Trix
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Perched on the roof of a waterfront warehouse, the bored Trix idly toyed with his yo-yo, its surface flashing a hilarious face. His legs dangled over the edge, his heels occasionally tapping against the rusted iron, each careless kick ringing out with a sharp metallic ping that echoed through the air. Behind him, his tail swayed in a playful rhythm, ticking like a pendulum in perfect time with his swinging feet. With a casual motion, he lifted a hand to brush his fingers over the petal-shaped collar at his neck, savoring the soft, goose-down texture against his skin. With a sharp snap, he bit through his lollipop and leaned forward, peering down at the bustling wharf. "Hmm... what fun should I have today?" Below him, the dockyard stretched out like a sprawling amusement park of chaos. Ropes crisscrossed overhead like a giant spider's web, crates and containers were stacked in precarious towers, and heavy cargo swayed as it was hoisted, like enormous pendulums ticking away the rhythm of the wharf. The crowd below moved with weary steps, their faces etched with exhaustion, unease, and monotony. A morning breeze drifted in from the sea, carrying a fishy scent deep into the wharf. Among the crowd, a postman slowly pushed a mail cart along the pier, passing directly beneath Trix's perch. Trix's gaze sharpened as it landed on a single sealed letter. Its wax stamp was thick and deliberate, marking it as something important... almost solemn. It felt as if even the letter itself was silently warning him: "Do not touch me!" Trix tilted his head. "Guess I'll start with you." Trix raised his cane and lightly tapped the mail cart from a distance. With a whoosh, the letter seemed to sprout legs, leaping out of the cart, only to casually slip back down to the very bottom, where it was buried beneath dozens of insignificant bills. Following the postman's usual routine, deliveries were always sorted from the top. By the time that letter was uncovered, it would likely already be evening, when the cart was due back at the depot. Trix swallowed the last half of his lollipop and snapped his fingers in quiet satisfaction. "A 10 out of 10!" he muttered to himself. "Nothing happened, right?" The recipient of that letter was an old merchant called Gombrow. That morning, Gombrow had risen before dawn without even washing his face. He had staked his entire fortune on a shipload of spices, and today he needed that authorization letter at the dock before two in the afternoon to claim his goods. Otherwise, the merchant guild would auction them off tomorrow at a bargain price as "unclaimed cargo". So he stood like a statue in front of the mailbox all morning. Trix didn't know Gombrow, nor did he care about spices. He simply found humans amusing. How they searched for things with furrowed brows and anxious expressions, scrambling about in a panic with a long face, was simply the finest kind of entertainment. By two, the letter still hadn't arrived. With no options left, Gombrow headed toward the wharf, his steps heavy with resignation, already staring down the grim reality of bankruptcy as he drifted through the West Street Market. Trix leapt down from the roof and followed him, bouncing along like a dutiful little shadow. In the process, he even secretly stuck a "bad luck sticker" with a tongue-out face onto the old merchant's back. "Sir, sir." He waved at the back of Gombrow's head. Gombrow didn't see him. He just kept his head down and walked briskly on. "Sir, look... that scale at the salt stall up ahead, I made it a tiny bit lighter three days ago." Trix leaned in close behind him, hands clasped behind his back, whispering conspiratorially. "Just a tiny bit... the weight of a single copper coin." He pinched his fingers to show an absurdly tiny gap. "Light as a leaf. No one would ever notice, right?" Gombrow still couldn't see him. Trix shrugged. "Fine, ignore me then. Anyway, you'll be passing that stall soon, so keep your eyes open. There's a surprise waiting!" His warning was not without reason. Here's what had happened: at the West Street salt stall, because the scale's counterweight had been secretly shaved down by a single copper coin, the vendor had unknowingly given away a fraction more salt with every bag he sold over the last three days. By the end of those three days, he had lost exactly twenty copper coins. Twenty coins meant little on their own. But today, the stall owner needed to restock—and, by sheer coincidence, he was short exactly twenty coins. So he borrowed the amount from a passing acquaintance, Gombrow. If Gombrow had received his letter today, he would have lent the money without a second thought. Unfortunately, he had not. Having just lost everything, starving and in a foul mood, Gombrow spat right in the salt vendor's face in a burst of sheer rage. The vendor retaliated with vulgar insults, and within seconds, the two came to blows. Trix circled them with great interest, hands on his hips, and remarked, "How ugly," before stepping