Chapter 200: Cult Meeting

Chapter 200: Chapter 200: Cult Meeting

Deep within a heavily encrypted, non-euclidean server node hidden far beyond the reach of imperial tracking arrays, nine flickering silhouettes stood suspended in an obsidian void. High-grade cryptographic wards and pitch-black distortion shrouds masked their heights, vocal frequencies, and physical signatures—a necessary paranoia in an organization where even executive peers were potential imperial moles.

A heavy, suffocating silence settled over the virtual chamber following Executive 3’s cold declaration.

"Culling him? Easier said than done," rasped Executive 5, their voice warped into a grating, metallic synth-drone. "Rueben was a Grade-S Rot-Weaver backed by the entire necrotic infrastructure of Floor 12, and the Vance boy erased him without suffering a single scratch. Furthermore, intelligence reports confirm his farm is anchored directly above a Fragment of the Origin Earth Pulse. A direct military assault on Sunny Vale is no longer an operation—it is suicide."

"Not to mention his political standing," Executive 7 chimed in, a distorted female silhouette crossing her arms. "Crown Prince Julian has granted him permanent diplomatic immunity and zero-tax status. Half the global leaders are currently treating his diluted spring water like holy relics. An overt strike on his estate or his flagship boutique would bring every S-Rank guild on the planet down on our remaining cells."

"Then what do you propose? We sit back and watch him turn the entire world into an impenetrable, mana-rich sanctuary?" Executive 9 snapped, their shadowy outline flaring with agitated aura. "Our divine mission is the total eradication of mana and the execution of all awakeners to restore humanity to its pure, baseline form! Rowan Vance single-handedly neutralized our global soul-rot initiative in less than seventy-two hours! He is converting the populace into fanatic believers of agricultural mana!"

"Executive 9 is correct about the threat level," Executive 1 spoke, their voice carrying the solemn, absolute weight of the Order’s inner council leader. "Rowan Vance is no longer merely a high-tier farmer or a rising tactical asset for the Empire. He has become the singular anchor stabilizing the global economy, public health, and human morale. So long as he draws breath, any biological, necrotic, or spatial crisis we orchestrate will be rendered useless by a single splash of his domain’s water."

Executive 2, who had remained silent in the far corner of the void, leaned forward, the darkness surrounding their silhouette shifting like living smoke. ℯℯ𝘭.

"Then we do not attack his farm, nor do we attempt a brute-force assassination while he stands upon his earth pulse," Executive 2 murmured, a chill, calculating edge cutting through the voice modifier. "Rowan Vance believes he has won. He is arrogant enough to reopen his commercial boutique in the capital this Monday. The entire avenue will be packed with high-society nobility, foreign diplomats, and imperial guards."

"You want to strike during the store reopening?" Executive 3 asked, narrowing their obscured gaze. "The security presence will be astronomical."

"Which makes it the perfect stage," Executive 2 replied coldly. "We do not need to overwhelm his physical defenses with brute force. We merely need to isolate him from his land, sever his connection to the World-Tiller’s pulse, and strike when his confidence is at its peak. If we butcher the ’Savior of Humanity’ in the middle of his flagship store, surrounded by the very people he saved, we will not only eliminate Threat Level Zero—we will shatter the world’s spirit forever."

A dark, unanimous murmur of agreement rippled through the shadowed void.

Executive 1 raised a single hand, calling the council to order. "It is decided. Executive 2, Executive 9—you are granted full operational authority over our remaining dark-budget assets, spatial inhibitors, and sleeper agents within the Capital Guard. Rowan Vance wants to host a grand reopening on Monday..."

The shadowy figures began to dissolve one by one back into the encrypted dark web.

"...we will ensure it is his last."

***

The encrypted holographic projection dissolved, leaving the subterranean chamber buried miles beneath the cobblestones of Sol Aethel City in thick, damp darkness. Cold water dripped steadily from condensation-covered conduit pipes, echoing through the cavernous underground bunker.

