’Seriously, What’s With Girls and Malls?’

The moment they stepped out of Magnolia Restaurant, Anya caught Marcus’s hand before he could even think about escaping. Her eyes softened instantly, wide and pleading, the full puppy-dog routine deployed without shame as she begged him to go shopping with her. Marcus already knew resistance was pointless.

Dominion had been thriving lately. The streets overflowed with players, merchants, and wandering NPCs, every plaza alive with motion and chatter. Lantern light reflected off polished stone roads, banners swayed overhead, and the entire city looked less like a game and more like a living fantasy painting rendered in impossible detail. Honestly, it felt more vibrant than reality itself, and Marcus had long since stopped questioning why he preferred being here.

And walking through that crowd with three stunning women clinging to him made the experience even harder to complain about. Their hands rested casually in his, warm and soft, their presence drawing attention whether he wanted it or not. Marcus might have pretended to be humble, but he was not stupid enough to refuse that kind of company.

All three wore concealment masks, standard equipment for players who wanted privacy, yet masks could only do so much. Beauty like theirs refused to stay hidden. People turned their heads as they passed, conversations faltering mid-sentence, eyes lingering a moment too long. Marcus felt an unmistakable swell of pride rise in his chest as he noticed the reactions.

That was real presence. Not the filtered perfection of social media idols or plastic influencers chasing validation through screens, but something undeniable that existed even inside a virtual world.

While they wandered through the shopping district, Marcus quietly stocked up on supplies. Liam’s earlier warning stayed lodged in his mind. Whatever trial awaited them was not going to be gentle. Potions, utility items, emergency scrolls, anything remotely useful went into his inventory. Preparation cost gold. Dying cost far more.

Eventually, Anya and Chloe logged off for the night, their figures dissolving into light. Marcus escorted Alana back to the mansion before finally heading toward the weapon shop located near Blue Sea Citadel. Liam Windrunner, the man known across Dominion as the King of the Mountains, was supposed to be waiting for him there.

Marcus had barely reached the street when a familiar voice shouted from across the road.

"Kid! Over here!"

Liam sat inside a system teahouse, one leg crossed casually over the other as if he had been waiting for hours. His expression carried obvious impatience.

"You ready?" Liam asked.

The tone alone made it clear he was not thrilled about the delay.

Marcus raised a hand in greeting. "Yeah, boss. Good to go."

"Then move."

Once outside the city gates, Liam wasted no time. He summoned a sleek black panther whose muscles rippled beneath its dark fur, vaulted onto its back in one smooth motion, and sprinted northwest without so much as checking whether Marcus followed.

"Keep up!"

Marcus laughed under his breath and summoned Blackie.

The Nightmare Dragon Steed materialized in a burst of dark flame, its seven-colored horn gleaming while hellfire curled around its hooves. Even among Dominion’s rare mounts, the Super Divine Mount stood out instantly. Nearby players riding Flame Chargers could not resist the challenge. Seven or eight of them urged their mounts forward, attempting to match Marcus’s speed.

They managed to stay close for less than a minute before Blackie surged ahead, leaving only dust and stunned silence behind.

He might be classified as a Knight, but when it came to raw movement speed, Marcus was widely acknowledged as Dominion’s undisputed number one.

Speculation spread among the players they passed.

"Where’s that Nightmare Dragon Steed going?"

"And why’s he riding with that NPC on the black panther?"

"Must be a quest."

Nobody knew what kind, but envy hung thick in the air as riders watched the two figures disappear toward the horizon.

Then the attention of those same players shifted.

"Oh."

"Whoa."

"Look over there."

Two additional riders moved ahead of the crowd, slightly off Marcus’s path. Both wore sleek black assassin armor that hugged slender figures with effortless elegance. Even from behind, their movements carried confidence and lethal grace. The way they sat their mounts alone told everyone watching that these were not ordinary players.

They were stunning. Obviously so, even beneath their masks.

Four riders immediately broke formation and accelerated toward them. They were the Flower Hunters, a small but notorious mercenary group composed of two Warriors and two Sorcerers. Their reputation preceded them, and they made sure everyone nearby understood who claimed priority. Weapons rattled deliberately as they cast warning glances toward any other player who might consider interfering.

Seeing no challengers, the Flower Hunters rode straight toward the two assassins and surrounded them.

"Hey, ladies," one of the Warriors called out with an easy grin. "Looking for someone to level with?"

The group closed in confidently, clearly accustomed to getting what they wanted.

The two girls did not even turn their heads.

"Move," one of them said.

Just a single word, delivered cold enough to freeze the air.

The Flower Hunters laughed.

"Feisty," another said as they edged closer, emboldened by the lack of visible reaction. Now that they were nearer, they could appreciate the details: willow-slim figures, poised posture, and an aloof, icy confidence that somehow made them even more alluring. The masks hid their faces, but none of the men doubted what lay underneath. They were already convinced these women were breathtaking.

"Sweetheart, if you need a team for dungeons, we can take you anywhere you want," the Warrior continued.

He never finished the sentence.

Both assassins dismounted at the exact same moment, their movements perfectly synchronized without a single exchanged word.

The assassin carrying a shortbow had already drawn an arrow before her boots touched the ground. Two freezing arrows shot forward in rapid succession, striking the speaking Warrior square in the chest before he could react.

At the same time, the second assassin flipped lightly off her mount, twin curved daggers appearing in her hands as if summoned from thin air. She blurred forward and unleashed a storm of strikes against the nearby Knight.

Critical hit after critical hit flashed in rapid sequence. The Knight did not even manage to shift into proper combat stance before collapsing.

"Damn... that was fast."

"And strong."

The remaining Flower Hunters turned pale and hurried to dismount.

Everyone knew the rule. Unless you were a Knight, fighting while mounted was practically suicide due to damage penalties.

They were already too late.

The second Warrior barely took three steps before both assassins struck simultaneously. Frost arrows pierced from one side while flashing daggers carved from the other, the attacks landing at precisely the same instant.

He survived perhaps a second longer than his teammate. But it made no difference. Double critical hits ended him instantly.

"You’ve got to be kidding me..."

The two Sorcerers finally hit the ground, hands glowing as spells gathered. At least they might manage a counterattack.

"Stealth."

Both assassins vanished. Mid-combat, without warning, their figures dissolved into nothingness.

"What the hell?"

"They’re hidden classes..."

Recognition spread through the watching crowd. That explained the assassin wielding a shortbow. And disappearing during combat was no ordinary skill.

The first Sorcerer felt movement behind him a heartbeat too late. Frost arrows rained down as the bow-wielding assassin reappeared, her silhouette forming like a mirage solidifying into reality.

Behind the second Sorcerer, light flickered.

Twin daggers struck like venomous snakes, impossibly fast and relentless. The assassin’s body twisted through the air with fluid grace, every motion precise enough to resemble choreography rather than violence.

It was beautiful to witness, unless you were the one being killed.