Reincarnated in a novel: I am the villain!-Chapter 291: Dream Scape

[Isabelle’s Dreamscape]

On the other end, while Damien and the others were having their meeting, Isabelle was currently a battle of her own

Trapped in her mind, everywhere was cold.

The kind of cold that didn’t just freeze the skin, but ate away at the hope inside the bones.

*Clang. Clang.*

The sound of iron bars rattling against stone.

Isabelle looked down. Her hands were small, dirty, and covered in sores.

A familiar scene, to a time before becoming a maid, to a time where she was just... merchandise.

"No," she whispered, her voice a dry rasp that hurt her throat.

"Not here again."

Through the bars, she saw them. The Slave Traders.

They were laughing, their faces twisted into grotesque masks of greed, pointing at her with thick, calloused fingers.

"A Half-Blood. Worthless. Maybe the arena will take her for fodder."

"Look at those eyes. Cursed. Burn her if she doesn’t sell."

She curled into a ball on the filthy straw. She wanted to scream, but her throat was dry.

She wanted to fight, to summon the purple fire that slept in her blood, but she was empty.

Then, the heavy iron door creaked open.

A silhouette stood there, framed by the blinding light of the outside world.

It wasn’t a trader like the others, instead It was a boy with silver hair and eyes deep as the ocean.

"Isabelle," he said.

He reached out a hand. It was a warm that promised safety, one that promised a home.

Isabelle reached back. She wanted that warmth more than she wanted air.

She stretched her small, trembling fingers toward him.

*WHOOSH.*

But as she reached out, her hand ignited.

Violet fire consumed her flesh. Her skin cracked like porcelain shattering on stone.

It was agonizing. It was eating her soul to fuel its brightness.

"Master!" she screamed, watching her arm dissolve into ash.

"I’m burning! I can’t reach you!"

The boy however didn’t pull away, instead he stepped into the fire.

"Sleep, Isabelle," the boy whispered, his voice maturing into the deep, metallic tone of the adult Damien.

"Sleep well. I’ll definitely wake you up."

The violet fire consumed her vision, leaving only darkness.

....

[Reality – The Melting Pot Inn]

Damien stood by Isabelle’s side, as he watched sleep.

Beside him, she twitched constantly, a pained whimper escaping her lips.

On the pillow, her head turned restlessly.

The spiderweb cracks on her grey skin glowed with a faint, ominous red light, pulsing in time with her erratic heartbeat.

He placed his hand on her forehead, fortunately she didn’t seem to have a fever

"System," Damien whispered, his voice devoid of emotion. "How much Dp do I need to heal her."

A blue holographic screen flickered into existence above the bed, illuminating the rusted iron walls of the room.

[Diagnostic: Soul Fragmentation due to Overdraft.]

[Root Cause: Forced ascension to 7th Order via Life-Force Combustion.]

[Status: Critical. The vessel is cracking.]

Damien read the lines, his jaw tightening.

She had burned her lifespan to stand by his side.

She was like this because of him

"The fix," Damien demanded.

[Solution 1: Natural Recovery.]

[Estimated Time: 50 Years. Success Rate: 2%.]

"Next."

[Solution 2: High-Grade Soul Elixir or Direct Divine Intervention.]

[Description: Requires a 9th Order healing artifact or the direct assistance of a Demigod/God-tier entity.]

[Estimated Cost: 100,000 Destiny Points.]

Damien stared at the number.

100,000.

He checked his balance.

[Current DP: 2,000.]

After fighting with Thraka, he was practically completely broke

"One hundred thousand," Damien murmured.

He stood up and walked to the window. The grime-coated glass looked out over the Slag Heap the rusty, industrial slum of Argentum.

Beyond the smoke stacks and the scrap piles, he could see the glittering spires of the Upper City, shining like diamonds in the dark.

This layer was rich. It was the financial heart of the Abyss.

He remembered Ziriork’s words from the night before.

The Platinum Prince grants one request. Anything. Wealth, power... or passage."*

A wish from a 9th Order entity. That would count as Divine Intervention.

"Dp," Damien murmured, his reflection in the glass looking tired but resolute.

"It always comes down to Dp."

He turned back to the room. Elian was sleeping in a chair by the door, clutching his staff, looking ancient and frail.

"Elian," Damien said softly.

The old mage woke instantly, years of survival instincts kicking in.

"Master? Is it an attack?"

"No," Damien said, adjusting his trench coat.

"I’m going out. Watch her. If her cracks spread past her neck, use the last Sanity Potion."

"Where are you going?" Elian asked, rubbing his eyes.

Damien grabbed his mask from the table. He ran his thumb over the porcelain surface.

"Nowhere, I need to clear my head," Damien said.

***

[Location: The City of Argentum – The Transition Zone]

The walk from the Slag Heap to the Chrome Core was a journey through time.

Damien started in streets made of mud and compacted rust, surrounded by shacks welded together from engine blocks.

Drifters and low-tier demons watched him from the shadows, their eyes hungry but wary of the predator’s stride he maintained.

But as he crossed the bridge over the mercury canal, the world changed.

The rust vanished. The mud was replaced by smooth, flowing silver pavement that seemed to reform under his boots.

The air grew cleaner, smelling of ozone and purified mana.

The buildings here were impossible. Spires of liquid metal twisted into the sky, defying gravity.

Some buildings floated, tethered to the ground by chains of silver light.

And the people...

Damien walked through a crowd of Argentans.

The liquid mercury demons glided past him, their faceless heads reflecting the neon lights of the city.

They wore robes of woven light and carried tablets of glass.

They ignored him. To them, a "Solid" walking in the Chrome Core was like a stray dog wandering into a banquet hall. Invisible until it made a mess.

"Alrights let’s do this" Damien whispered to himself.

After a few minutes of walking, he stopped in front of a massive, floating structure in the center of the district.

*The Exchange Hall.*

It looked like a giant, spinning gyroscope made of gold and silver rings.

Holographic tickers floated in the air around it, displaying the fluctuating values of everything from Abyss Iron to Monster Souls.

This was where the tournament would be held.

Damien walked up the steps. Two massive Golems made of polished diamond blocked the entrance.

"Halt," one Golem rumbled, its voice deep and resonant.

"The Exchange is closed to the public. Only registered participants for the Grand Event."

"I am a participant," Damien said calmly.

"Registration fee," the Golem held out a hand.

"Five thousand Abyss Cores. Or equivalent value in assets."

Five thousand. It was a fortune. Most Drifters wouldn’t see five hundred in a lifetime.

Damien didn’t flinch. He might not be rich in anything, but after spending long in the abyss, he had more than enough gems

Without any hesitation, he reached into his void gems and brought out a sack of abyss cores, tossing them to the golem

To which he scanned the bad with a beam of light from its eyes.

[Item Assessment: Meets Registration fee]

Scanning one more time, the Golem paused. It looked at the sack , then down at the human.

"Acceptable," the Golem rumbled, stepping aside. "Name?"

Damien walked past the guardian, his coat billowing behind him. He didn’t look back.

"Zero," Damien said. "Just Zero."

He entered the hall.

Inside, the noise hit him a roar of commerce and competition.

The hall was packed with demons of every shape and size: High Nobles in velvet, Warlords in bone armor, and Merchants with too many arms.

They were all here for the same thing. The favor of the Prince.

Damien scanned the room, his cross-shaped pupils dilating.

Although he didn’t know what this so-called exchange was fully about, he was not about to give up!

Bore the event started in the next two days, he had to prepare for the event, and gather as much information as possible

"100,000 DP," Damien whispered, merging into the crowd.

"I’m definitely going to make it, even if I have to turn this whole later upside down!."