Chapter 226: Let Him Celebrate

Ten minutes after Keller made the call, two military wreckers and an asphalt paving crew arrived at Junction Nine.

The combat engineers quickly set up orange traffic cones, hooking steel cables to the charred truck frames to drag the wreckage off the lanes.

Keller’s two uninjured escorts took the flatbed carrying the three salvaged solvent tanks, heading west toward District Two.

With fifteen hundred liters on the way, Raymond Wells and Calista would have enough fluid to keep the automated lines running through Thursday evening.

Evren got back behind the wheel of the armored SUV. Amber and Zephyra took their seats, and the vehicle rolled down the off-ramp into District Four’s heavy industrial basin.

"How far is the plant?" Amber asked, checking the digital map on the center console.

"Three kilometers down the riverfront road," Evren answered, navigating through the traffic. "Boreal Chemical Synthesis produces roughly seventy percent of the capital’s alchemical solvents."

About forty-five minutes later, Evren pulled the SUV through the security gate of a sprawling industrial compound.

Dozens of high-pressure storage spheres sat behind concrete blast walls, surrounded by overhead pipelines that hummed with liquid movement. Forklifts loaded steel drums onto freight beds, and plant technicians in grey flame-retardant coveralls moved between the testing labs.

Evren parked in the visitor lot outside the two-story administration building.

The security guards at the front desk looked nervous as Amber walked past with the twin sabers resting against her hips. But after Evren showed his identification, the receptionist quickly directed them upstairs to the plant manager’s office.

They knocked and stepped inside.

The office was lined with technical blue-prints and chemical purity charts.

Behind a cluttered metal desk sat Derrick Ross, a broad-shouldered man in his late forties with ink stains on his fingers and tired eyes.

Ross looked up from a stack of shipping manifests, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses. The moment his gaze locked onto Evren’s face, his eyes widened with immediate recognition.

"You’re Evren Crawford," Ross said, setting his pen down with genuine respect. "The hunter from the news reports. What brings an Awakener like you out to an industrial chemical plant?"

"I’m not here as a hunter today, Mr. Ross," Evren said, taking a seat across from him. "I’m here representing Starlight Pharmaceuticals."

Ross nodded slowly as the pieces came together in his mind. "The new facility in District Two. Word travels fast that your team hired Raymond Wells and sixty of Crowe’s former formulation crew this morning."

"We did," Evren said calmly. "And right now, our automated lines need Grade-Four cryogenic stabilizing solvent. I need ten thousand liters pumped into sealed tankers and dispatched to our complex by eight o’clock tonight."

Ross leaned back in his leather chair, letting out a long breath. "Ten thousand liters is a massive order on three hours’ notice."

"Do you have the inventory in your tanks?" Evren asked.

"We have twenty thousand liters sitting in Storage Sphere Four right now," Ross admitted, tapping his computer monitor. "The purity is ninety-nine point five percent, freshly refined from morning distillation."

"Then we’ll take ten thousand liters," Evren said.

Ross shook his head with a grimace. "It’s not that simple, Chairman Evren. Those twenty thousand liters are currently under a priority allocation hold."

Amber’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Who holds the reservation?"

"The Alchemical Regulation Board," Ross answered, pointing at a red flag on his screen. "Director Crowe’s office filed an advance regulatory hold on all our Grade-Four solvent reserves at nine o’clock this morning."

"Did they pay for it?" Evren asked.

"No," Ross admitted, grimacing. "The Board never pays upfront, only issuing an administrative hold with thirty days to settle. If we release reserved stock without their clearance stamp, they can suspend our operating permits."

Amber let out a quiet scowl. "Crowe didn’t just ambush our convoy on the road. He tried to freeze the local supplier ahead of time."

"What is your standard commercial price per liter?" Evren asked, his tone steady and unbothered.

"Standard wholesale is two hundred and fifty dollars per liter," Ross replied. "Ten thousand liters comes out to two point five million dollars."

Evren reached into his jacket, pulled out his Black Card, and placed it flat on the desk.

"I’ll pay you five million dollars in liquid cash right now," Evren said. "Two point five million for the solvent, and two point five million as an immediate cash rush fee."

Ross stared at the sleek black card, his eyes widening. "Five million? That’s double the market value."

"Cash on the spot," Evren continued, unpinning the silver Imperial Sovereign Defense Marshal’s Seal from his coat lapel and laying it beside the card. "And this order is requisitioned under Imperial Readiness Decree 12 for frontline military medical supply."

Ross picked up the silver seal, his hands trembling slightly as he inspected the engraved imperial crest.

"Decree 12," Ross murmured, looking up at Evren with genuine shock. "A military requisition order signed by the Grand Arbiter."

"Under imperial law, a Decree 12 requisition legally overrides any commercial priority hold," Evren stated calmly. "The Regulation Board has zero jurisdiction over military procurement, and you walk away with a two-point-five-million-dollar cash bonus."

Ross didn’t hesitate for another second. He grabbed his terminal scanner and swiped the Black Card.

The transaction processor beeped once with a cheerful chime, displaying an instant approval notification:

[APEX SOVEREIGN BLACK CARD: LEVEL-ZERO CLEARANCE]

[TRANSACTION: $5,000,000.00 USD — BOREAL CHEMICAL SYNTHESIS]

[STATUS: APPROVED]

Ross stared at the screen, a massive grin breaking across his worn face. "Five million dollars cleared in three seconds. That settles our quarterly maintenance debt in one stroke."

He immediately picked up his desk radio and clicked the channel switch. "Dispatch bay, hook up two heavy insulated tankers to Storage Sphere Four and fill them with ten thousand liters of Grade-Four cryogenic solvent for District Two."

"Copy that, boss," a voice crackled back over the radio. "Pumping starts now."

Evren took back his card and pinned the silver seal back onto his lapel. "There is one more thing, Mr. Ross."

Ross looked at him attentively. "Whatever you need, Mr. Crawford."

"Keep this transaction completely off the public commercial registry until noon tomorrow," Evren instructed. "If anyone from the Regulation Board calls to ask about Starlight, tell them our representatives came in, but you turned us away because the reserves were locked."

Ross raised an eyebrow, quickly understanding the trap. A slow, knowing smile spread across the plant manager’s face.

"Understood," Ross chuckled, nodding firmly. "As far as the capital knows, Boreal turned Starlight away at the door without a single drop."

"Thank you, Mr. Ross," Evren said, standing up and shaking the man’s hand. He led Amber and Zephyra out of the administration building and back into the afternoon sunlight.

Down by the loading racks, the valves of Storage Sphere Four were already hissing loudly as chilled, pressurized solvent flowed through thick hoses into two polished stainless-steel tankers.

Amber adjusted the sabers at her hip, a cold, satisfied smile touching her lips. "By tonight, Crowe will get a report saying we’re stranded with no solvent and thirty-six hours before our lines shut down."

"Let him celebrate," Evren said, opening the SUV’s door. "When people think they’ve already won, they get careless."