Ains Grey Stone Palace

The handsome man looked at the thick stack of documents in his hand and furrowed his brows deeply. "So the consortiums’ Mercenary Corps are narrowing the trade routes into Dawn City. Didn’t I tell them to station there first and not act rashly?"

He raised his head and looked at the young assistant in front of him. "If the citizens of Dawn City feel that I’m the one using this kind of violent means to besiege the city, then even if I take care of Christos, they still won’t vote to let me be re‑elected."

"Mr. President," the young assistant lowered his head and said softly, "the major consortiums mean that deploying and stationing Mercenary Corps costs them resources. They hope to end this matter as soon as possible and shift their efforts to expanding production and trade."

"What, they think I’m the one who started this?" The handsome man’s expression turned cold as he flipped through the documents in his hand. "What are they trying to do by acting like this? Use a siege to make Dawn City implode and force Christos to surrender? Or push Christos into starting a civil war? They might achieve their goal, but my approval rating will explode right along with it. Keep going like this, and it’ll be nearly impossible for me to get re‑elected."

The young assistant lifted his head to glance at the handsome man, then slowly lowered it again. "Mr. President, if it’s wartime, a wartime president isn’t subject to term limits and doesn’t need to run for election."

"Yeah, civil war." The handsome man put the documents on the desk and tapped the tabletop. "Civil war. Isn’t that exactly what these consortiums want? Launch a total war, uproot Christos and all the opposition forces he represents, and then go back to their life of singing and dancing."

He pressed his hand on the files. "But what about me? I’ll be the one carrying the infamy of starting a civil war and facing assassination attempts from those fanatical K Believers and Christos’s supporters."

"History is written by the victors. You will inevitably be remembered as the hero who prevented the Federation from splitting apart." The young assistant lowered his head and spoke in a low voice.

"That’s assuming I live long enough to see victory." The handsome man kept his hand on the documents and spoke hoarsely.

Then he took a deep breath and looked at the young assistant. "Still no news about Wild? Is he really dead? We don’t even know where he died? As the Director of the Federation Intelligence Bureau, he couldn’t even leave behind a shred of intel about how he died?"

"We haven’t gathered any relevant intelligence for now," the young assistant said quietly. "But from the files Mr. Wild left in the Bureau, it seems that right before he disappeared, he was preparing to arrest a Transcendent who defected."

"Who?" The handsome man raised an eyebrow.

"Hawke," the young assistant said in a low voice. "Former Mercenary Corps Leader of the Menshu Group, a B‑level Transcendent."

"One of the consortiums’ people?" The handsome man looked up, somewhat surprised. "Wild got himself killed by playing internal power games with those idiot consortiums?"

"The situation may be a bit more complicated," the young assistant explained slowly. "That Mercenary Corps Leader has an only son who previously took part in organizing the large‑scale march in Ains—you were blocked in the Grey Stone Palace that time..."

"I remember that mob. You don’t need to remind me." The handsome man said hoarsely. "And then? Wild made an enemy of that Mercenary Corps Leader because of this?"

"Yes. Previously, Mr. Wild ordered a purge of a number of the march’s Organizers, and among them was Captain Hawke’s son," the young assistant said in a low voice. "A few days ago, Captain Hawke had a falling out with the Menshu Group and defected from them, and Mr. Wild seemed to have obtained information on Captain Hawke and was preparing to arrest him and bring him back."

"And then he managed to get himself killed." The handsome man rubbed his brow. "Idiot. I really shouldn’t have appointed him Director of the Intelligence Bureau. Stupid arrogance, stupid obsession with internal strife."

Then he drew a deep breath. "It’s fine. Dead is dead."

He raised his head to look at the assistant. "Among the Deputy Directors of the Intelligence Bureau, which one is more capable? At a time like this, the Director’s position can’t be left vacant."

"At present, Deputy Director Mete is an Elderly figure in the Bureau, with extensive experience. He comes from the ancient Ains family, the Ellison family—he’s an Elderly man with both background and experience." The young assistant spoke in a low voice. "In just this half‑day, we’ve already received quite a few ’suggestions’ from various campaign foundations."

As he spoke, he took out another stack of documents and handed it to the handsome man. They seemed to be one "letter of recommendation" after another.

