Pampering Discarded Heroines Triggers My 10,000x Rebate System

The bright arena floodlights reflected off the surface of the obsidian medallion. Up on the suspended catwalks, Ringmaster Balthazar’s mechanical eye locked onto the engraved silver skull and crossed daggers.

His cybernetic jaw dropped open in sheer horror.

"HOLD YOUR FIRE!" Balthazar’s voice shrieked through the sound system, cracking with raw panic. "HOLD YOUR FIRE! ALL UNITS STAND DOWN! DO NOT SHOOT!"

The fifty armed syndicate enforcers froze, their fingers trembling against the triggers of their mana-cannons and repeaters.

Around the arena, the hundreds of spectators looked up in confusion and shock as Balthazar frantically waved his arms, stumbling against his own podium.

His heart was pounding hard against his ribs in terror.

’That’s Director Gus’s personal Sovereign Token... the premier VIP mark of the Umbra Syndicate.’

In the criminal underworld of Veridia, the Umbra Syndicate was the undisputed supreme power that controlled the black markets and shadow banks across all four sectors. Small syndicates like Black-Skull were mere gnats compared to Director Gus’s empire.

Balthazar realized the trap he had nearly walked into:

First, this young man had just annihilated three Level 45 beasts in fifteen seconds without using mana.

Second, he had transferred twenty million dollars in liquid cash without blinking an eye.

And third, he held the personal protection seal of the most dangerous man in the city’s underworld.

If Black-Skull fired a single bullet at him, not only would Evren likely slaughter half the arena, but the Umbra Syndicate would hunt down and execute every member of Black-Skull by sunrise.

"Lower the weapons!" Balthazar screamed at his guards. "Lower the weapons right now, you idiots!"

The enforcers quickly lowered their rifles, stepping back from the catwalk railings.

Down in the sand pit, Evren kept his arm raised for another two seconds before calmly slipping the Umbra Sovereign Medallion back into his inner coat pocket.

Behind him, Zephyra stood trembling, her violet eyes wide as she looked from the retreated guards up to Evren’s calm profile.

She had spent four months in this subterranean hell, watching dozens of awakeners beaten, tortured, and fed to beasts. Never once had she seen the ruthless Iron-Jaw Balthazar scream in terror like a frightened child.

Balthazar practically sprinted down the metal stairs.

He hurried across the sand pit, wiping beads of cold sweat from his scarred forehead with a trembling sleeve. Two syndicate accountants followed behind him with pale, terrified faces.

"S-Sir!" Balthazar stammered, stopping ten paces away and bowing stiffly. "A terrible misunderstanding! A complete malfunction of our containment protocol! We had no idea you were an honored guest of Director Gus."

Evren looked at Balthazar with cold eyes.

"The twenty million dollars is in your escrow," Evren said in a low, level voice. "The merchandise is paid for."

"Of course! Absolutely!" Balthazar turned to the accountant, snapping his fingers frantically. "Transfer the release certificates! Right now!"

The accountant rapidly tapped the payment terminal, sending the encrypted ownership documents and debt-clearance files directly to Evren’s phone.

BEEP.

[NOTIFICATION: ZEPHYRA NIGHTSHADE DEBT CONTRACT 100% TRANSFERRED & DISSOLVED]

"The contract is cleared, sir!" Balthazar said hastily. "The girl is legally free of all syndicate claims!"

"Open the blast doors," Evren said calmly.

"Open the doors!" Balthazar barked toward the control booth. "Open every gate immediately!"

The massive titanium blast doors groaned and slid open, clearing the wide exit corridor.

Evren turned his attention back to Zephyra.

Now that the adrenaline had faded, the shadow necrosis in her veins flared up with a vengeance.

Zephyra’s knees buckled beneath her. She let out a sharp gasp of pain, her slender body pitching forward toward the red sand.

Before she could hit the ground, Evren stepped in and caught her gently by the waist.

"Easy," he said softly.

With a smooth motion, Evren lifted her into a secure carry, keeping the warm S-Rank Glacial Wyvern Mantle wrapped snugly around her shivering frame to protect her from the cold air.

Zephyra tensed instinctively in his arms.

Her bruised fingers lightly touched his coat lapel and her violet-flecked eyes searched his calm face with confusion. She was an elite assassin who had trusted no one for years, yet here she was, being carried out of a death pit by a stranger who had just spent twenty million dollars to free her.

Evren carried her across the sand pit and walked toward the exit corridor.

Hundreds of underworld criminals and black-market bosses backed against the railings, parting the way in dead, respectful silence as Evren walked past with Zephyra in his arms.

Evren took the freight elevator up to the surface, stepping out into the cold night rain of Sector 4.

The dark, cloudy sky was lit only by the flickering red and blue neon signs of the industrial slums.

Parked in the shadows of a quiet side street near the perimeter was a discreet, black executive vehicle with dark tinted windows.

Mikay stood beside the open rear door with an umbrella, bowing respectfully as Evren approached.

"Chairman," Mikay said smoothly, keeping his voice low. "The area is completely clear."

"Good work, Mikay," Evren nodded. "Let’s head back."

Evren placed Zephyra gently into the heated leather seats of the vehicle’s spacious rear cabin, then slid in beside her and closed the door.

The soundproof glass cut off the noise of the rainy slums.

Mikay got into the front passenger seat, and the driver pulled smoothly away from the curb, heading back toward the upper sectors.

Inside the cabin, Zephyra sat pressed against the leather seat, clutching the warm Wyvern mantle tightly around her shoulders.

Her pale skin was covered in a light sheen of cold sweat, the dark purple necrotic veins along her collarbones pulsing faintly with toxic miasma.

She turned her head slowly to look at Evren.

"Who are you?" she whispered in a rough voice, strained from four months of dry throat. "Why did you spend twenty million dollars on a ruined weapon... a discarded has-been?"

Evren looked out the tinted window at the glittering night skyline, then turned his gaze back to her with a calm, gentle smile.

"My name is Evren," he said quietly. "And you’re not a ruined weapon anymore."

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