Cameraman Never Dies

"Thank you for your patronage!" The cashier's voice was about as steady as a wobbly chair, his forced smile doing a poor job of masking the terror in his eyes. Judge's mere presence seemed to squeeze all confidence out of the room, leaving everyone as stiff as mannequins and just as quiet.

It was not just the fact that everyone thinking that he was a high ranking adventurer, but there was something in him that made them afraid of him. They all swallowed their saliva and watched him exit through the door.

"Who was that?"

"I don't know, never seen him. He said his name was Dorian Caine right? I've never heard of that name either, maybe he just moved here to Limdon?"

Chattering started to erupt as soon as Judge left the place, Judge wanted to build a new identity for himself in the world outside of the land of the dragons. While this was not currently necessary he knew this could help him out in the future.

His next step was to head inside the mercenary guild and register himself as an adventurer and raise his ranks to become a renowned mercenary. But two things stopped him from raising his rank right after registering.

One thing was his mother's warning, no matter how powerful he thinks he is there will always be someone stronger. He might be a dragon with lots of ether and a strong presence, or Will, but he definitely was not strong.

Second was his thirst to kill the two fugitives who tried to kill his sister, again— This is not revenge, but an act to satisfy myself by killing some'thing' who dares to belittle my family! He assured himself.

Judge teleported to the studio, and with a snap of his fingers, traded his sophisticated attire for his new "mercenary" look. The heavy black sweater hugged his neck and wrists, which was fine, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he looked more like he was about to write dark poetry than fight mythical beasts.
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The thick clothes were also black, there was a sweater that covered his whole upper body, including his neck and wrist, but excluding the parts after the wrist. there was also a dark pant and a dark mask that was connected to another sleeveless black overcoat with a hoodie. Finally, there was a combat gove (Black of course) to finish off the look.

Now, Judge looked like a young man who tried too hard to be a mercenary but ended up being an assassin instead.

"Yep," he thought to himself, "this is exactly how I imagine a menacing mercenary looks. Just… with a little less eyeliner."

He pulled down his mask and the hoodie and exited the studio.

Judge made his way through the bustling street, making his way toward a studio (Not his) to get his photo, after all, he could not become a mercenary without proper identifications. And to create fake identities, he needed pictures for himself.

Ironically, being a cameraman, he still needed a less professional cameraman to take his photo.

Standing in front of the studio (Which was not his), he swallowed his pride and went inside the place to get a photo for himself. But there was another problem, he did not have lesser denominated notes than ten stens, and this would only cost him about five nens.

But he could not turn back now, he had already entered the shop.

"Good evening." A sweet voice came from inside, it was a lady. She had ordinary features, but was cute, her blonde hair was braided neatly and rested on her shoulder. "Her to take picture? Or renting equipment?"

"Take a picture," He answered without any emotions, but the girl was immediately frightened.

"R-right away s-sir" She managed to muster a smile and led him through a curtain where many other customers were waiting for their turns. "Please wait here sir, we will call you when it is your turn. May I know your name?"

"Dorian Caine"

"Dorian Caine," She repeated to herself and tried to walk away briskly, but Judge turned to her.

"I will give you ten stens if you can quickly finish the job," he said in a low voice, making sure nobody else heard it. The term "Ten Stens" was enough for him to get her attention.

The woman's eyes widened as he handed over the note, and Judge could practically see the girl's mental math as she realized she was holding more than three weeks worth of her salary.

"T-Ten stens?" she blurted out, looking around the room as if someone might be filming her. The customers nearby perked up instantly, turning their attention toward him with dollar signs practically sparkling in their eyes.

The woman immediately clasped her mouth, knowing what she had done. "Yes Sir!" She bowed and hurried off.

The uncomfortable gazes grew more uncomfortable by the second, now the feeling that stood out the most was doubt. And in order to clarify, he looked at the people present and let out a small portion of his will, turning all of the previous feelings into fear.

The woman soon came back with a middle-aged man wearing a monocle and a top hat. The man immediately led Judge to a room that was far more decorated than the previous one.

"Sir, this is a VIP room, made for rich people who need the job to be done quickly, please take a seat and I will ensure the picture reaches you quickly." His voice was not deep, but it had a rough edge.

Judge looked at the "VIP room," looking around at the gilded decor and the bright red velvet curtains, all while the photographer fussed with angles and lighting. It felt like an opera house, not a photography studio.

"A bit grand, don't you think?" Judge murmured.

The photographer adjusted his monocle with style. "Not at all, sir! Only the finest for our finest clients."

Without another word, Judge sat on the ornate and extremely comfortable stool. There was a red curtain in the background. The cameraman (Not Judge, but the middle-aged one) gave him instructions on his posture and took a few pictures.