The Upton Family Estate.
"You have no right to bring us here! What evidence do you have that we're behind this?"
"Exactly! This won't end here. You'd better be ready for a lawsuit!"
"Don't think you can trample over us just because you're a bunch of cops. What, you think the Upton Family eats dirt?"
More than twenty direct members of the Upton Family had been hauled back to their ancestral estate from across the country, now seated like defendants in a courtroom.
"Get the fuck out of my way! No one lays a hand on me—Max Upton! Come on, shoot me if you've got the balls!"
Max barked arrogantly, his temper flaring.
Beside him, a young woman sneered, her voice thick with contempt:
"Our family pays billions in taxes every year—what the hell are you lapdogs good for? Now you're biting the hands that feed you?"
Despite all the shouting, none of them dared act out.
At the estate entrance, a squad of masked, heavily armed men stood silent and still—their presence exuding a lethal aura far beyond that of any law enforcement unit.
"Step aside! I've got important business to handle. I don't care who you are—get in my way, and you'll regret it!"
Max rose from his chair, reaching out to shove one of the silent enforcers.
A cold voice snapped.
It came from a member of the Bruce Family.
Max sneered, baring his teeth:
"And if I don't? What're you gonna do—bite me?"
"Hmph. This estate was meant to be inherited by my second brother," Eliza chimed in with a mocking laugh.
"I didn't know lapdogs got to tell their masters what to do."
She moved to leave with Max.
The Bruce Family agents chuckled darkly.
"Well damn, the mighty Upton Family really are kings of their little swamp in Jiangdong. I'm shaking."
One man stepped forward and removed his mask. His face was covered in scars, one eye clouded a dull grey—gruesome and intimidating.
Max instinctively flinched at the sight, but surrounded by his family, he forced himself to stand tall.
He snarled, reaching to push the man aside.
"Fuck off. You think you can talk down to me?"
The one-eyed man—Isaiah—grinned and drove a knee straight into Max's gut.
Max hit the ground retching, the shock wiping the smirk clean off his face.
Eliza turned ghost-white and quickly sat back down, finally realizing these weren't regular cops.
"Listen up, all of you," Isaiah barked. "From the moment you stepped into this building, your federal citizenship was revoked."
"Revoked… what the hell does that mean?"
A hotel executive whispered nervously.
"Bunch of fucking morons," Isaiah snorted.
"In legal terms, you're already dead. Whether you leave here breathing or not depends entirely on your luck."
"You… you can't do this! I don't care who you are. You can't just rewrite U.S. law!"
Max's voice trembled.
"These are exceptional times. Exceptional measures,"
Blank entered the room in a sleek black tactical suit, every curve of her figure outlined beneath the fabric. Her voice was sharp, cold.
"You meet the criteria for death quota clearance. In other words, you're expendable—acceptable sacrifices in the pursuit of higher ideals."
The phrase sent chills down the Upton Family's spines.
Some of them had worked with military contractors before and seen similar clauses in black-budget projects.
Loss of life was "within acceptable risk parameters."
Their deaths had been penciled in.
"Wrap this up. Kill whoever needs killing, clean out the trash. Their lives—or deaths—are yours to command."
Orson leaned against the doorway, lighting a cigarette.
His voice was casual, but his words were final.
Isaiah and his squad straightened and saluted.
Orson stiffened slightly at the title.
"Captain" still felt weird, especially since he'd never agreed to it.
Even weirder—James had told him his so-called leadership profile had been praised to high heaven.
Turns out… it wasn't even his.
K.D. had ghostwritten the whole damn thing, submitted it directly to the White House—without telling Orson.
Of course it got glowing reviews.
Apparently, in "extraordinary times," bureaucracy could be skipped entirely.
There'd been no ceremonies, no grand appointments.
Just like that, Orson had been named the Commander of the Ten Overlords of the US.
Nominally, he had full access to all ten family resources.
In practice? It was an empty title.
These ancient dynasties had roots deeper than most nations. Every powerbroker was a seasoned predator.
Orson knew damn well he wouldn't get anything from them without real leverage.
"What the hell is going on? Didn't you say he was dead, Max?!"
"Speak up! Why's he still alive?"
Half-brothers and sisters turned to Max in panic.
He didn't answer. He couldn't.
His eyes were locked on the man in the doorway.
Max felt the blood drain from his face.
A former e-sports player? That guy now had a team of armed killers calling him sir?
"I'm sorry… everyone."
Yuri's voice was hollow.
To him, the old butler was more than a servant.
He had been Yuri's eyes—his guide in a dark world.
Now, his eyes worked. But everyone he cared about… was gone.
This pain was beyond words.
He had always believed himself above vengeance, always taken the high road.
Even when his half-siblings schemed against him, tried to destroy him—he retreated.
He thought that if he looked weak and harmless, they'd let him be.
His passivity had gotten loyal people murdered.
Yuri clenched his fists, scanning the estate he'd lived in for over twenty years.
Memories from before he lost his sight flooded back.
Nothing would ever be the same.
Today, he re-entered this home not as Yuri the blind heir…
But as the Knight King—Drunken Dream.
"His eyes… they're healed? Impossible!"
Eliza gasped, paling instantly. Her guilt bled through her face.
"Max! You bastard! You deserve to die!"
Drunken Dream roared, grabbing Max by the collar and yanking him up.
"B-Brother, please—I was wrong! The Upton Family is yours now! The Supreme Guild too!"
Max collapsed to his knees, all bravado gone.
He tried to play the sympathy card.
But an immense energy surged from Yuri.
A faint silver spear shimmered into view—floating beside him.
"Wait… that's the Chaos Kirin Lance from Infinite Dimensions!?"
"How's that possible? Isn't this the real world? Are we still inside the game somehow?"
The weapon's shape was unmistakable.
It was the very same Forbidden Magic-tier dragon lance Yuri wielded in-game.
Orson smiled from the sidelines, arms crossed.
Weaponization had begun.