Systems Made me Lord of the City

Hitman

Chapter 04

The black Mercedes purred down the avenue, tinted windows hiding its passengers from the flashing lights of the city. Neon signs blurred past. Nightclubs, high-rise banks, and glittering restaurants where men like Adrian weren’t even allowed through the door.

Inside the car, Adrian sat cuffed, his wrists raw from steel restraints. Across from him lounged Selene Valen, heiress of Valen Global, her designer heels crossed elegantly, her phone glowing in her hand.

Adrian leaned back, lips curved in a bloodied grin. “So this is your idea of saving me?”

Selene glanced up, amused. “You were seconds away from being gutted in the street. You should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you?” His laugh was low, sharp. “You paraded me like a stray dog in front of your friends. Forgive me, princess, but I don’t wag my tail for anyone.”

The bodyguard in the front seat turned, scowling. “Watch your mouth, trash.”

Adrian’s eyes narrowed. “Break too many of my ribs, and your boss won’t have anything left to play with.”

The guard froze. Selene chuckled, sliding her phone into her purse. “You’ve got wit. Most men cower when I raise my voice, yet you throw it back at me in chains.”

Adrian tilted his head, voice steady. “Chains don’t make me less of a man. And money doesn’t make you more of a woman.”

Her smile thinned. “Do you know who I am?”

His silence gave her the answer.

Selene leaned forward, studying him like an investment portfolio. “I don’t pick strays at random. A man who dares spit blood at Darius Vane’s shoes has either lost his mind, or has something worth hiding.”

The system’s whisper surged in Adrian’s skull:

*[Mission Reminder: Gain Selene Valen’s Favor. Failure = Death.]*

His jaw tightened.

The car rolled through iron gates into a private estate that stretched like a kingdom. Spotlights lit manicured gardens, fountains danced in the driveway, and a glass mansion rose five stories tall, glowing like crystal. Valets rushed forward, bowing as the Mercedes stopped.

Adrian stepped out, chains clinking. Every servant stared in disgust.

“Lady Selene,” one sneered, “why drag garbage into your home?”

She didn’t answer. But Adrian did.

“I’d rather be garbage than the rats feasting on it.”

Gasps spread across the staff. Selene’s laugh rang out, silencing them. “See? He amuses me.”

Inside, the mansion screamed wealth—marble floors, chandeliers dripping crystal, walls lined with priceless art. Reflections of torchlight danced on polished surfaces. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood and winter flowers, everything immaculately placed as if someone had rehearsed the moment the world would notice.

Adrian was shoved into a sleek lounge where leather sofas faced a floor-to-ceiling view of the city skyline. His chains were bolted to a steel ring in the floor, but a tray of wine and imported fruit was placed beside him. The irony did not escape him. He glanced at the grapes, wondering how long it had been since his stomach felt anything but hunger.

Selene waved her guards away and sat across from him, crossing her legs. Her posture was effortless, the kind of comfort only the very wealthy can afford. Candlelight carved sharp planes across her cheekbones. She reached out, her manicured finger brushing the dried blood on Adrian’s jaw with the casual curiosity of someone examining a foreign coin.

“You intrigue me, Adrian Black,” she said, soft as silk but with an edge like glass. “You bleed like a beggar, yet stand like a king. Tell me,” she added, leaning in, “what are you hiding?”

He met her gaze without flinching. The wound in his chest burned with cold from the restraints, but his spirit had shifted. It was the system, an ember he could not yet control, whispering and growing. He tasted its metallic promise at the back of his throat.

“Enough to burn this mansion down when the time is right,” he said.

For a sliver of a moment, Selene’s amusement folded into something else. Curiosity, sharp and raw, flickered across her face. She was used to people who begged, people who lied. Adrian did neither. He promised ruin, and he did not flinch.

The system’s voice slid through his thoughts, cool and clinical.

*[Progress: 20% — Selene’s Favor is Growing.]*

Before Adrian could press whatever small advantage he had, the sliding doors opened and the atmosphere shifted again.

“Selene!”

A man in a tailored suit stormed in, his salt-and-pepper hair gleaming under the chandelier. His Rolex flashed as he pointed an accusing finger at Adrian.

“You dare bring this filth into my home?” His voice cut the air like a blade. This was Marcus Valen, the billionaire magistrate, CEO of Valen Global, and one of the city’s most powerful men. When he spoke, the air in the room seemed to weigh heavier beneath his words.

Selene rose, a calm presence that made the chandeliers look like candles. “Father, lower your voice. This ‘filth’ may prove useful.”

Marcus’s glare could have cut glass. He stepped close, towering, his suit impeccable. His face was carved from the kind of authority that ruins men in a single look. He bent slightly, peering into Adrian’s battered face with cold curiosity.

“Useful?” Marcus repeated, each syllable deliberate. “Then test him. If he survives, keep him. If not, dump him in the river before sunrise.”

Behind his words was a threat carefully wrapped in businesslike concern. In this house, decisions were ironclad sentences.

Selene turned back to Adrian, her lips curving into a smile that held no warmth. “You heard him. Survive, and you’re mine.”

Adrian’s chains rattled when he shifted. The system flared, hot and urgent.

*[New Task Generated: Survive the Trial of Blades. Reward: Hidden Legacy Fragment. Failure = Death.]*

His pulse thudded, a thunder in his ears loud enough to drown the music of the fountains. Marcus’s challenge was not merely a test of endurance; it was a public proclamation. To survive meant walking the knife edge between mercy and spectacle. To fail meant dying with the whole city watching.

Adrian lifted his bloodied face, letting the wine-sweet smell of the lounge mingle with the metallic tang of the system’s power. He imagined the river Marcus had mentioned—cold, unwelcoming, final. He imagined the Vane house, the streets that spat at him, the gold that bought nothing but contempt.

He let a slow, dangerous grin spread across his cracked lips, the kind of smile carved from stubbornness and hunger.

“Then bring your blades,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Let’s see who bleeds.”