Chapter 410: Claymore Enterprises Answers The Press

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Suddenly, as everyone talked about the state of the world...

BZZZTTT!

"?!"

"!!!"

The screen flickered, and the image changed completely.

For a moment, the sound cut out as well. A few people were still talking, not yet noticing what had happened, but their voices soon trailed off as they turned toward the screen.

Riven looked up with the rest of them.

What was going on now?

And then, a live feed from Claymore Tower’s grand atrium cut in.

The camera panned across a sea of reporters, shareholders in expensive suits, and livestream drones hovering nearby. An enormous crowd had gathered, with several security personnel stationed around the stage to keep anyone from getting too close.

Reporters raised their microphones and tried to get a better view. Behind them, people held up their phones, recording the same broadcast Riven was watching. Every time the camera moved, more faces came into view.

Whatever this was, it had drawn far more attention than an ordinary announcement.

A raised stage had been erected beneath the massive Claymore Tower, which housed the Mega Massive Ultra Mana-Spirit Reactor. The tower stood at the very center of the city, and its reactor supplied power not only to Central City but to several other cities across North America. It was a crucial part of the country’s infrastructure, making the recent attacks particularly concerning for everyone involved.

Even now, the cameras kept returning to the security personnel. Some watched the crowd while others checked the sides of the stage, their attention shifting whenever someone moved too close.

Riven understood why. After the attacks, a gathering this large was bound to make people nervous. Yet nobody seemed willing to leave. They had come for answers, and judging by the number of microphones pointed toward the stage, they expected to get them.

And in the middle of everything...

"That’s... Father...?!"

Riven leaned forward before he realized he was doing it.

For a second, he wondered whether he had mistaken someone else for him. The camera had only caught the man from the side, and people were still moving in front of it.

Then the view cleared.

No. There was no mistaking him.

Riven’s fingers tightened against his palm. He had been watching the broadcast like everyone else, waiting to find out what had happened. Now he could barely pay attention to anything beyond the man approaching the center of the stage.

Arthur Claymore stepped into the light.

Riven was shaken.

He had not expected to see his father here, in front of all those people. Questions came to him immediately, but none of them had an answer yet.

Why was he making an appearance now?

Was this about the attacks?

Riven glanced at the reporters again. Several were already calling out, their words overlapping until he could not make out a single question. Arthur did not answer them. He continued toward his place on the stage, and Riven found himself watching every step. It was strange, seeing someone he knew so well through a screen while everyone around him waited for that same person to speak.

Just as he remembered him, his father was tall and broad-shouldered, with blond hair swept back from a face that still had the sharp features of a man in his prime, despite the decades he had spent accumulating power. Some said that Hunters at his level no longer aged at all, remaining in their prime forever. Arthur was certainly a good example of that.

He looked every bit the professional, carrying himself with the authority of a powerful Hunter and the cold, calculating cruelty of one of the richest men alive. His tailored charcoal suit was flawless, as expected, and even his posture seemed carefully maintained to project confidence and authority.

Nothing about his appearance suggested that the recent attacks had troubled him. He did not hurry onto the stage or search the crowd for reassurance. Instead, he looked directly toward the cameras, giving the reporters time to capture his arrival.

People were watching him closely, trying to read something from his expression. Was he angry? Concerned? Did he already know who was responsible?

His face gave them very little to work with.

That was probably intentional. A man in his position could not afford to look uncertain, especially now. Everyone gathered there wanted to believe that someone had the situation under control, and Arthur knew how to present himself as that person.

Beside him stood Gawain, blond and emerald-eyed, radiating a dangerous confidence in his white military-style coat. Guinevere stood on Arthur’s other side, elegant in a white dress, her long, light brown hair stirring in the breeze. Her eyes remained cold as she cautiously assessed her surroundings.

Gawain seemed comfortable with the attention. He kept his chin raised as cameras turned toward him, making no effort to avoid them. Guinevere, however, paid more attention to the people near the stage than to those filming her.

Whenever someone shifted forward, her gaze followed.

Neither of them spoke. They did not need to. Their presence beside Arthur was enough to draw another round of pictures before the reporters finally lowered their cameras.

As they stepped forward, the crowd fell silent. Arthur raised one hand in greeting before finally addressing the situation unfolding across America.

A few voices lingered near the back, then stopped as well. Microphones remained raised, ready to catch his first words. Arthur waited until he had everyone’s attention, his hand lowering slowly to his side.

Then he began.

"My fellow citizens."

His voice was deep and measured, carrying the authority he held within the city. He wasn’t just the President of Claymore Enterprises, after all. He had also been elected Mayor of Central City every year and had taken a direct role in national politics. Many of his supporters were already saying that he should become President of the United States as well.

To those supporters, this appearance would be another reason to trust him. While everyone else asked questions, Arthur was standing in front of the cameras, ready to address the country. Whether his answers would satisfy anyone was another matter.

For now, he had their attention.

Some of the shareholders nodded as he spoke. The reporters were less eager to respond, listening with their microphones held steady. They needed more than a greeting, and there was only so long he could keep them waiting.

Still, interrupting him was not something anyone seemed eager to do. Too many people in that crowd had business with Claymore Enterprises, or hoped they would someday. Arthur’s position as Mayor only gave them another reason to choose their questions carefully.

Claymore’s grip on the political sphere was immensely strong. Its influence extended far beyond the business world, and Arthur himself had become one of the most influential figures in the country.

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