[Chapter 130. Rotten to the Core]

The hallway was dim, illuminated only by a few flickering open flames that struggled against the encroaching gloom. The shadows they cast were long and jagged, making the exposed skin of the women waiting by the ballroom doors seem unnervingly pale and vulnerable. They stood in a loose, trembling cluster, their eyes wide and uncertain, tracking Searanox’s every movement as he approached. The sharp, metallic scent of copper tang of his recent kills still clung faintly to his black duster, a silent sign to the violence he had just dispensed.

"Samantha," he said, his voice cutting through the heavy quiet of the corridor. He recognized the woman who had approached him earlier—the one who had almost sat on his lap before the world had turned into a shooting gallery. "What are you all still doing here?"

At the sound of her name, Samantha flinched, her shoulders hunching as if she expected a blow. She turned toward him slowly, her movements stiff. When she spoke, her voice barely rose above a ragged whisper. "We... we can't leave. Not without permission. The guards... they said if we left the designated areas without a pass, they’d hunt us down."

Searanox stepped closer, coming to a halt directly in front of her. He reached out and placed his hand on the top of her head. The touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the way those same gauntleted fingers had squeezed a trigger moments ago. "Then they have my permission to leave," he stated firmly. "The guards who gave those orders are currently decorating the pavement outside. Their passes are irrelevant now."

A few hesitant glances were exchanged among the group. After a heartbeat of frozen indecision, the women began to shuffle back into the ballroom. They emerged moments later, their arms overflowing with bundles of clothes gathered in a frantic rush. Their movements were hurried and desperate, many of them dressing while they walked away, fumbling with buttons and zippers as they fled toward the exit.

As Samantha turned to join the exodus, Searanox’s hand shifted from her head to her waist, his fingers wrapping around her with firm, inescapable strength. He pulled her back against him, the cool, unyielding metal of his chest plate pressing through her thin clothing.

"Not you," he said, his voice dropping to a low, resonant murmur that vibrated against her spine. He held her just close enough for her to feel the aura of power radiating from him. "You’re staying. You’re going to show me the rest of this building and tell me exactly how this city has been rotting from the inside out."

A sharp, shaky exhale escaped her, the sound of a woman who had forgotten how to breathe. "Like what? What could you possibly want to know from someone like me?"

"Everything. The guard rotations. How the food is distributed. How this 'Lord' maintained his grip." He released his hold on her waist, his voice softening into a more conversational, albeit cold, tone. "If you want to remove weeds, you have to pull all of them. Leaving a single root intact just means I’ll have to come back and do this again in due time."

He turned away from the lobby, facing a long hallway lined with a series of closed, numbered doors. "We start with some room service."

"What do you mean by room service?" Samantha asked. She followed behind him with small, tentative steps, her bare feet making no sound on the worn, threadbare carpet of the hotel.

Searanox didn’t answer with words. He reached the first door and delivered a heavy, lateral kick. The wood splintered with a sharp, explosive crack that echoed down the length of the corridor like a gunshot. Behind the ruined door, a woman sat huddled on the edge of a stained bed, crying silently into her hands, her arms wrapped tightly around her torso.

"Talk to them," Searanox commanded, glancing over his shoulder at Samantha. "Tell them the good news."

Samantha looked up at him, her light-brown hair swaying as she tilted her head in confusion. "What news? What am I supposed to say?"

"Tell them that as of today, this city is under new management." He was already moving toward the next door, his heavy boots leaving dirty, authoritative prints on the floor. "We’ll discuss the finer details of the transition later."

He kicked down the next door, the sound of splintering timber punctuating his words like periods in a sentence of conquest. He materialized his magitech rifle in a flash of light, the humming beam of the violet light cutting through the interior darkness. Followed by a thud and the groaning of the bed as its occupant fell lifeless on it. In the brief, artificial glow, his features were sharpened into a mask of silent anger and profound disgust, his vampiric pallor making him look like a vengeful spirit.

"Alright, little one," he said, his voice dropping into a low, surprisingly soft murmur as he stepped into the third room. His metal boots made soft, rhythmic sounds against the grime-covered floor. "You can go home now."

High-pitched, jagged screams erupted instantly, piercing the tense silence of the hotel. A young teenager was huddled in the far corner, pressing her back so hard against the wall it looked as if she were trying to merge with the plaster. Her small body trembled with a violent, uncontrollable cadence, her eyes wide and glassy with a terror so deep she couldn't even focus on his shadowy form.

Searanox immediately stored his rifle, the violet light vanishing and leaving the room in dim, natural shadow. "Would you like me to escort you home?" he asked. He kept his voice barely above a whisper, an intentional effort to sound non-threatening despite his imposing, armored silhouette.

He extended his hand and kept it there, steady and unmoving. The girl rose slowly, her movements hesitant and stiff, like a wounded animal deciding whether to bite or flee.

"You... you won't hurt me?" Her voice trembled with every syllable, her eyes darting frantically between his pale face and the open door and the corps on the bed.

"I won't. I have no interest in hurting those who can't fight back." He reached out and took her hand, gently pulling her closer. He reached over and stripped the heavy, discarded blanket from the bed, wrapping it around her narrow shoulders. The thick fabric covered her shaking form, providing a small measure of warmth and modesty. "It's alright. No one in this building will ever hurt you again."

His voice maintained that unusually soft tone—a stark, almost jarring contrast to the ruthless violence he had displayed in the ballroom.

