The reckoning

The excitement of the factory's initial success had yet to fully subside when Boer sent a brief, emotionless letter to every core member of the Steel Heavy Industry Consortium that very afternoon, after the day's schedule had ended.

There were no pleasantries, no explanations, only a single, unquestionable notice: seven tomorrow morning, in the conference room of the former Marquis Kent's residence.

The next morning, at half past six.

Dawn was just breaking, and the air still carried the chill of night. Boer sat alone at the head of the table in that familiar yet unfamiliar conference room, his fingers unconsciously tapping a steady, quiet rhythm against the smooth tabletop.

His gaze swept across the lavishly decorated room, which had witnessed both the Kent Family's glory and its destruction. He suddenly remembered that this was where he, Thatch, Roland, and the others had laid out their original blueprint. A faint, somewhat self-mocking smile curved his lips.

No wonder these parasites dared to obey me in public and defy me in private, he thought coldly. When had I ever truly paid attention to their petty greed before?

The first to break the morning silence was Roland. He arrived in a hurry, still wearing his immaculate attendant's formal attire. Exhaustion lingered on his face, but his eyes were exceptionally resolute.

Entering the conference room, he gave Boer a deep, respectful, perfectly executed bow. Then, without a word, he quietly took his place diagonally behind Boer's chair, like the most loyal of shadows.

The towering Thatch followed close behind. He strode into the conference room with powerful steps, his heavy footfalls echoing through the empty space.

Without wasting words, he dropped to one knee before Boer's seat and slammed his thick right fist against his solid chest with a dull thud. "My lord, your most loyal guard, Thatch, reporting for duty!" he rumbled, his voice as firm as rock.

After receiving an almost imperceptible nod from Boer, he immediately rose and strode out of the conference room. Like a silent, formidable guardian, he stood outside the closed doors, his presence imposing.

A delicate fragrance drifted quietly inside. Elena, the housekeeper, approached gracefully. After months of deliberate "taming" and day-and-night conditioning, her bearing now resembled that of a thoroughly subdued cat, docile and enticing.

She wore a pure white lace dress with a knee-length skirt that, like an elegant morning glory, perfectly framed the alluring, rounded curves of her waist and hips. Her long, wavy chestnut hair cascaded down to the middle of her back, most of it gathered behind her with a plain ribbon. Only a few loose strands fell beside her temples, offering glimpses of pearl earrings that swayed gently with her steps, further accentuating her snow-white complexion and captivating charm.

Her eyelids lowered, she dared not look directly at the figure on the throne. Her voice was as soft as the brush of a feather. "My lord, the morning is chilly. Shall I prepare breakfast for you and the other lords?"

Boer's gaze rested on her for a moment before he answered calmly, "Just prepare mine. Bring it to the study later."

"Yes, my lord." Without the slightest hesitation, Elena withdrew quietly with those well-trained, swaying steps, leaving a faint fragrance behind.

"Screee!"

Just then, a clear eagle's cry pierced the morning sky. A magnificent golden eagle swooped down from high above, its wings folded like a golden arrow!

An instant before it touched the ground, light flashed. The golden eagle vanished, replaced by the tall, upright figure of Prince Locke, who landed lightly in the courtyard with an unhurried bearing.

Already waiting beneath the covered walkway was one of Boer's women, a young lady from a branch of the former Marquis Kent's household and now his concubine-Chloe Kent.

She nervously straightened her younger brother Ethan Kent's perfectly neat collar, repeatedly instructing him in a low voice. "Listen, Ethan. Forget that Boer destroyed our family. Don't be afraid, but don't say a word more than you should! Keep your eyes respectful and your movements brisk. If we want the Kent Family's bloodline to rise again in the Royal Capital, our only choice is to cling tightly to his side. We must seize every opportunity he gives us! I have a feeling that today... the consortium will face a reshuffling!"

She squeezed her brother's shoulders hard. A complicated light flickered in her eyes, holding fear, but even more than that, the resolve to burn her bridges.

Then she watched Ethan take a deep breath and lead Prince Locke, who wore an easy smile, into the conference room.

