The Red Dragon Lord is OP, but Insists on a Pop Culture Invasion!

Sir Baron’s ghostly blue eyes stared at *Holy Mountain Journey*, projected onto the wall. Two months after its release, the Shadow of Evil craze had finally swept into the slums.

For just one Copper Coin, you could get a small stool to sit on. Whether you were at the front or the back depended entirely on when you arrived—perfectly fair.

If you didn’t want to pay, that was fine too. The distant trees and rooftops were also packed with people. As for how much they could see, that was up to their own abilities.

"What a good business," Sir Baron mused. He had seen *Holy Mountain Journey* many times, and he found it quite interesting on every viewing.

’Its only flaw was that he didn’t have a piece of it.’

As the silent investor behind the Purple Lily Theater Troupe, Sir Baron knew full well that Shadow of Evil was the future of performance art. The troupe wouldn’t disappear; it would simply become a backdrop for Shadow of Evil.

The new inevitably replaces the old.

’A very simple principle.’

Therefore, he had to get involved with Shadow of Evil and carve out a piece for himself in its early stages. Only then could he secure a place in the future commercial landscape of Shadow of Evil.

But entering the market at the height of its popularity would be unwise. As a shrewd businessman, he chose the most cost-effective approach.

First, he would ruin the reputation of those working in the Shadow of Evil industry. That was easy enough. The lower classes had limited access to information; as long as he sensationalized things through those channels, they would believe it.

Just like now. When Raul appeared on screen, the audience no longer cheered. Instead, they cursed.

’All it took was brainwashing one little girl to achieve such an effect. What a bargain.’

’Next would be every actor in *Holy Mountain Journey*—the Shapeshifter, the Half-Beastman, and even that child. Oh, what a spirited child. A pity. But if he must be destroyed, so be it. The Shadow Demon Technique is more important.’ 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

He had a plan for every key figure.

When the studio behind it all was at its wits’ end, that would be his moment to acquire the Shadow Demon Technique at a low cost.

Like a snake that had already injected venom into its prey, he was very patient, waiting for the poison to slowly take effect until the victim was completely immobilized.

"My Lord, it’s almost time," a guard said, approaching his side.

"Is that so? It’s gotten late. You all may go. Remember to pick me up at the usual time."

"Understood."

Sir Baron stood up and turned to the children behind him who couldn’t afford tickets and were peering over the low wall. He gave them a friendly smile. "Sorry for blocking your view," he said, taking two Copper Coins from his pocket. "Go buy something to eat. Goodbye."

Amidst the children’s thanks, he draped a purple robe over his shoulders and walked into the night.

He wound his way through narrow, twisting alleys until he arrived in front of a dilapidated theater.

Its scorched exterior walls spoke of a history of fire. This was the old site of the Lilac Theatre.

He walked to the heavy main doors and rapped on them—three quick knocks, then two slow ones.

"Password."

"Revere the Deities, serve Mammon."

After a brief wait, the heavy doors slowly swung open. A man, also dressed in a purple robe, bowed slightly and said respectfully, "We are honored by your presence, Sir Baron."

"We are both followers of the Mammon Sect. Why be bound by empty earthly titles? Just call me Brother Baron."

The doorkeeper bowed again and struggled to close the doors. Though the theater looked dilapidated from the outside, the interior was a world of its own.

Defense Magic and various traps covered every inch of the theater, leaving no blind spots. The main doors were actually forged from Refined Gold, nearly thirty centimeters thick, with only an outer layer of rotten wooden planks for camouflage.

But just as the doors were about to shut, Sir Baron, perhaps acting on instinct, reached out and stopped the doorkeeper. He peered warily through the crack.

"What is it?"

"I feel like something is watching me."

"Please, rest assured. We have hidden sentinels posted all around the area. They are all elites, trained since childhood. If anyone were to sneak in, they would be discovered immediately."

"Is that so?" Sir Baron trusted his own eyes more. A trace of Magic flickered in their ghostly blue depths, allowing him to see thermal anomalies—a useful tool against invisible or stealthed enemies.

However, aside from the hidden sentinels concealed in the corners of the shantytown, he saw no other heat sources.

"Perhaps I’m overthinking it," Sir Baron said, removing his hand from the door.

"I told you, you’re worrying too much. The brothers and sisters are all waiting for you. Please, hurry inside." The doorkeeper resumed closing the doors.

THUD!

The heavy doors slammed shut. They looked so solid, like a defensive line that could never be breached.

Far away, clinging to the eaves of a roof, an invisible hand-shaped camera recorded the entire scene and transmitted it back to the Dragon Nest’s monitoring room.

The Undead have no body heat.

Sir Baron walked deeper into the theater. The corridor was dim, lit only by expensive but faint Fluorescent Stones on either side. After several dozen paces, the space suddenly opened up.

The moment he stepped into the main hall, a wave of clamorous, frenzied sound washed over him from within the Sound Insulation Barrier.

Cheers, jeers, curses, and the chaotic, indescribable noises of people who had lost their minds to drugs.

’He just found it noisy.’

On the stage, two children with Runes carved all over their bodies were fighting to the death, splattering blood everywhere.

It was a fight with no rounds. Every minute, a new weapon was thrown onto the stage—each one sharper and more dangerous than the last—until one of them fell for good.

The crazed audience below excitedly placed their bets. Their wagers were disturbingly specific, covering not just the winner and loser, but the time of victory, the final body weight of both combatants, which organ would be the first to fall...

Sir Baron scoffed at this. Wasting long-trained Death Warriors on entertainment was a poor return on investment. But since these people were willing to pay for it, he was happy to provide the service.

Around the periphery of the hall were numerous private boxes, some enclosed, some semi-open. Here, any imaginable food—or plaything—was available, as long as you could afford it.

Many people in purple robes sat in these boxes, holding playthings of unrestricted age, gender, and even species.

Sir Baron recalled that, in the beginning, the bestsellers were Half-Beastmen crossbred with furry animals. Later, things grew progressively stranger, and now customers simply wanted the animals themselves.

He arrived at his usual box, where another cultist was already waiting.

"Oh, my dear Mr. Bane!" the cultist exclaimed, opening his arms and giving Bane a friendly hug. "So? How was it? That little girl from last time... what was her name? Right, Mira! Did you have your fun? Brainwashing her with a memory of being with the actor... only you could come up with such a bizarre way to play."

"She wasn’t for ’playing’ with."

"Then what, for eating? Brainwashing a memory into her would be even weirder in that case."

As he spoke, he pulled Bane down into a seat.

Meanwhile, the doorkeeper was bored, flipping through a newspaper in search of some interesting comics.

A knock echoed—three quick, two slow.

"Who’s there, so late at night?" the doorkeeper grumbled as he got up. "Password!"

"I’m here to read the water meter!"

"Huh?"