Reincarnated in a novel: I am the villain!-Chapter 300: The Demon of Wall Street

The Demon of Wall Street

[Timeline: Three Weeks After the Tournament]

[Location: Abyss Layer 6 – The newly constructed "Entertainment District"]

Time soon passed, and three weeks has passed since Damien met with the prince

"Smile! You call that a smile? You look like you’re going to eat the customer!"

Ziriork’s voice boomed across the casino floor, rattling the crystal chandeliers.

The Ferro-Ogre, formerly a rust-covered pit fighter who lived in the slums, was currently wearing a custom-tailored, three-piece suit made of midnight-blue void-silk.

It barely contained his massive, metallic muscles, and the tiny bowtie at his neck looked somewhat ridiculous, but nobody dared point that out.

Standing in front of him was a hulking, four-armed Magma Demon wearing a crisp white vest.

The demon forced the corners of his rocky mouth upward, revealing rows of terrifying, jagged teeth.

"B-better, Boss Ziriork?" the demon stammered, smoke puffing from his ears.

"Marginally," Ziriork sighed, rubbing his metal temples.

"Remember the protocol. We do not impale the guests when they lose. We simply offer them a complimentary beverage and suggest they try their luck at the slot machines."

"The goal is to drain their wallets, not their blood. Dead men don’t gamble! Now get back to the Blackjack tables!"

"Yes, Boss!" The Magma Demon scurried away.

From the second-floor VIP balcony overlooking the sprawling casino, Damien watched the scene with a cup of hot, dark abyss-coffee in his hand.

He was lounging in a plush velvet chair, his silver hair tied back, looking utterly relaxed.

"He learns fast," Damien remarked, taking a sip.

Standing behind his chair, looking immaculate in her signature maid uniform, was Isabelle.

Her skin was flawless, the terrifying red cracks completely healed by the Platinum Prince’s elixir.

She held a golden ledger, flipping through the pages with a satisfied hum.

"He reminds me of Barnaby, Young Master," Isabelle smiled, her eyes scanning the columns of numbers.

"Though a bit more metallic. The profit margins for the first week of soft-launch are... staggering. The Nobles of Layer 6 have endless wealth, but no concept of odds or probability."

"Greed is a universal constant,Isabelle," Damien smirked.

"On the Surface, men kill for gold. In the Abyss, monsters kill for cores. But you put a spinning wheel and flashing lights in front of either of them, and they will happily hand their life savings over just for a hit of dopamine."

It had been three weeks since the deal at the Spire.

True to his word, the Platinum Prince had provided unlimited funding and prime real estate in the Chrome Core.

Damien had spent the time acting as the chief architect, drawing heavily from his past life on the Blue Star and his experiences building the Golden Coin Guild on the surface.

The result was The Black Thread Exchange, a sprawling entertainment complex that included a massive casino, a luxury hotel, and the Abyss’s very first Cinema.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the floor below.

A wealthy Viscount, a creature that looked like a cross between a praying mantis and a gargoyle had just lost his fifth consecutive hand of poker.

Enraged, he smashed his scythe-like arm into the card table, cleaving it in two.

"You cheat!" the Viscount roared at the terrified dealer.

"I demand my cores back! I will raze this establishment to the ground!"

Isabelle’s eyes instantly flashed a dangerous ruby red.

She placed the ledger down, her hands sparking with gravity magic. "Shall I dispose of the trash, Master?"

"No," Damien raised a hand, thoroughly amused. "Watch the CEO work."

Down on the floor, Ziriork smoothly intercepted the Viscount, a wide, practiced smile on his metal face.

"Viscount! A terrible stroke of luck, truly," Ziriork said smoothly, pulling a cigar from his pocket and offering it to the furious noble.

"The cards are fickle mistresses. But a noble of your stature shouldn’t let a few bad hands ruin the evening!"

"My money!" the Viscount hissed, snatching the cigar.

"Of course, of course," Ziriork snapped his fingers. A waitress hurried over with a tray of glowing, top-shelf mercury wine.

"Drinks are on the house. In fact, why don’t we comp you a luxury suite for the night? And here..."

Ziriork slipped a handful of shiny, branded casino chips into the Viscount’s pocket.

"A little something to try your luck at the VIP Roulette wheel upstairs. I have a feeling your fortune is about to turn."

The Viscount blinked. His rage fizzled out, confused by the concept of ’Customer Service’. He looked at the free wine, then at the chips.

"Well... I suppose... a few more rounds couldn’t hurt," the Viscount muttered, straightening his collar before strutting toward the stairs.

"Enjoy your evening, My Lord!" Ziriork waved politely. As soon as the Viscount was out of earshot, Ziriork’s smile vanished. He turned to a pit boss.

"He just took the bait. Make sure the VIP wheel is tuned to a 15% payout. Drain him dry."

Up on the balcony, Damien chuckled, setting his coffee down.

"Hook, line, and sinker. The House always wins."

"It’s frightening how easily they fall for it," Isabelle noted, picking her ledger back up.

"But what of the other venue? The ’Cinema’?"

"Let’s go check on it," Damien stood up, stretching his arms.

They walked through a connecting skybridge that led to the adjacent building.

The walls were lined with glowing posters depicting dramatized, painted scenes of epic battles and tragic romances.

They pushed open the soundproofed doors and stepped into the viewing balcony of Theater 1.

The room was pitch dark, illuminated only by the massive projection screen at the front.

The technology was a scaled-up, refined version of the Memory Crystals Damien had used to project his surface battles.

Fortunately the Round table of the Greedy King existed so he was able to easily transport items from the surface

Getting the supplies, He had hired a troupe of shapeshifting demons and illusionists to act out a script he had written.

Currently playing was a dramatized, highly exaggerated romance-tragedy based loosely on a surface-world play.

Damien looked down at the audience.

The theater was packed with terrifying, bloodthirsty Abyssal Nobles and Warlords.

These were beings who casually tortured souls for fun and waged wars that lasted centuries.

Yet, as the male lead on the screen dramatically sacrificed himself to save the female lead while swelling orchestral music played...

*Sniff.*

A massive, eight-foot-tall Void Stalker in the front row was weeping.

He shoved a handful of popped magma-corn into his mouth, tears streaming down his jagged face.

"Why did he have to die?" a female Succubus next to him wailed into a handkerchief.

"They were going to buy a farm in Layer 2!"

Damien leaned against the railing, thoroughly satisfied.

"The Abyss is a harsh, brutal place," Damien whispered to Isabelle.

"High ranking demons live forever, but they never feel anything other than anger or fear."

""Give them a safe place to cry over a fictional character, and they will literally throw their money at you."

"You’ve conquered an entire layer of the Abyss without drawing your sword, Young Master," Isabelle said, her voice filled with genuine awe.

"You practically turned a warzone into a business."

"I just laid the foundation," Damien corrected, turning away from the screen.

"Ziriork will handle the rest. He knows how to manage the day-to-day, and the Platinum Prince’s backing ensures no other Dukes will try to muscle in."

Damien’s playful demeanor slowly faded, replaced by a sharp, focused look.

"This slice-of-life vacation is over,," Damien said softly, walking back out into the bright lights of the casino hallway.

"The Black Thread Abyss Branch is fully operational. It will generate the passive income and resources we need."

He patted his pocket, feeling the heavy, metallic weight of the [Mercury Crucible] resting inside his Void Gem.

"Tonight is the Grand Opening. The Prince himself will be attending," Damien said, his eyes narrowing with anticipation.

"While he’s distracted by the flashing lights... we might as well use the time well."

"It’s time to break through to the 8th Order.."