It was all so sudden.
Wasn’t it only a minute ago when they arrived in the tunnels?
Had they gone far before realizing the extent of corruption in the tunnels by the abyss?
Before they had a chance to begin destroying the vile mess, the explosions occurred simultaneously, completely burying the entire D.O.D. underground.
Now faced against mad rebels and fanatic occultists alongside flesh monsters, Ambrose couldn’t help but ask.
Why hadn’t he considered the possibility that such a thing could happen?
Why didn’t he think that maybe, just maybe, the enemy had prepared a trap for them down here?
Was it because he thought that the occultists wouldn’t be crazy enough to trap themselves inside as well?
Or maybe it had to do with the fact that he didn’t think that after so much trouble with the barrier, Basar would be so wasteful as to use a barrier strong enough to distort even the perception of a great Dragon, to trap a few Enforcers.
No, Ambrose had indeed considered those possibilities yet he never thought about leaving insurance on the surface and instead thought to bring all their forces underground.
If not for Lady Ana, Natasha, and Oscar would have been down here as well.
Ambrose was left speechless as he watched his men fight for their lives against enemies that outnumbered them.
Where did it all go wrong?
As he raised his shotgun and blasted off a fanatic’s head, he wondered if he had miscalculated.
"Sir!... We have to retreat!" An Enforcer cried out in an urgent tone.
The next moment, that same Enforcer was shot through the head by a rebel and he quickly breathed his last.
Staring at the body of his fallen comrade, Ambrose gained enlightenment.
What if he had thought of the possibility of a trap?
What if a plan had been put in place to ensure the trap won’t succeed?
So why didn’t he implement it?
Then, a strong primal fear rose within Ambrose, causing him to stiffen.
"Sir!" Another Enforcer called out as he rushed to push Ambrose out of the way just as a flesh monster pounced in his direction.
Watching his comrade get absorbed into the fleshy mess filled with pus and blood, Ambrose began to nurse a certain possibility.
A possibility he had considered before but out of fear, quickly abandoned.
That maybe... just maybe, there was a third player in this game.
Sir Matthew Goldberg, head of the Goldberg family sat in his study in his manor.
His expression was solemn as he stared at the corner, unmoving.
On the table before him, a wine bottle and a glass cup were set aside.
The wine bottle was half empty and the cup... half full.
Picking up the cup, Matthew took a sip and let out a heavy sigh.
There had never been a time when he had felt so low, but ever since the incident at his wife’s birthday... everything had gone downhill.
From losing his son to madness to finding out that his son had been funding mercenaries, embezzling money from his bank, and investing it in locations Matthew could have never imagined.
To watch as his investments were either destroyed by the earthquake or looted by those middle-class bastards.
Everything was going downhill and it was going downhill fast.
He was left unsure of what to do or where to go.
Matthew didn’t even consider meeting his fellow nobles.
Even those he called his friends.
More than anyone else, he knew that amongst nobles, there was nothing like friendship.
Only gains and losses.
If a friend didn’t benefit you, there was no point befriending the person in the first place.
That was an unspoken rule amongst the nobility and one that Matthew had always taken to be the gospel truth.
So he understood what would happen if he dared to tell anyone about the current situation of his home though others would surely be going through the same thing he was experiencing.
There would surely be those that would rip him apart like wolves and leave him with nothing at the first sign of weakness.
The mere thought terrified the old man.
But then, what was he to do?... How could he solve the problems plaguing what his great-grandparents had worked so hard to build?
If it were in his younger years, Matthew wouldn’t have been so helpless... or maybe if he had another son.
Unfortunately, he was already quite old and what’s more, he had an only son who brought shame to his name.
"Oh, my ancestors... is this truly the end of the Goldberg house?" Matthew muttered to himself.
Glancing at the door, he inquired. "Who’s there?"
"Sir, you have a visitor."
"I see..." Matthew trailed off as he quickly picked up the wine bottle and closed it before taking it over to the wine cabinet hung on the wall and placing it within.
Letting out a sigh, Matthew remarked. "Let them in."
Matthew slowly made his way back to his chair and sat down just as the door opened and a middle-aged man with a head of white hair, wearing a black coat with a pocket watch hanging out and carrying a golden cane, walked in with a friendly demeanor about him.
Feigning a smile, Matthew greeted as he rose to his feet. "Ah, Mr. Thornheart. Glad to see you."
"I hope I didn’t come at a bad time." Abraham inquired as he took off his hat and casually made his way over.
Matthew shook his head. "Not at all. You look well."
"Well, it has to be the effect of money." Abraham joked before pointing at a chair. "May I?"
"Ah, yes, of course."
Upon making himself comfortable, Abraham placed his hat on the table and crossed his legs while still holding his cane.
Matthew felt slightly uncomfortable with the look he was given but regardless, he remained poised.
As his lips slowly curled at the edges, Abraham remarked. "I said it, didn’t I?"
"...What do you want?" Matthew asked.
"Didn’t I inform you already?"
Gritting his teeth, Matthew dropped his head in defeat as he muttered. "... As you wish."