Ill Intentions

The Military Affairs Department's official notice went up on the military district's internal forum at 2:30 p.m.

The title was straightforward, without any embellishment: "Notice regarding adjustments to daily guide counseling slots." The body consisted of only two short lines:

Effective immediately, the number of sentinels the guide would routinely soothe each day would increase from 5 to 15. Reservations for the additional slots on the three remaining days of the week would open at 15:00 that afternoon. Sentinels could apply themselves through their terminals.

Just thirty seconds after the post went up, the forum server froze for half a minute.

By the time the page refreshed, hundreds of replies had piled up beneath it, coming in so fast they flooded the screen.

"Holy crap, am I seeing things? More slots? And three times as many!!"

"Yeah, could the marshal have something on the guide? Did he catch her killing someone?"

"Oh, come on, person above. Times are different now. As long as a guide doesn't cross the nation's bottom line, what can't be smoothed over? Our guide is just a genuinely good person."

"I thought I wouldn't get a turn this week and had already prepared to tough it out until next week... I'm freaking ecstatic! I've set an alarm, brothers. May the fastest fingers win at three!"

"Ah, you guys haven't met the guide in person. Not only is she gentle, she even asks softly if the intensity is right while she's counseling you. A guy on my team came out yesterday and said it felt better than spending three days in a recovery pod."

"I used to be stationed in the Third Military District. The high-level guides there had a fixed seven slots a week. Not only did you have to pass a political background check and meet the rank requirement, you also had to take a spiritual compatibility test. If you scored below 80, you weren't even eligible to make a reservation. Each counseling session lasted twenty minutes, and you couldn't get a second more."

"The guides in the Central Administrative District are even scarier. I heard they like to torment sentinels..."

"Person above, have you got a death wish? The Federation strictly forbids maliciously defaming guides online."

"But that said, can the guide handle this workload?"

"Don't worry, Doctor Han is keeping an eye on her. Besides, the guide knows her own limits. She said she was feeling well enough to add more slots, and she'll stop if she gets tired. We just need to make good use of the slots. Don't sign up for no reason just to join the crowd; leave the chance to people who need it more."

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Central Administrative District, presidential office

A palm slammed down on the heavy obsidian desk, making it shudder and sending papers scattering across the floor.

President Hoover shot to his feet, his plump cheeks flushed crimson with rage, the mustache at the corners of his mouth twitching as barely suppressed malice churned in his eyes. "The Ninth Military District! The Ninth Military District still hasn't signed the presidential inauguration document! What does Huosuosi think he's doing? Is he trying to rebel?!"

Under the Federation's constitution, a president could not formally take office unless the highest-ranking military officers of all nine administrative districts signed the "presidential inauguration document." If any one of them failed to sign, the appointment could not take effect.

He could only keep bearing the title of "acting president," liable to be ousted at any moment.

"Please calm down, Your Excellency. It isn't worth damaging your health over." Secretary George hurried forward, bending down to pick up the scattered documents with a fawning smile on his face.

"The Welch Family has completely collapsed. As for Huosuosi... he was already in a Level Eight Berserk State when he was exiled from the Central Administrative District back then. No matter how gifted he is, without counseling from an ultra-high-level guide, the toxins will only accumulate more and more. As long as we stall, sooner or later we can wait him out until he dies. Why concern yourself with a dying man?"

Hoover spun around and slapped the desk, making the teacup jump. "I can't wait any longer! I want Huosuosi dead now!"

He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked down at the closely packed government buildings below, his gaze as sinister as if it had been steeped in poison.

The Iron Group...

Iron held evidence of plenty of the dirty things he had done to climb to power back then: embezzling military funds, assassinating political rivals, and even those "accidental" contamination waves along the border. Any one of them was enough to ruin his reputation.

Over the years, the Iron Group's cooperation with the Ninth Military District had grown increasingly close. If Iron were to tell Huosuosi about any of this...

"Your Excellency, I have an idea." George's eyes darted, and he leaned closer, lowering his voice.

Hoover turned his head. "Speak."

"The greatest thing Huosuosi relies on to act so arrogantly is the Ninth Military District's fighting strength. If we could undermine it..."

"Undermine it? How?" Hoover frowned, his voice impatient. "I've already cut their military pay by thirty percent and halved their armament resources. They don't even have a proper guide! What else can I cut?"

He had always acted with meticulous care. He absolutely could not leave any evidence out in the open.

"Besides the army as a whole, the greatest threats are those few ultra-SS-class sentinels under Huosuosi. If we find a way to eliminate them, it would be like cutting off Huosuosi's right and left arms..."

Hoover's eyes shifted, and he turned around. "Go on."

"There's a virus called 'Soul Erosion.'" George licked his lips, a vicious gleam in his eyes. "It can silently accelerate a sentinel's spiritual contamination. At first, taking it slows down the Spirit Toxins, but when it erupts later, it kills outright."

He paused, then continued, "As far as I know, that Lin He of the Lin Family inherited his family's talent and is Huosuosi's most capable battle commander. But those people from his mother's family, the Yao Family... as you know, they've always forgotten loyalty at the sight of profit, and it's not as though we've never dealt with them before. As long as the price is right, getting them to tamper with something won't be difficult."

"As for the others..." George smiled, his tone contemptuous. "Nobody's perfect. Everyone has a weakness. We'll deal with them one by one."

Hoover stroked his chin, his eyes flickering. He was clearly tempted.

But he still felt it wasn't enough. Even if they eliminated a few sentinels, Huosuosi himself would still be there, and the Ninth Military District's foundation would remain untouched.

As if he had seen through his thoughts, George delivered one final blow. "If that still isn't enough, then... what about the Liberation Day celebration?"

"Liberation Day?"

"That's right. As a national celebration, Liberation Day is hosted by the nine administrative districts in turn. This year... it just so happens to be the Ninth Military District's turn." George smiled like a fox that had stolen a taste of meat. "The whole country will be watching then, and as the host, Huosuosi will have to attend throughout. We can use the celebration as a pretext to set a trap for him... a banquet with murder in mind."

He raised a hand and made a slashing motion across his throat, his gaze vicious.

The office fell silent for several seconds.

Hoover stared at him, then suddenly laughed and patted him on the shoulder. "Good, very good, George. You really do have a nimble mind."

He went behind his desk and sat down, tapping his fingers lightly on the surface, one tap after another, as though reassuring himself.

"I'll leave this matter to you." Hoover looked up, his gaze sharp as a blade. "I'll give you one year."

"If you do it well," he said, his tone softening with an enticing promise, "the position of secretary-general of the presidential office will be yours. Your family can take important posts in government agencies, and your George Family can climb another rung."

"But if you botch it..." Hoover's voice abruptly turned cold, a flash of ruthlessness passing through his eyes. "You won't want to know the consequences."

George's heart went cold, and he hurriedly bowed. "Rest assured, Your Excellency. I'll handle it beautifully. I won't let you down."