Still in California, but, in another place, on a stretch of land that felt completely isolated from the outside world with how peaceful it was, there stood a building that radiated both grace and a sense of age.
Inside, in a moderately sized hall weighed down by a heavy atmosphere, a group of people had gathered.
"Patriarch, the Halden Group and Veltrix Technologies have both changed hands. They were sold to a single subsidiary company of Infinitel. And the people we were targeting—" the man paused slightly, his expression tight, "—they didn’t just run. It’s more accurate to say they vanished."
The speaker stood off to the side, glancing toward the head of the room, where a middle-aged man sat at the highest seat. He bowed his head slightly as he finished, his voice low and respectful.
The patriarch didn’t respond right away. He remained still, a frown etched across his face, his gaze distant. And the silence pressed in.
It had been a painful loss — someone strong like Nyra from the direct line of family had fallen.
His hand curled faintly around the armrest, and a slow breath escaped him as his thoughts churned. Was it because they had underestimated the chaos sweeping through the city... or had this group they have got themselves entangled with simply been more powerful than them?
"Can we be certain," he asked finally, his voice cold and quiet, "that the ones we sent weren’t killed by that Elias... or whatever his name was?"
The response came immediately.
"Yes. That is certain. He was seen outside the city when the battle happened yesterday."
Vortan Drevane, the Patriarch of the Drevane family, fixed his gaze on the man who answered him and fell silent once again.
Something about the whole situation felt suspicious.
A group they were targeting suddenly fled after selling their companies at lightning speed. Then, on the same day, the team he sent was wiped out.
"Should we ask for the help of a mage to track down the culprit?" the man asked.
After a moment of thought, Vortan nodded and gave his verdict.
"Yes. Find the culprit, no matter the cost."
"The Drevane family’s honor cannot be trampled so easily."
He let his words hang in the air for a moment before continuing, "As for the Halden Group and Veltrix Technologies, leave them alone for now. We can’t afford to clash with Infinitel."
"But take down all middle and smaller companies in California... From now on, ordinary people will no longer be allowed to own that much."
If they lost one battle, should they become more cautious?
Valtor thought the opposite.
This was the time to be more aggressive, not to cower.
In Washington, one of the most peaceful cities in the world currently, thanks in large part to the presence of the Academy, Vincent was holding a quiet meeting inside a high-rise building, with people not from this world.
There were two men with him. One stood, the other sat.
Had Christian been present, he might have blinked in faint surprise — because the man who stood was the same figure who once introduced himself as a high-ranking member of the Liberation Front, the very one who had invited Christian to join them.
The same man now stood beside a seated companion.
And then there was Vincent.
Though nothing more than an ordinary human, Vincent — who sat across from both men — held his own with calm, measured presence. He didn’t appear the slightest bit diminished beside them.
"Whether it’s funding, building connections, or providing people, I can offer unprecedented support. But I cannot guarantee any results," Vincent said, reclining slightly into his seat, his voice steady, businesslike.
The man who was seated crossed one leg over the other. A slow smile formed on his face. "One hundred thousand," he said. "That’s the number of people I want. Can you secure them?"
Vincent didn’t even blink. "One week," he answered. "All of them can be delivered wherever you want. But before that, you’ll need to give something in return... something we can build trust on."
The standing man let out a sharp scoff, his expression tightening in open disdain. But the other man merely arched a brow, still smiling as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. He opened it and gently set it down on the table between them.
"This," he said, "is a precious pill. It will allow even ordinary people to begin practicing the essence technique you’re after."
Vincent’s gaze sharpened as it fell on the pill, his interest flickering in his eyes — though he quickly masked the reaction, keeping his expression unreadable while the negotiation continued.
Once the terms were finalized, the seated man rose to his feet. But just as he was about to leave, he halted. He turned slightly, curiosity in his voice as he asked,
"I still don’t understand your reasons for doubting that we — the Liberation Front — can make noticeable progress in the United States. So now, as partners... can you tell me why?"
He asked it casually, with a hint of amusement. Vincent, matching the tone without hesitation, replied just as lightly, "Didn’t you notice that your members in the United States have been getting killed more than before?"
He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair.
"Well, it’s simple. It’s not the government. And not the Ancient Families, either — they’ve had their share of conflicts with you before, sure, but this is different. These recent deaths... came from another group."
He paused a second, letting the words settle.
"A rising group. One that only came to light recently — and it’s already earned a name for itself: Final Audit."
"Final Audit will eliminate any criminal who’s been getting too active lately. And their zones of operation..." Vincent tilted his head slightly, thinking for a beat, "are spreading fast."
Then, as if stating a fact long confirmed, he added, "Their main targets appear to be the Liberation Front."
The man blinked. For a moment, he said nothing — then suddenly burst into laughter. It was short, but sharp, echoing faintly off the walls.
Afterward, he cast Vincent a meaningful glance, then shifted his gaze toward the far corner of the room. His tone lowered slightly as he asked, "And you don’t fear this group... because of your unique subordinate, I take it?"
Vincent, his weathered features calm, simply smiled. He didn’t offer a word in reply.
The Liberation Front man didn’t press further. With a faint smirk, he turned and left.
Vincent didn’t rise to see them off. He remained seated, rolling the pill he had just acquired between his fingers, its green surface catching the light. His eyes gleamed faintly, absorbed — maybe too absorbed — in the object resting in his palm.
Layla entered the room not long after. He didn’t notice.
She gave her report as always, her voice steady, her expression unreadable, even without his attention. One of the topics she brought up concerned an incident in California.
Vincent said nothing for a moment, still gazing at the pill. Then, as she finished, he spoke with a casual, dismissive tone:
"Let them do what they want."