Chapter 3: Ghost of Dozan

“I can’t believe this; they seriously think I am a sort of reincarnated true immortal. If I play this carefully, my asshole might actually get a fucking break”

“I have to use this opportunity to my full advantage and pretend to be an actual true immortal from the higher realms in order to squeeze as much benefit from these two.” Zi Chen said mentally as she closed her eyes, beginning to think, while the two observed her, their asses clenched, waiting for her decision as a flashback of Zi Chen’s life began to play.

In her former universe, Zi Chen was given the title of galaxy lord; this was not just some title.

In the vast expanse of the Arcadian Galactic Empire, the title of Galaxy Lord was more than a position of authority. It represented a level of power so immense that a single individual could determine the fate of entire races, planets, star systems, and galaxies.

A Galaxy Lord’s decisions could bring prosperity to billions or condemn civilizations to extinction. Their backgrounds, experience, ambitions, and personal philosophies shaped the destiny of the empire itself.

Among the Galaxy Lords, none would become as famous or as controversial as Zi Chen.

Long before she became one of the most powerful beings in the known galaxy, Zi Chen was born in the neon-soaked slums of Dozan, on Planet Arcadia. It was a place where corruption thrived, gangs controlled entire districts, and the poor were treated as disposable. The streets were crowded with desperate people, black-market cybernetics, illegal medical clinics, and corporations that made fortunes from suffering. In Dozan, even hope had a price, and most people could not afford it.

Zi Chen’s family was among those trapped in that world. Her mother, Jing Chen, her older brother, Gao Chen, and Zi Chen herself suffered from a rare genetic condition known as slowing heart disease. The disease affected the heart’s natural pacing system, causing the heartbeat to become dangerously slow during prolonged periods of physical or emotional inactivity. To avoid circulatory collapse, sufferers needed elevated adrenaline, extreme experiences, or constant exertion to keep their bodies functioning. The other option was to use Heartflare pills that allowed one to stay for 12 hours without having to worry about the symptoms. The disease could manifest anywhere between childhood and adulthood, though its severity varied. Some patients lived for decades before symptoms became serious; others barely survived a year after the first signs appeared. Treatment existed, but it was expensive—far beyond what most families in Dozan could afford.

Jing Chen had been fortunate, if fortune could be used to describe such a cruel illness. Her symptoms did not appear until she was thirty. By then, she had already lived through years of hardship and had been given time to raise her children and love them. But once the disease took hold, it began stealing that time with merciless speed.

Her son, Gao Chen, was not so lucky. His symptoms appeared when he was only ten. At first, they seemed manageable: occasional weakness, sudden dizziness, and moments when his heartbeat became so faint that Jing Chen would press her ear against his chest just to reassure herself he was still alive. Then the attacks grew more frequent. Within months, Gao Chen was dead.

Zi Chen was nine when her own symptoms appeared.

She remembered the day clearly. Her heart slowed until the world seemed to drift away from her. Her limbs turned cold, her vision blurred, and she collapsed. When she awoke, she was in a hospital, surrounded by white walls and the sterile smell of disinfectant.

The doctors diagnosed her with a heart disease that was slowing. At first, they spoke gently. They explained the condition, discussed treatment, and examined her medical records. But their sympathy changed when they discovered that Zi Chen was an orphan with no money, no insurance, and no reliable guardian.

To the hospital, she was not a child in need of help. She was an unpaid bill waiting to happen. They had initially believed they had found a profitable patient, someone whose family might pay any price to keep her alive. Once they realized there was no one to pay, their concern evaporated. The hospital discharged her, telling her that it was not a charity.

There was treatment. There were medicines that could help regulate her condition and reduce the danger of sudden collapse. But treatment cost more than she could earn in years of honest work. After her family died, Zi Chen had no money, no dependable guardian, and no one willing to take responsibility for her. Neighbors who had once offered sympathy began avoiding her. Landlords wanted payment, not explanations. The gangs that controlled the streets saw a sick child as either an easy victim or a potential tool.

