[Chapter 129. Coup d’Etat]

Searanox's gaze fell on the pale man, whose frame began to tremble with a visible, rhythmic intensity. The man’s hand crept with agonizing slowness toward the hilt of a rusted blade at his hip, his knuckles white against the dark leather. Searanox watched the movement with the detached curiosity of a scientist observing an insect, then looked away without a word. His attention returned to Thomas, who remained reclined, seemingly oblivious to the predatory shift in the room's atmosphere.

"A guardsman," Searanox mused, his voice smooth and cold. "It sounds like easy work. Your primary directive is to guard the city against beasts, I assume?" He shook his head slightly, a mocking tilt to his chin. "Because your security clearly isn't calibrated to handle strangers."

As he spoke, one of the women from Thomas's inner circle began to crawl onto his lap, her movements practiced and feline. Her skin was dusted with the grime of the city, but she smelled faintly of expensive, scavenged perfume. Searanox placed a gauntleted hand on her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw.

"Honey, not now," he said, his tone almost pleasant. "Maybe after this conversation concludes."

The woman froze, glancing toward Thomas for permission, then back at the crimson glint in Searanox's eyes. The sheer, icy lack of heat in his expression was enough to make her slide off his lap and retreat several steps, her head bowed.

Thomas, sensing the sudden dip in temperature, struck the pale man across the shoulder with the back of his hand. "Get it together, Leo. He's not a monster. He's just some weirdo who thought taking a race that isn't human was a good tactical idea during the transition." He turned back to Searanox, a smug grin pulling at his lips. "As for your duties, you'd guard the dungeon entrances. We make sure no one enters without authorization. It keeps the rabble from getting ideas about 'leveling up' and challenging the status quo."

"Understandable," Searanox began, his fingers tapping a rhythmic beat against his knee. "Dungeons can be quite dangerous if handled by the unwashed masses, but—"

"That's Searanox," the pale man interrupted, his voice cracking into a high-pitched franticness. "He's the one from the Global Announcement."

The silence that followed was heavy and sudden. Every head in the ballroom snapped toward the man, then back to the figure sitting on the velvet couch. The lounging guards straightened their backs, their grip tightening on wine bottles and weapons alike.

"He's strong," Leo continued, his eyes wide and unfocused. "I'm using my Identification skill, and I can't even see his level. The UI is just a blur of question marks. That means he's at least fifteen levels above me. Maybe more."

Thomas laughed, a booming sound that echoed off the high, gilded ceilings. He slapped his thigh, though his eyes remained fixed on Searanox. "Good one, Leo. Almost believed you for a second. As if someone could be higher than level twenty eight days into this mess. The system scaling doesn't work that fast."

The room was punctuated by an audible, collective gulp from the guards who had seen Searanox at the gate. Leo’s voice dropped to a terrified whisper. "He's the leader of KingGames. The guild that was created right after it all started."

Searanox's tone shifted instantly, the change as natural as a light switch flipping into the dark. "Very nice. Couldn't keep that little secret to yourself, could you?" His gaze bored into the pale man, pinning him in place with the weight of his intent. "Now you all know so much about me, and all I know is that your 'Lord' here is level... well, he’s far below what I would have guessed when I bothered to come here."

He turned slightly toward the woman who had approached him earlier, his voice softening once more, though it carried a razor-edged undertone. "What was your name again, honey?"

"Samantha—" she started, her voice barely a breath, but his attention had already shifted back to the center of the room.

Before Thomas could formulate a response or issue a command, Searanox's Magitech Rifle MKII materialized in his hands in a flash of blue light. The long, sleek barrel was aimed squarely at the bridge of Thomas's nose. Simultaneously, one Intermediate Defensive Drone and six Basic Air Drones hummed into existence around him. Their positioning was surgical—two drones moved to flank each of the main exits, while the remaining four formed a protective, rotating semicircle behind his back.

"Whoa, whoa! Calm down now!" Thomas barked, raising both hands in front of his chest. His voice was tight, the bravado cracking like old glass.

The room erupted. Screams tore through the ballroom as the 'entertainment' and the lower-tier guards scrambled for cover, their bodies colliding in a frantic, chaotic rush toward the corners of the room.

Amid the noise, Searanox’s defensive drone moved with mechanical fluidity, its heavy metallic chassis slamming against the main entrance and sealing the double doors with a resounding clack.

"Samantha," Searanox’s voice cut through the din with the precision of a scalpel. "Please escort the women out." His eyes scanned the room, never leaving Thomas. "All of them. The following conversation is for leadership only. Civilians shouldn't have to watch their betters fail."

Searanox remained perfectly still, the rifle steady in his grip, as the women scrambled toward the exit. When one guard, panicked and desperate for a human shield, grabbed a woman's arm to drag her back, a red flash lit the room for a microsecond. A heavy, wet thud punctuated the screams as the guard’s head snapped back, his body collapsing into a heap.

"I forgot to warn you about interfering with my directives," Searanox remarked casually as the last woman passed through the drone's barrier. "Thomas, you truly disgust me."

"Disgust? You think you're better than me?" Thomas’s voice had climbed an octave, his face flushing a deep, angry red. "Because we're enjoying ourselves while the rest of the world burns? We earned this! We survived the transition!"

