When Ronan returned home to the Old Port District, Dolores was still fast asleep.
In the master bedroom, lit by a bedside lamp, she hugged the bedding tightly. A lingering flush of passion still colored her beautiful face, making her exceptionally alluring beneath the light.
Ronan took off his coat, quietly slipped beneath the covers, and gathered the beauty into his arms.
His heart was filled with joy and peace, incomparably content.
Everything in his mind had fallen perfectly into place.
The methods he had planted in Shaquille Bier and Rudolf Herbert could not immediately claim their lives or seize their souls. Instead, they would take effect bit by bit over the days to come.
The more wildly these two young nobles played, the greater the stimulation their brains received, and the more frenzied their consciousness would become.
Until one day, when they exceeded their own limits, then...
Shaquille Bier and Rudolf Herbert would not even know how they died.
Moreover, when the time came, even the most brilliant forensic examiner would be unable to identify any problem. They would only be deemed to have died from a sudden illness.
After all, there were plenty of wastrel young masters who had played themselves to death.
Such methods could not be used against Transcendents, because a Transcendent's own power would instinctively repel invading Psionic Power. He could force his way in and kill them, but he could not scheme against them without a sound.
Shaquille Bier and Rudolf Herbert were both ordinary people.
In Ronan's eyes, they were already dry bones in their graves!
Two more days passed before Gustav Rhine sent someone to invite Ronan to his office.
What had happened two days ago did not change Ronan's habits. He still went to the academy for class every day.
He