Zi Chen was left alone in a world that had already taken everything from her.

She learned quickly that grief did not keep her alive. Neither did innocence. Her heart could fail at any moment, and the streets of Dozan were no kinder than the disease. If she wanted to survive, she would have to become useful, dangerous, or both.

Thus, left with no choice, she began to steal. Her first theft was not clever. It was desperate.

She stole a ration pack from a street vendor and ran until her lungs burned. The vendor caught her two alleys later and beat her badly enough that she could barely stand. Zi Chen spent the night curled beneath a broken ventilation unit, clutching the stolen food and trying to keep her heartbeat steady.

The next time, she planned.

She watched the vendor for three days, learned when he turned away, identified the blind spot in his shop camera, and discovered which of his assistants could be distracted with a forged delivery notice. She took what she needed without being seen.

That small victory taught her something important: in Dozan, stealing was not simply about taking something. It was about understanding the person, system, or machine guarding it.

She began with food, medicine, and discarded electronic components. Then she moved to wallets, access cards, data chips, and anything she could trade. She learned which alleys were controlled by which gangs, which guards accepted bribes, and which merchants would buy stolen goods without asking where they came from.

She did not steal indiscriminately. A careless thief attracted attention. Attention brought punishment. Zi Chen learned to study her targets before acting, to leave false trails, and to make herself forgettable. When she was caught, she lied. When lying failed, she begged. When begging failed, she ran.

And when running was impossible, she fought.

She was small, underfed, and physically weaker than most children her age. She could not win through strength, so she used surprise. She threw sand into eyes, cut power cables, slammed doors, and attacked joints rather than armor. She learned that a larger opponent could still be brought down if their balance, vision, or equipment was compromised.

Her body was fragile, but her mind was becoming difficult to corner.

As Zi Chen grew older, another problem began to complicate her survival. Her beauty attracted attention. Even beneath the grime of Dozan, her features were striking. She had delicate, balanced features and an unusual presence that made people look twice. As she entered adolescence, that attention became increasingly dangerous. Men followed her through the markets.

Gang members offered her supposed protection in exchange for obedience. Recruiters from pleasure houses and criminal organizations began watching her. Some saw a beautiful young woman they could exploit; others saw someone whose appearance could be used to attract clients, distract targets, or manipulate powerful men.

Zi Chen quickly understood that being noticed could be more dangerous than being poor. She began wearing a plain white mask. At first, it was an inexpensive piece of molded polymer bought from a street stall. It covered her face from the bridge of her nose to her chin, leaving only her eyes visible. Later, she modified it with a thin internal filter, a voice modulator, and a small display that could distort facial recognition scans. It became part disguise, part protection, and part warning.

The mask made her identity completely hidden, and she preferred that. The white mask also helped her separate herself from the helpless child people thought they saw. Behind it, she could become someone else: a courier, a thief, a hacker, a hired gun. People might remember the mask, but they would struggle to remember the person beneath it. Eventually, the mask became her signature.

The electronic components she stole were not merely things to sell. Zi Chen began taking them apart, studying their circuitry, and rebuilding them into tools. She learned from discarded manuals, pirated educational programs, and public network archives. When those were insufficient, she broke into private databases and copied what she needed. She studied security protocols by attacking them, learned programming by altering stolen software, and developed her own intrusion tools from scavenged hardware.

Her first successful hack was modest: she bypassed a local ration distribution system and redirected a small supply of food and medicine to an abandoned storage unit. It was not enough to make her wealthy, but it proved that she could take things without physically touching them.

Soon, she was doing more than stealing goods.

She broke into gang communication networks to discover patrol schedules. She copied corporate shipment records and sold them to rival brokers. She uncovered hidden accounts, blackmail files, and evidence of illegal experiments. She learned how to erase traces of her own access and how to make another person appear responsible for an intrusion.