"The Ellison family?" The handsome man chewed on the words. He took the thick stack of recommendation letters and flipped through them briefly. "The top consortiums in the Federation all support him as Director of the Intelligence Bureau. This guy managed to line up the consortiums; that at least shows he has some skill. Let him serve as acting Director of the Intelligence Bureau for now. Hopefully he’s a bit more reliable and doesn’t just drop dead for no reason."

He put the documents away. "Alright, you can go."

"Yes." The young assistant gave a slight nod, then stepped backward.

"Wait." At this moment, the handsome man seemed to remember something. Holding the documents, he continued to ask, "Still no news from the Federal Bureau of Investigation?"

"The Federal Bureau of Investigation says the Director is tracking down leads on the Cult and seems to have reached some sort of critical point," the young assistant said cautiously. "They can’t contact him either."

"Alright." The handsome man took a deep breath and pressed his hand on the desk. "You can leave now."

After the young assistant had completely left, the handsome man lowered his head and glanced at the documents in his hand.

Rrip—

The paper tore with a crisp sound, followed by the clatter of objects hitting the floor and the man’s suppressed, low growl echoing through the entire office.

It was quite a while before the handsome man stepped through the paper scraps scattered all over the floor and sat back down on the office’s soft armchair.

Click—

The tightly closed office door was slowly pushed open, and a man wearing gold‑rimmed glasses walked in. He first looked at the messy floor, then turned around and gently closed the office door. "Looks like you’re not in a great mood."

"So‑so." The handsome man took a deep breath. "But it’s all things I’d already anticipated."

He looked at the night outside the window, then at the man with the gold‑rimmed glasses, and spoke softly. "Any news?"

"Not sure if you’d call it good news," the man with the gold‑rimmed glasses walked over and said in a low voice. "A few Angels who’d just returned to Ains recently seem to have all gone to the vicinity of Dawn City. I’ve heard that Angels from other places are also heading to Dawn City. It’s obvious that the consortiums seem to ’not quite trust’ that Angel Corps Commander stationed in Dawn City."

"Angels all have their own positions." The handsome man took a deep breath. "Christos couldn’t have stirred things up in Dawn City for so long without that Legion Commander’s tacit consent. That would’ve been impossible."

He pressed his hand on the armrest, thinking aloud in a low voice. "The Old Geezer at the Federal Bureau of Investigation is gone too, so now in all of Ains, there’s only Boris from the City Defense Army as an Angel?"

"In a sense, that does seem to be the case," the man with the gold‑rimmed glasses nodded slightly. "Boris is in charge of Ains’s city defenses. He can’t leave."

"These people really emptied the Nest." The handsome man took a deep breath. "Honestly, I’m a bit curious how these consortiums—who spend all day at each other’s throats and would love to bury every competitor they have—managed to ’unite’ like this."

"For consortiums to unite, it can only be because of shared interests or a common enemy. Christos and his allies happen to fit both conditions. When their own interests are threatened, consortiums always display an Abnormal level of ’unity’. Of course, this may also be related to certain key figures." The man with the gold‑rimmed glasses spoke in a low voice.

"That Old Geezer from Noder Finance?" The handsome man’s gaze dropped slightly.

"Perhaps." The man with the gold‑rimmed glasses neither confirmed nor denied it and gently shifted the topic. "With these Angels gone, Ains’s defensive strength will probably drop a lot. Do we need to strengthen surveillance and investigation in Ains?"

"No need. The living Angels are gone, but those ancient families still have plenty of good stuff tucked away. As long as they’re all still in Ains City, there won’t be any major problems in Ains."

The handsome man gazed out the window and spoke calmly. "Ever since the Federation was founded, no one has truly dared to try anything inside Ains City. If Kemingda hadn’t left Ains, he wouldn’t have died either."

"Yes." The man with the gold-rimmed glasses lowered his head, the broad lenses reflecting a faint gleam.

——

Vitland

Heish lifted her head, staring at the ceiling above, her Mechanical Prosthetic Eye flickering with a faint light.

"Sister Heish," the girl beside her gently nudged Heish’s shoulder and spoke, "why are you so out of it? Did you not sleep well? Do you want to go back and sleep some more?"

"Hm?" Heish withdrew her gaze, as if just coming back to herself, and looked at the girl beside her. "Did I?"

Her gaze lowered slightly, as if her mind was clearing from its daze. She looked at the girl. "Is there something?"

"It’s about intel on the Rockville Energy Group board of directors," the girl said quietly. "Do you still want it? Are we still collecting information during the day?"