A soft, genuine chuckle escaped Searanox's lips. "No. I don't give a damn about the morality of your hedonism. In fact, under different circumstances, I might do the exact same thing."

Another red flash from a drone. A naked man clutching a heavy oak chair collapsed behind Searanox, a smoking hole through his shoulder.

"Some people learn very slowly," Searanox sighed.

"What the hell is your problem, then?" the guard who had escorted him to the hotel shouted, his voice shaking. "If you’d do the same, why are you coming in here and killing our people?"

"Oh, the answer to that is quite simple." Searanox's gaze unfocused for a split second as he checked the translucent countdown timer in the corner in his vision. "In exactly six days, three hours, and twenty-two minutes, the System implements Stage Two. I've spent my time traveling. I've seen what happens to those who aren't ready. And the first Progenitor I encountered? He actually controlled a city with some semblance of competence. Imagine my surprise when I discovered the state of this place."

"Is it about the bodies? About killing people to level up?" Thomas asked, his hands still raised, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead.

"I don't fucking care about the lives of the 'fodder,'" Searanox replied, his voice flat and terrifyingly empty. "We’ve all killed our fair share of people to get where we are. Some of us just have higher body counts than others."

He grinned, looking the pale man, Leo, directly in the eyes. "Not a word," he whispered, his voice sharp enough to cut through the heavy air. Then, he raised his voice so it carried to every corner of the ballroom. "Do you honestly believe that being level six or seven will cut it when the Stage Two gates open in six days?"

"We're strong!" a voice shouted from the back of the room, though it lacked conviction. "We have the numbers! We can hold the walls!"

"Bullshit!" Searanox bellowed, the sound echoing off the marble walls like a thunderclap. "You waste precious time indulging your primitive urges while the portals to two dungeons—a mere five-minute walk from this very hotel—stand idle and uncollected. You sit here on your velvet thrones while the experience required to survive the coming slaughter is just sitting there, waiting to be harvested."

He rose from the couch in one clean, predatory movement, the rifle never wavering from Thomas's head.

"That is my primary problem with your 'leadership,'" Searanox said, stepping over a discarded wine bottle. "It is wasteful. It is inefficient. To sacrifice people for a goal is one thing; I can respect a cold calculation. But to doom an entire city because you think you're the king of a hill that’s about to be leveled... to believe you hold any real power when you haven't even cleared a level fifteen dungeon..."

Thomas jumped up from his seat, his face contorted in a mask of defensive rage. "You haven't been in that hellhole! We tried the level fifteen rift! Your boots melt right off your feet the moment you step into the mire! It’s impossible!"

"Is that so? Is that what you’ve told yourself to justify your cowardice?" Searanox couldn't help but smile, a flash of fangs appearing. "I cleared your Corpse Cave and the Rotting Swamp tonight. Both of them. Alone."

"You're lying! There's no way!" a guard screamed from the side. "We lost twenty men in the first room of the swamp!"

Searanox turned his head slightly toward the door, his defensive drone vanishing in a flash of blue light that briefly illuminated the terrified, sweaty faces of the four men on the central couches.

"Then why don't we go take a look together?" Searanox suggested. "I would show you the corpses of the bosses you were too afraid to face, but the gate is curently closed."

He took a deliberate, heavy step forward, the sound of his armored boot on the marble floor unnaturally loud in the sudden, tense silence. He cocked his head to the side, his red eyes glowing with an ancient, predatory hunger.

"And if even one of you tries to break rank and run," Searanox added, his voice carrying the weight of an absolute, mathematical certainty, "I will ensure you learn that there are things in this new world far worse than a quick death. I have a very long memory, and my drones have a very long range."

The walk through the dark, silent streets was a funeral procession. Thomas and his lead guards moved like condemned men, flanked by a swarm of hovering drones that hummed with lethal intent.

When they reached the level fifteen dungeon portal—a swirling rift of dark blue energy tucked inside the skeletal remains of a broken-down office building—the city was silent. The only sound was the low, electric thrum of the portal. Searanox checked the clock; there was only an hour left before the dungeon reset. The eerie, sapphire light cast long shadows that danced like ghosts against the crumbling, graffiti-covered walls.

"That... that shouldn't be possible," Thomas whispered. His voice was barely audible, forced past a thick lump of fear in his throat. He stared at the portal's status window, which clearly displayed that it has been cleared.

Searanox shook his head slowly, a small, pitying smile touching his lips. "No, it clearly isn't impossible. It was only impossible for you."

He began to walk a slow, deliberate circle around the four men, his movements fluid and rhythmic. He looked up into the dark, star-strewn sky as if searching for a signal from the System itself, something beyond their primitive comprehension.

"You are weak. You are pathetic. And most importantly, you are a bottleneck for the development of this sector," Searanox said, his voice dropping into a calm, final tone. "But don't worry... I’ll take much better care of your city than you ever did. I'll make sure the resources aren't wasted."

Thomas opened his mouth to plead, to offer a deal, perhaps to beg for his life. But those were the last things the 'Lord' of the city and his inner circle would ever hear.

Dozens of crimson beams flashed through the dark, their brief, brutal light cutting through the night like a surgeon's scalpel, precisely carving away the rot of the old leadership to make room for the new. When the light faded, the only sound left in the ruins was the rhythmic hum of Searanox's drones.