Information became her most valuable commodity.

A stolen weapon could be sold once. A secret could be sold to several buyers provided she understood who wanted it, who feared it, and how much they would pay to keep it hidden. Zi Chen began operating as an information broker. She traded in shipment routes, criminal alliances, security weaknesses, corporate scandals, and the private dealings of people who believed themselves untouchable. She rarely met clients in person. Transactions happened through encrypted channels, dead drops, and anonymous virtual identities.

She developed a strict rule: never let one client know how much she knew about another. It kept her alive.

Later on, n she joined the Black Craw Mercenary Guild.At first, Zi Chen accepted jobs that required only information gathering: locating missing people, identifying traitors, tracking stolen cargo, or finding the hidden accounts of gang leaders. These jobs paid better than petty theft and usually involved less direct danger.

Then came contracts that required her to retrieve objects from guarded locations. After that came targets.

Some clients wanted gang enforcers eliminated. Others wanted witnesses silenced, rival brokers removed, or corrupt officials killed before they could expose a profitable arrangement. Zi Chen did not pretend these contracts were noble. She examined the payment, the risk, the available information, and the likelihood of being betrayed. If the job was worth the danger, she accepted.

Her first kill was not glorious. The target was a gang lieutenant who had been using children as disposable couriers. Zi Chen tracked him for days, studied his habits, and discovered that he visited an illegal clinic every fourth night. She entered through a service hatch, disabled the clinic’s security system, and waited in the dark.

When he arrived, she shot him. The sound was louder than she expected. The body fell heavily. For a moment, she could not move. She had imagined that killing someone would feel different, that there would be some clear boundary between the person she had been and the person she had become.

There was only silence, the smell of hot metal, and the knowledge that she had crossed a line she could never uncross. Then she heard footsteps. She wiped the weapon, collected the evidence required by her client, and escaped through the service hatch.

Afterward, she vomited in an alley after killing a person, n but she resolved herself to continue on and went to spend the money on medicine.

The next contract was easier, not because she had become comfortable with killing, but because she had learned to separate the task from the moment. She prepared carefully, acted quickly, and allowed herself to feel whatever came later, when she was somewhere safe.

Over time, she became a mercenary known for completing jobs that others refused. She hunted gang leaders through the maze of Dozan’s districts, eliminated dangerous targets, recovered stolen technology, and infiltrated facilities that were supposedly secure. She became skilled with firearms, blades, explosives, and improvised weapons, but she never relied on combat alone. Her preferred victory was one in which the target never realized she had been there.

When a direct confrontation was unavoidable, she used the environment. She cut lights, triggered false alarms, sabotaged weapons, and turned escape routes into traps. She learned to recognize the moment an opponent believed they had won and to use that confidence against them.

Her reputation grew, but her face remained unknown. Clients knew the white mask. Criminals knew the name. Few knew the girl beneath it.

By the time Zi Chen was a teenager, she had become something rare in Dozan: a mercenary who could fight, a thief who could penetrate secure systems, a hacker who understood people as well as machines, and an information broker who knew how to turn secrets into power.

She could steal a shipment without touching its cargo, destroy a gang’s operations by leaking the right information, or eliminate a target whose guards outnumbered her ten to one. She accepted dangerous bounties, but she did not approach them recklessly. Every mission began with research. Every escape was planned. Every contingency had another contingency behind it.

Still, she was not invincible. Her slowing heart remained a constant threat. She needed medication, stimulation, and movement to keep her body functioning. There were nights when she woke with a faint pulse and had to force herself into motion before panic could take hold. There were jobs she accepted because she needed the payment for treatment, and others she took because refusing would make her look weak to people who might exploit that weakness.

She became skilled at hiding the symptoms. The mask concealed her expression; her carefully controlled voice concealed her fear. When her heart faltered, she found a reason to move. When exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her, she pushed forward.T he people of Dozan began telling stories about her.