"No need," Heish shook her head. "News on that director named Katelei is enough."

She glanced at the girl beside her and smiled. "Go back and rest first. You’ve worked hard tonight. Remember, everything that happened tonight has to be kept strictly confidential. You can’t tell anyone."

"It’s not hard, it’s not hard. I’ll keep it secret." The girl nodded seriously, then turned and left the room.

Heish watched the girl close the door, then her gaze dropped slightly. She subconsciously turned her head, looking behind her. It was empty there, nothing at all.

——

Vitland · Saint Lote District

Inside a moving high-end luxury sedan

"What was that about today?" The man in a suit pulled down the vanity mirror on the car roof, took a look at his slightly haggard reflection, rubbed his face gently, and sighed. "I’d better confirm the matter with the Church of the Grim Reaper again. What exactly is that guy Skavi doing? Cooperating with a Cult is too risky."

He drew in a shallow breath, looking at his haggard reflection in the mirror, speaking as if to himself, yet as though repeating a certain line of thought. "Bargaining with a tiger for its hide is never a good idea. I never should’ve pushed him for the CEO position in the first place. I have to get clear answers."

He turned his head to look out the car window.

The pitch-black sky seemed to be tinged with the first hint of pale dawn.

The moving luxury sedan passed through the open garden gate, rolled through the meticulously designed garden, and slowly came to a stop before the brightly lit villa’s main entrance.

A figure with the bearing of a butler was already standing at the villa’s front door, waiting patiently.

The side-hinged car door opened to one side. The driver in front, wearing white gloves, turned back to look at the man. "Sir, Mr. Skavi’s villa is here."

"All right." The middle-aged man raised his hand, and the storage compartment beside him automatically popped open, revealing a domed top hat inside.

He put on the hat, stepped down on the footboard to get out, and stretched out his hand. A cane embedded in the car door automatically ejected, landing neatly into his hand.

He gripped the cane, drew it out, and used it to support himself.

The butler-like figure at the door stepped forward at just the right moment, stopping before the middle-aged man and saying respectfully, "Mr. Katelei, Mr. Skavi is awake and waiting for you in the parlor."

"All right." The middle-aged man nodded slightly and, under the butler’s guidance, walked deeper into the villa.

Behind him, the door of the high-end sedan slowly closed, and the car drove off toward a nearby parking space.

The entire villa was brightly lit at this moment, and some servants were already cleaning inside.

A dazzling, ornate crystal chandelier hung down from the domed ceiling of the hall, illuminating the entire white hall.

Yet even with the light so bright that one could see the faintest shadows and hues, there still seemed to be a certain chill lingering in the air.

Walking through this hall, even the middle-aged man, whose clothing was somewhat complicated and bulky for the sake of propriety, felt a trace of cold.

It was already May now, the scorching season in Vitland.

The middle-aged man glanced around the entire hall, frowning slightly, but he said nothing and continued forward.

Behind him, a figure walked with hands loosely folded, also taking in the immaculate white hall.

This figure stayed close behind the middle-aged man, passing by one servant after another, yet it was as if no one saw him, allowing him to walk straight ahead unimpeded.

Before long, the butler led the middle-aged man to an elegant door. He lifted his hand and knocked lightly. "Mr. Skavi, Mr. Katelei has arrived."

"Come in." A slightly lazy voice drifted out from inside the room.

The butler opened the door in response.

The room’s furnishings were very simple: no lit fireplace, two massive fur sofas, and a bar cabinet with a faintly rustic, wild charm.

At the moment, a man in simple casual wear, still a bit bleary-eyed, was standing before the bar cabinet, taking out a bottle of red wine.

Seeing this, the middle-aged man handed his top hat and cane to the butler and stepped into the room.

The figure that had been behind him was, at some unknown point, already by the window inside the room, head tilted up, looking at the pale dawn outside.

"Katelei," the man addressed as Skavi finished pouring the wine. When he saw the middle-aged man enter, he quickly walked over, reached out, and gave him a hug, smiling. "What brings you here today?"

"If I hadn’t come," Katelei released the hug, his voice edged with cold, "would our Group be about to fall under the control of the Church of the Grim Reaper?"

"What do you mean? My friend, have you been hearing some strange rumors?" Skavi’s smile stiffened slightly.

Then he seemed to be alerted to something, immediately reaching for his waist and looking toward the window in the room. "Wait! Who’s there?!"