city in dazzling, splendid colors.
In an alley at the far edge of her vision, a young man in an extravagant costume and comical makeup returned home, his face full of exhaustion. Backlit by the fireworks behind him, he dragged a prop-filled bag to his door with difficulty, then reverently took out a thin money pouch and stroked it again and again. Only then did he summon the courage to open the door, anticipation and anxiety mingling in his heart.
Catherine narrowed her eyes and counted the beats.
One, two, three.
As expected, a few seconds later, the lights came on inside the house. At the same time, another old woman's scolding rang out, filled with words like "coppers" and "what are we going to do?"
Catherine sneered inwardly.
Damn it. How many years has it been?
The city kept expanding, yet the wages for coming into town to do odd jobs still hadn't increased?
No wonder Emerald City keeps getting richer.
But the amusement in her heart gradually solidified.
It was unbelievable. Not long ago, she had been the undisputed boss of a corner of the Royal Capital—the filthy underground world those nobles wouldn't approach even while pinching their noses. She had considerable influence and connections everywhere. Whenever she frowned and spoke, even ordinary nobles and municipal officials had to treat her courteously. Even the Head of Vigilant Hall in West City, once a war hero,