As Locke passed Thatch, who stood like an iron man at the door, he acted as though he had not seen that fearsome figure. Instead, he casually whistled a cheerful tune and spread his arms as he approached Boer at the head of the table:

"Hey! My dear friend, what's going on? The sun isn't even fully out of bed, and you've dragged me so roughly from a lover's embrace. That's hardly decent of you!" His tone was light as he tried to liven up the atmosphere.

Boer remained seated. He merely lowered the hands supporting his chin, rested his elbows on the table, and interlaced his fingers before him.

He looked up, his deep eyes utterly unruffled, and offered Locke an almost perfunctory apologetic smile. Then he pointed to the first empty seat on his right without another word.

Outside Earl Boer's residence, formerly the marquis's residence, the scene was entirely different from the calm within.

Noble carriages had begun arriving one after another at six that morning. These shareholders of the consortium had already been waiting for a long time in the shadows nearby.

None dared enter early, nor were they in any mood to exchange pleasantries. Like prisoners awaiting their final judgment, they merely stood in a daze or paced back and forth in the cold morning wind.

Despite the cool weather, some constantly wiped the cold sweat seeping from their foreheads with silk handkerchiefs. Others were white as sheets, their legs so weak that they could only remain upright with support from the attendants behind them. Every face bore heavy dark circles and deep bags beneath eyes riddled with bloodshot veins.

Clearly, none had slept since receiving that cold letter.

At last, all twenty-one shareholders had arrived. They exchanged glances, each seeing the same despair and fear in the others' eyes.

Feeling almost as though they were marching to their execution, they stepped heavily into the residence, which had already become indistinguishable from an "abyss" in their minds.

Run? Where could they run? They knew better than anyone what they had done in secret: embezzling profits, falsifying accounts, conducting private deals, and stripping Roland of authority.

They had essentially offended this "white monster," who wielded absolute force, beyond all bounds. Now their only extravagant hope was that Boer would treat them as he had Marquis Kent: harshly, but ultimately leaving their families a slim chance of survival rather than uprooting them entirely.

Inside the conference room, Prince Locke still occupied the first seat on Boer's right, looking relaxed, with even a trace of amusement at the spectacle. In the first seat on Boer's left sat Ethan Kent, looking somewhat nervous but striving to remain composed.

The other nobles took their seats along both sides of the long table according to rank. Remembering their high spirits and exchanged toasts when they had established the consortium here, they now felt as though they were sitting on needles, plunging into a bottomless abyss.

Amid this exceptionally heavy, almost suffocating atmosphere.

Click.

With a soft sound, Thatch gently closed the conference room's heavy wooden doors from outside. Yet it struck every noble's heart like the final toll of a funeral bell.

Boer's hawklike gaze slowly swept over every pale, terrified face along both sides of the table. He seemed about to speak, his lips moving slightly, but in the end, all that emerged was a soft sigh that made everyone's hearts stop.

That sigh instantly froze the already oppressive atmosphere, as though even the air had become a thick solid that made breathing impossible.

Suddenly, Boer leaned back, sinking lazily into the broad backrest. He casually raised a hand and pointed to Ethan on his left, his tone as bland as if he were discussing the weather:

"Ethan, read it out to all our 'partners' here. Let everyone hear how these clever partners of mine worked together to make a fool of a brute who knows nothing but force."

Almost every noble felt as though an invisible hand had seized their heart and squeezed it viciously. Their hearts pumped wildly, blood rushing to their heads in dizzying waves.

We've been exposed! Completely exposed! Endless regret gnawed at their hearts like venomous snakes. If only we'd known... we should never have been so greedy... We're-we're going to die.

Especially after seeing that enormous metal serpent patrolling the city with their own eyes, they had gained a more immediate, more terrifying understanding of Boer's power.

Their instinct to survive made them unconsciously turn pleading eyes toward Prince Locke, who sat utterly at ease near the head of the table.

Indeed, without this royal representative's initial tacit approval, or even his possible secret encouragement and indulgence, how would they ever have dared act so brazenly?

Yet Prince Locke seemed not to receive any of these pleas for help.