A tall figure in dark, tactical battle-plate stepped forward, unclasping his metallic face-guard with a sharp depressurization hiss. Beneath the mask was the scarred, weathered face of a hardened war veteran, his eyes glowing with an unstable crimson mana fire.

From the opposite side of the vault, a slender woman stepped out of the shadow of a massive concrete pillar. She wore a tailored velvet trench coat over a silk dress, her long silver hair cascading over her shoulders. She slid off her dark velvet mask, revealing sharp, feline features and eyes as cold and calculating as ice.

"Adam... it’s been a while," Roxie called out, her voice dropping the synthesized filter to reveal a smooth, purring tone laced with subtle lethality.

"Yes, it has been six years, Roxie," Adam replied, setting his heavy helmet onto a metal crate. He eyed her up and down, a faint, humorless smirk touching his scarred lips. "The last time we stood in the same room, we were burning down the lower guild halls in the Southern Reaches."

"Simpler times," Roxie purred softly, leaning back against the cold stone pillar with her arms crossed. Her eyes narrowed as she got down to business. "Tell me—how many of your personal elite squad have you managed to assemble under the capital’s nose without triggering the Imperial Guard’s spatial sensors?"

"Thirty-six S-Rank veteran purists," Adam answered cleanly, his voice filled with grim confidence. "Every single one of them a former high-tier guild officer who abandoned their mana cores for the Order’s true cause. They are outfitted with black-market spatial inhibitors, core-suppression charges, and cold-iron blades forged specifically to sever high-vitality body networks. If Rowan Vance relies on his farm’s earth pulse to heal, he won’t get the chance—my men will lock the store down into an absolute anti-mana dead zone before his hands even touch his tool."

Adam took a step toward her, his crimson gaze searching her face. "Now it’s your turn, Executive 2. What have those intelligence agents of yours gathered over the past two weeks?"

Roxie let out a low, melodious chuckle, pulling a glowing crimson data slate from her coat pocket and flicking a sequence of encrypted dossiers into the air between them.

In the high-society pleasure dens and luxury brothels Roxie controlled across the Empire’s capital, men of immense power—ministers, imperial captains, noble house stewards, and wealthy merchant lords—consistently sought escape from their grueling duties. And in the embrace of Roxie’s elite courtesans, fed fine wine and lulled into absolute relaxed complacency, those powerful men spoke far too freely.

"Over two weeks of pillow talk from the highest offices in the Empire," Roxie whispered, her eyes flashing with wicked delight as holographic blueprints of Eden International’s flagship store rotated before them.

"The Imperial Capital Guard’s patrol rotations for Monday morning are completely compromised," Roxie revealed, tapping a blueprint displaying the store’s interior layout and security stations. "Three of the senior captains commanding the outer perimeter are regular patrons of my velvet lounges. They’ve already agreed to ’adjust’ the spatial monitoring arrays around the flagship store on Monday under the guise of managing crowd control. They believe my girls are merely running a high-class smuggling operation for luxury crops."

She pointed her long, manicured finger at the store’s main vault and central counter.

"Crown Prince Julian has placed his personal elite shadow guards on the roof, but my agents have already confirmed their communication frequencies. Furthermore, the store’s internal anti-theft wards will be running at half capacity because the massive crowd outside is causing localized mana interference with the city grid."

Roxie looked up at Adam, a cruel, beautiful smile spreading across her face. "Rowan Vance thinks he is hosting a grand commercial triumph on Monday. He has no idea that the very nobles standing in line outside his store have already sold out his entire security infrastructure without even knowing it."

Adam looked at the detailed blueprints, his chest rumbling with a low, brutal laugh. "Thirty-six elite killers, full spatial isolation, and an unwarned target surrounded by defenseless aristocrats. Monday morning won’t just be a store reopening, Roxie..."

"It will be a slaughterhouse," Roxie finished softly, closing her hand into a tight fist as the holographic blueprints shattered into dark dust.