back a few paces to wait for the show to begin. At last, in a fit of rage, the salt vendor grabbed a scale weight and swung it down at Gombrow's head. Seeing this, Trix couldn't help but applaud. After all, the most exciting part was finally about to begin. However, the scale weight Trix had shaved lighter, missing exactly that one coin's worth of weight, sent its perfect arc veering half an inch off course. It whistled past Gombrow's ear and, with a crash, smashed through the glass display window of a nearby pharmacy. Inside the display sat a row of medicine bottles. The day before, an unseen little hand had quietly switched the labels on two of them. The sound of shattering glass startled the pharmacist so badly that he panicked, grabbing the first bottle within reach and shoving it into an old lady's hands. She had asked for cough syrup. But what she received due to the swapped labels was high-purity rat poison. "Clang—" Trix was already lazily leaning against the second-floor windowsill of the pharmacy, likely having leapt up during the chaos and drifting smoke below. He pulled a new lollipop from his pocket, slowly unwrapped it, crumpled the wrapper into a ball, and flicked it away. Then he spread his arms wide in an exaggerated welcoming gesture toward the chaos below. "Here's the surprise!" He didn't even bother to look down to see how it ended. Instead, resting his chin on his hand, he listened with contentment: the pharmacist's panicked screams, the dull thud of the old lady collapsing and foaming at the mouth, and Gombrow's distant, desperate wails as he sat slumped on the ground, dragged into what was now a murder case. "Oh well..." Trix tilted his head, blinking his innocent, wide eyes. "Looks like that got a little out of hand." But there was no trace of regret on his face. In fact, he looked even a little excited. He nimbly jumped off the windowsill and strolled leisurely through the chaotic street. West Street had turned into a boiling cauldron. Some people were screaming outside the pharmacy, others were pinning Gombrow down and beating him, while a few took advantage of the chaos to snatch the salt vendor's money bag... A stray dog, its tail stepped on, yelped and bolted into the street, knocking over a wooden block used as a stepping brace for a cargo carriage. And the safety pin on that carriage wheel had been loosened by half a turn, by Trix, the day before. The unsecured carriage rumbled down the slope and crashed into a lamp oil shop at the street corner. Unfortunately, the shop owner had just gone out to buy lunch. Hmm... lunch? Trix looked up and took a deep breath of the acrid smoke rapidly spreading through the air. Orange flames leapt up from the end of West Street like hungry beasts. The color was beautiful, like his favorite orange candy. "Wow!" He clapped his hands in delight, his eyes reflecting the roaring firelight. "Looks like the boss is having Roasted Town for lunch today!" He thought for a moment, then reached out and plucked a fluffy velvet petal from the collar around his neck, tossing it casually into the rising heat. The petal spun lightly in the air before drifting down onto the charred remains of the carriage. It was his stamp of completion for the day, and a souvenir Trix was quite satisfied with. He loved collecting souvenirs. Take the petal collar around his neck, for instance, each petal recording a perfect "little joke". By now, he had long lost count of how many petals there were. "Where should I go tomorrow?" Trix yawned widely, slinging his cane over his shoulder. "There seems to be a big bridge that's been under construction for ages... it'll be finished soon." A vivid image flashed through his mind: the moment the bridge was ceremonially cut with a ribbon, a loosened rivet slipping unnoticed... and everyone tumbling into the rushing rapids like dumplings dropped into a pot. His steps grew suddenly lighter, and he began to hum a cheerful, off-key nursery rhyme. When he reached the intersection of West Street, he suddenly stopped and turned back. Behind him, the flames raged ever higher. The crowd's chaos grew louder. And poor old merchant Gombrow lay slumped on the ground, facing imprisonment, utterly unable to understand how everything had come to this. Trix removed his hat and gave a deep, courtly bow into the sweltering air. "Sir, thank you for your perfect teamwork today!" "We might meet again next time! If you haven't died by then..." The night wind swept in from the wharf, mixing firelight, screams, and the cracking of collapsing wooden houses into a chaotic harmony before scattering them into the twilight. On a crooked rooftop, a small figure with a cane skipped lightly over the city wall. He didn't look back again. As for the minor troubles that caused chaos for everyone... Well, that's what happens when you can't take a harmless little prank, isn't it?
Title
Imp of Misrule
Max ascension
Ascended 5★
How Trix compares · vs 25 Hypogeans Heroes
Closest Heroes · nearest on ATK
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