Early birds catch worms. At dawn, the Fran Black Market brimmed with danger and opportunity.

Unlicensed potion peddlers bundled counterfeit brews never approved by the Empire. Slave traders wore dog leashes at their waists—except the other end chained not dogs, but kneeling, crawling beastkin bound by contracts.

Hatted merchants hauled global goods from psychedelic mushroom huts. Their short stature hid sharp business instincts always ahead of trends. If you sought fortune, try your luck with them—but only if you had enough fingers to spare. Otherwise, cash-and-carry only. Stay far from these mushroom-headed madmen.

Most common of all were mercenaries lining the roads, leering at passersby...

"Fine little thing! See those child-bearing hips sway? Shame she’s a dark elf—not my type..."

"Shut it. Everyone knows you crave mecha armor. Bet you’d shove cannon barrels into—"

"Buy me a *bang-bang* potion! Mix it smooth—no bubbles! I’ll blow up my wife for hiring courtesans behind my back!!"

Filthy shouts crashed like waves against newcomers’ senses.

Some were hardened killers with hundreds of deaths on their hands. Others were rookie mercenaries brought by veterans to "see the sights." A few were just travelers rushing through this death zone, refusing to linger a second longer.

Each carried secret sorrows, forced to abandon dignity and scrape survival from society’s gutter.

Bathed in endless bloodshed, many forgot their original dreams—even their own names.

Here, money bought anything. Without imagination, you’d drown in this goldmine. Opportunity clung only to a rare few.

......

"So slow..."

Lerna lifted a slender arm to block the glaring sun.

She’d checked the time countless times. No sign of her contact—only thugs drawn to her beauty.

The result?

Lerna turned her face. Her breathtaking features contrasted sharply with the row of deathly pale faces behind her.

"You all want me? Then stay by my side forever."

The skeletal undead nodded stiffly. Dislocated jaws clattered to the ground.

Many witnessed this. Some marveled at Lerna’s power. Most just felt numb.

Beyond the Empire’s reach, life here was cheaper than ants. Big fish ate small fish—that was Fran Black Market’s eternal law.

People died when killed. They’d seen it all before.

Necromancers raising corpses as guards? Not uncommon. But none as skilled as Lerna. True necromancers were rare. High-level ones? Even rarer.

"Lerna senior..."

"Lerna senior!"

Alice and Emma arrived together. Camilla trailed behind, using his stealth skills to approach silently.

"All here?"

Lerna frowned. Later than expected. Didn’t they fear her anger?

"We ran into trouble," Emma stammered. "Imperial Princess Diana intercepted us, inviting us to the freshman ball. Her invitation was... hard to refuse..."

Lerna: "You accepted?"

"No! How could we?" Alice had learned Lerna’s current rank from Camilla. Lerna stood at the pinnacle Alice craved—a shadow vast enough to eclipse the sky. "Emma and I made excuses to leave. But..."

Lerna’s gaze swept over their fair faces, settling on Camilla.

Camilla sighed, choosing words carefully. "Yes. Princess Diana cornered me. Under pressure... I accepted her alliance offer."

Afraid of misunderstanding, he added quickly: "With my skills, I can gather intel from inside her faction. If you oppose her, I’ll be your eyes and ears!"

"Don’t panic. Minor issue."

Lerna dabbed Camilla’s sweatless brow with a handkerchief. Her smile was beautiful—and lethal.

"Do I seem petty? Actually, staying with Diana as a spy suits you. Become her right hand. Make her trust you with critical tasks. Then report everything to me..."

"I—I thought the same!" Camilla held his breath, terrified she’d slaughter him again for fun.

That dance between life and death haunted his dreams. Cold sweat woke him nightly.

Thanks to Lerna, he hadn’t slept properly in days.

How could he? Closing his eyes brought terror beyond death. Even hiring succubi to lull him to sleep only twisted into nightmares. *Damn it, who could rest like this?*

Compared to Diana van Tesha’s blunt emotions, Lerna Falmouth’s methods were pure horror. Only those who’d experienced it knew her true terror.

Camilla had learned the hard way—thanks to his loose tongue.

Dozens of times. Each death more creative than the last. He was nearly a masochist...

"Three notes. Find everything listed before sunset. Pass this test, and I’ll acknowledge your place in House Falmouth—with full protection."

Lerna handed out the notes.

"Oh, my undead will follow you. No running or snitching." Her voice turned icy. "I despise loose lips."

"No problem! I’d never talk—even on my deathbed!" Camilla nodded faster than he spoke. He was genuinely terrified.

Alice submitted her all-night report. Emma handed over her diary—detailing every nuance of the Holy Maiden election: rival candidates’ profiles, vote counts, even their measurements, kinks, sex lives, and sensitive spots...

"Quite the scoop."

Lerna clicked her tongue in mock praise, testing the softness of the two junior nuns’ bodies.

Exquisite!

Like warm malt candy melting around her palms. Silky smoothness front and back—top-grade perfection!

Watching their embarrassed faces, Lerna nearly crushed those luscious mounds and swallowed them whole.

*Stay calm. Don’t seem like a gold-digging loser...*

Sensing Lerna’s scorching gaze, Alice—raised in a convent with mature instincts—undid the top two buttons of her robe. Plump, snow-white curves spilled free, radiating a sweet milky scent.

"If Senior Lerna wishes... we can do it right here."

"Since Alice said so... Emma... Emma agrees too..."

Flanked by two voluptuous beauties, Lerna felt warm softness press against her arms—a harem protagonist’s privilege.

Being the villain really isn’t bad at all.