2024-08-20 10:03:30“The God of Mercenaries? What kind of title was that?” Oliver asked, stifling a laugh.
“You’re the best of Legion. Hence the title of a God was given to you,”
Melissa explained, her tone polite yet respectful.
Oliver shook his head.
“I know how to fight, but I’m not the man you are looking for.”
“I’ve been living in this quiet town for years. The person you described sound way too powerful to be hiding out in a place like this.
“It couldn’t possibly be me.”
Even as he denied it, doubt crept into Oliver’s heart.
Who was he?
“That’s why I said you’re not meant for this life,” Melissa responded. “But here, I have something for you.”
Melissa pulled something in her pocket.
But it wasn’t just any card. This one was red.
“This is your card,” Melissa said.
“If you take this to Khan, the blacksmith in the Capital, he’ll confirm your true identity.”
Oliver took the card, frowning as he examined it.
“People with black cards are usually VIPs at banks... but a red one? That’s... interesting,” he muttered.
“It is. Red cards are quite rare,” Melissa said with a knowing smile.
“You’ll understand what I mean when you use it to withdraw money.”
He surely needed some money. Oliver thought to himself.
“All the assets tied to that card are yours,” Melissa continued, “including your identity. And since you’ve been gone for so long, your account balance might surprise you.”
She glanced at her watch as its screen lit up.
“I’m sorry, but I have to go. I was called in for another assignment.
“If you ever need anything, just call me. I’ll get to you as soon as I can.”
With a final nod, Melissa walked away, leaving Oliver standing there, card in hand.
As soon as she disappeared, he began to move as well.
Oliver had nothing left—not after he’d given every bit of his savings to Trisha, trusting that they were working toward a future together.
But it had only been his dream.
Now, all he had was this mysterious red card.
“Well, let’s see what kind of fortune this thing holds,” Oliver muttered to himself.
He didn’t even have enough money for a taxi, so he walked to the nearest ATM.
His clothes were drenched in sweat, and dirt clung to him from the long journey.
People in line at the ATM gave him sidelong glances, whispering among themselves. But Oliver didn’t care.
Ignoring the stares, he slid the red card into the machine and waited.
Beep.
[Card error.]
The message blinked back at him.
Oliver frowned in confusion. "What’s going on?"
He reinserted the card, thinking it might just be a glitch.
But after a few more tries, the same message blinked on the screen,
"Hey! If you don’t have any money to withdraw, can you move aside and let the rest of us have a turn?"
A middle-aged woman snapped, her voice brimming with irritation.
Oliver glanced back and noticed the line had grown long because of him.
"My apologies," he muttered, stepping away from the machine.
Staring down at the red card in his hand, he wondered, What’s going on?
I couldn’t withdraw from the ATM, but there’s no way Melissa made a mistake... What am I missing?
Suddenly, Melissa’s words came back to him—
“You’ll understand once you use it to withdraw money.”
Realizing he might be going about this the wrong way, Oliver headed straight to Umbrella Bank—the most prestigious bank in town.
The town had its share of wealthy residents, and the bank’s lavish decor reflected that.
As Oliver made his way to the entrance in such an opulent place, a uniformed guard stepped in front of him, blocking his path.
“Hold on. Where do you think you’re going?”
The guard asked, eyeing Oliver with suspicion.
“I’m here to conduct some business,” Oliver replied calmly.
The guard’s gaze traveled over Oliver’s disheveled appearance, and he raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
“Business? Have you looked around? Everyone here’s wearing designer clothes and driving luxury cars. And then there’s... you.”
Oliver glanced over his shoulder.
“I see, but as far as I know, there’s no rule that only people in fancy clothes or expensive cars are allowed to conduct business in a bank, right?”
The guard scoffed.
“Technically, no, but look at you! You’re filthy, and to be honest, you reek. What makes you think I’m going to let you inside?”
Oliver stood silent for a moment, realizing the guard wasn’t entirely wrong.
He was still in his grubby clothes from the market, his body sticky with sweat from walking, and he could feel the grimy remnants of his recent brawl clinging to him.
Just then, a high-pitched voice rang out from behind him.
“Oh my God, what is that smell?”
Oliver turned around and locked eyes with none other than Trisha, dressed in an elegant dress that screamed wealth.
She had come to the bank, no doubt, to withdraw from her late father’s inheritance.
Though she intended to take out a sizable portion, she could only do so in small increments, thanks to the bank’s tight security.
To make matters worse, she didn’t even know the key required to access the full account.
Her frustration was clear in the way she glared at Oliver, and her disdain was evident from the wrinkle in her nose.
“Wait... Oliver?” she asked, her tone a mix of shock and disgust, "Are you following me?!"
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