Samantha appeared at the doorway a moment later, a sharp gasp escaping her as her hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes widened, glistening with unshed tears at the sight of the frightened girl.

"I'll be bringing this one home myself," Searanox said, turning around while keeping the girl's small hand firmly in his. "You stay here. Tell the rest of them that the cages are open. Tell them they can go back to their families."

He began to guide the teen toward the hotel exit, his movements deliberate and slow to match her pace. As they passed Samantha in the narrow doorframe, he added in a low, cold voice, "I'm leaving behind a drone to watch over you. Just in case one of the guards gets a brave idea."

Beside Samantha, a small metallic sphere materialized from a swirl of blue light. Its single, glowing blue lens adjusted with a mechanical whir, shining softly in the dim hall as it took up a hovering guard position.

Searanox stepped out of the hotel and into the cool night air, the girl pressed close to his side. They walked down the center of the street, her small frame still trembling against his armored arm with every step.

"You have to tell me where to go," he said, his voice remaining unusually gentle. The girl didn't speak; she simply pointed a shaking hand down the street, indicating a direction toward the more residential ruins of the outskirts.

Several minutes of silent walking brought them to a modest, two-story house that had managed to keep its roof. "Mom?" the girl whispered. Her voice was quiet and raw, barely audible as she stared at the familiar, peeling paint of the doorway. Her grip tightened on Searanox’s arm, her knuckles white.

Searanox didn't hesitate. He stepped forward and knocked loudly against the door with his gauntleted fist. The heavy, metallic thud-thud-thud echoed through the quiet night—a harsh, dominant sound that stood in stark contrast to the way he held the girl’s hand.

A moment later, the door creaked open a crack, then flew wide as a woman’s frantic crying started. She lunged forward, hugging the girl with a strength that nearly knocked them both over. Relief was a physical thing in the air as she held her daughter close, sobbing into her hair. "Anna... oh god, Anna."

The woman looked up at Searanox, her eyes red-rimmed and filled with a mixture of terror and profound gratitude. "Thank you. I... I didn't think I'd ever..."

"Some lines shouldn't be crossed," Searanox interrupted, his voice returning to its usual flat, pragmatic tone. "Keep her inside. Lock the doors."

He turned and began the walk back toward the hotel without waiting for a reply. His silhouette receded into the darkness, leaving the reunited family standing in the dim, flickering light of their open doorway.

Back at the hotel, he found Samantha standing exactly where he had left her—rigid and motionless in the hallway. The air in the building still smelled of stale beer, unwashed bodies, and the lingering, copper scent of sweat.

"You're still here," he noted, his voice echoing slightly in the now-cavernous lobby.

"You said that I stay," she replied simply. Her gaze remained fixed firmly on the floor, her bare toes curling against the dirty, grit-covered carpet. Her entire posture radiated a bone-deep deference—the kind of compliance that only comes from harsh, repetitive lessons.

`They truly did a number on her spirit. It’s going to take a long time to correct that kind of conditioning.` The thought surfaced like oil on water, separate and unwanted. He had seen this look before in the eyes of the broken—spirits that continued to follow orders long after their masters had been buried.

"I want twenty people at the level five dungeon portal within the hour," he commanded, his voice softening slightly but retaining its edge.

"The dungeon?" Her voice trembled with confusion. "Why? Sir, it's the middle of the night. People are scared. They're trying to find their families."

"Then wake them up and bring their families with them. I am not going to babysit this city, Samantha. I have a list of things to accomplish before the next stage hits, and I need this sector to be at a minimum competency level." His tone shifted, devoid of aggression but heavy with expectation. "And Samantha? Tell them to bring a book or something to pass the time. They’re going to be there for a while."

As he moved past her toward the stairs, he added one final thought: "If there aren't twenty people at that portal in sixty minutes... I will start picking residents at random to fill the quota. I trust you can make them understand the incentive."

With that, he vanished deeper into the building, his heavy footsteps fading into the oppressive silence of the upper floors.

It didn't take him long to find the rooms where the 'top brass' had been living. On the third floor, behind reinforced doors that had been recently and crudely installed, lay what passed for the leadership quarters. It was exactly as he had expected: a hoarded treasure trove of basic necessities. There was a makeshift storage room overflowing with canned goods, dried meats, and even a stash of pre-system sweets.

Scattered across several makeshift wooden desks lay the 'treasury' of the city. He looked down at the items with a sneer: three E-Grade Skillstones, a single Lodestone, and two silver coins.

`This is the worst treasury I've ever seen.` He thought, his mind turning cold and analytical. He had found more loot in a single, early-level dungeon crawl than these men had managed to accumulate while ruling an entire city. It was a pathetic display of shortsightedness.

He swept the Skillstones and the silver into his storage ring, leaving the food and the mundane supplies behind. He had no need for hoarded crackers; he would leave them for whoever Samantha managed to scrounge up for his new workforce.

Searanox checked the remaining executive suites, but found nothing of value—just more evidence of petty greed and squandered potential.

"How can someone be this wasteful and this ignorant at the same time?" he muttered to himself on his way back down. His boots crunched over broken glass as he re-entered the lobby. The hotel had become a tomb of failed leadership, a monument to the small-minded men who had tried to play king in a world that demanded gods. He was merely the undertaker, clearing the way for a more efficient regime.

He stepped back out onto the street, looking toward the horizon. The clock was still ticking.