He continued leaning leisurely against his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest, his calm gaze directed ahead, like a mere spectator uninvolved in the affair. His expression plainly said: Why are you looking at me? I haven't embezzled Boer's profits. Don't drag me into the fire.

Just then, Ethan Kent stood. Taking a deep breath, he picked up a thick stack of documents and began reading aloud in a clear, steady voice, announcing, item by item, the results of the secret audit he and Roland had conducted over the past few months.

Times, places, the people involved, the sums embezzled, the forged contracts... The evidence was conclusive, the details clear. Like the sharpest scalpel, they peeled away the nobles' dirty dealings beneath their splendid exteriors layer by layer, exposing them in broad daylight.

"...Based on the above, preliminary figures indicate that, through inflated prices, fabricated losses, private resales, dual contracts, and other methods, you lords collectively embezzled and misappropriated profits belonging to the consortium-and thus to Lord Boer-totaling approximately... eight hundred and seventy million Beli!"

When that final figure left Ethan's mouth, a baron with a weaker capacity to withstand the strain finally broke down completely.

"No! That's not what happened! Let me out! Let me out!!" He sprang from his seat like a madman, tears and snot streaming down his face. His trembling hands pounded frantically on the cold, heavy conference room doors behind him as he tried to open them. But the doors remained immovable as a mountain, leaving only his desperate pounding and sobbing.

The next instant, a sudden change erupted!

Some spare metal components piled beside the conference table instantly liquefied and shot forward like living venomous snakes! In a flash, four cold, heavy steel rings fitted themselves around the baron's wrists and ankles with unerring precision!

A tremendous force hauled him back to his seat like livestock awaiting slaughter. With a deafening clang, his hands were slammed against the hard conference table, while his feet were locked tightly to the chair legs, leaving him unable to move!

Boer raised a hand lightly, signaling the pale-faced Ethan to stop reading.

He adjusted his posture at leisure and began watching the noble's disgrace with interest-the face twisted by extreme terror, the stench of filth running down his trouser legs as he lost control of his bowels and bladder, the utterly undignified weeping and pleading.

Perhaps only before beings stronger and more merciless than themselves would these nobles, ordinarily so domineering and fearsome before the weak, expose their true selves in such a pitiful state.

Throughout it all, no one dared speak, and no one dared plead for mercy. The only sounds left in the air were the baron's desperate sobs, his ragged breathing, and the faint scraping of metal rings against the table and chair.

After an unknown length of time, when the baron's wails had gradually faded into feeble, choked sobs, his restraints finally loosened as eerily and silently as they had appeared, withdrawing into the floor and vanishing.

As though he had finally seen enough of this revolting farce, Boer slowly stood.

He took no steps, yet his body rose about three centimeters off the ground. Like a ghost, he silently "floated" down the middle of the long table.

He moved very slowly, his blade-sharp gaze sweeping over each noble present in turn. His eyes were cold and intent, as though he meant to engrave their terrified, bedraggled, ugly appearances deep within his mind.

At last, he floated back to his place at the head of the table. His cold voice echoed through the deathly silent conference room like a judgment from the underworld:

"Choose for yourselves."

"Pick anyone to take the blame and kill them. Then transfer the unlucky bastard's shares to Ethan Kent."

He paused, then calmly added one final sentence in a tone as indifferent as if he were discussing the weather, yet one that made everyone feel plunged into an ice cellar:

"Next time, you all die. Now, tear into each other!"

With that, he looked at no one again. His figure flashed, and he vanished from the conference room.

Immediately afterward, Roland, Prince Locke, and Ethan rose and left in turn. As Locke passed the ashen-faced nobles, he even had the leisure to offer a slightly teasing "reminder":

"Gentlemen, remember to be professional when disposing of the 'rubbish.' Don't make too much of a mess on the floor. This was once a marquis's residence, after all. A little decorum is still in order."

Clang.

The conference room doors closed once more, cutting off the inside from the outside.

Then, from behind the doors, came faint sounds of stifled, desperate roars, fierce arguments, and the dull thud of something heavy hitting the floor...