[Chapter 268. The Loophole]

While Searanox waited in the dimly lit room, two of his drones silently combed the house. The recon drone darted from room to room with insect-like movements. Its optical sensors swept across every surface, analyzing and cataloging anything of interest. Following in its wake was a cargo drone, a bulkier construct that collected whatever the recon drone had identified.

They moved with unnerving efficiency, punctuated only by the soft hum of their internal mechanisms and the occasional metallic click as the cargo drone secured another item. Within minutes, they had stripped the Wolves of their spoils—gleaming weapons, sturdy armor, and a hidden stash of coins beneath a loose floorboard in Gareth's bedroom.

Searanox sent the cargo drone streaking back toward the tower, its form vanishing through the window to unload its contents inside the fortress. The recon drone remained, hovering near the ceiling like a silent guardian, its blue light casting eerie shadows across the room.

An hour passed in silence, broken only by the occasional creak of the couch as Searanox shifted position. His patience, usually a carefully maintained tool, began to fray. By the second hour, he was fighting to contain a rising tide of aggression. Every minute spent waiting was a minute wasted—precious time he could have spent strengthening his city or pursuing more immediate threats. This delay was the fault of one man, and the thought of Gareth walking free while Searanox sat idle was infuriating.

Before the third hour fully ticked by, a familiar sound pierced the stillness. The wooden front door groaned open, accompanied by muffled voices. Shuffling feet and hushed conversation filtered in, followed by a puzzled query: "Why is there no one out front?"

Then a louder shout filled the space. Gareth's voice cut through the confusion. "What are you all doing?"

Half a dozen thugs entered, followed by a larger group of men and women wearing mismatched sets of ill-fitting armor. At the rear, Gareth stepped inside, his expression shifting from annoyance to shock as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting.

"So we meet again, Sergeant Gareth," Searanox spoke from the shadows, his voice cold and measured.

Corpses sat arranged on the couches as if in casual conversation, slumped against walls in grotesque poses of eternal surprise. The floor was stained with dark, drying blood that caught the dim light in macabre patterns.

Gareth didn't answer. His face twisted in horror and recognition. Without a moment's hesitation, he turned and sprinted for the door. Unfortunately for him, he slammed face-first into the shimmering barrier that had materialized to seal off the exit. The impact sent him staggering backward, his hands pressing against the shimmering wall as if testing its reality.

"It's very rude to simply run in the middle of a conversation," Searanox said, rising slowly from the couch. The leather beneath him released a foul squelch as his armored form shifted, sending droplets of crimson scattering across the floor like rain. "You have kept me waiting for quite some time. Answer my questions now, and you won't have to wait as long as I have to find your peace."

"We were just joking around," Gareth stammered, his bravado evaporating as he pressed against the barrier. "We never truly planned on taking your life or your city!" His fist slammed uselessly against the energy field, the dull thud reverberating through the tense silence. Panic laced his voice as his eyes darted between the bodies of his dead comrades and the towering Dhampir.

"A very interesting addition," Searanox replied, a thin smile playing on his lips. "But I didn't come to punish you for your fever dreams. You will tell me how you came to know of System contracts. In return, I won't kill you or the rest of your men."

The promise hung in the air, heavy with implication.

"You're lying! You'll kill us all!" Gareth screamed, his voice cracking as he renewed his futile assault on the barrier.

"No," Searanox said calmly, his voice cutting through the hysteria. "If you want to make sure, you can offer a System contract, or simply agree to mine."

As he spoke, a glowing window materialized in Gareth's vision. The blue light illuminated the stark terror in the Wolves leader's eyes. He stopped slamming his fist against the barrier, his body going rigid with shock.

"You... you just want to know how I learned of them, and you won't kill us?" Gareth muttered, his eyes darting back and forth as he read the contract again and again, as if the words might change.

Unlike the deceptive contracts Gareth had offered his desperate 'clients,' this one was brutally simple. It consisted of only three lines: It demanded Gareth reveal where he had learned about System contracts, promised Searanox wouldn't kill him and his men, and concluded with a single word for the penalty of a breach—Death.

Searanox grinned, the expression finally reaching his cold eyes as he let himself fall back onto the couch. "Take a seat and tell me, then."

With reluctance etched onto their faces, Gareth and his men shuffled into the bloody room. They stepped carefully around the corpses of their former comrades, the squelching of their boots punctuating their movements. One by one, they settled onto the remaining furniture, staring at the man who held their fates in his hands.

"Some of us—we were together before, in what used to be a small city an hour's drive from Bielefeld," Gareth began, his voice trembling. "It became a hellscape the moment the System manifested. Within twenty-four hours, a group calling themselves the Iron Enclave seized the entire downtown area. By week's end, they'd formally established a guild, and only their handpicked followers were granted access. The rest of us thousands of desperate souls were left to rot outside, fighting the mutated beasts that prowled the abandoned streets for every scrap of food."

Gareth's eyes darted toward his remaining men, who sat frozen in the blood-soaked room. "Then one day, one of our scouts overheard something inside the Enclave's ranks—murmurs about System contracts. They'd bound the women to absolute obedience, using them for... services. The men were forced into the Crystal Caverns, a particularly brutal dungeon. They mined glowing crystals day and night, their bodies breaking under the strain. When the veins ran dry, the Enclave cleared the dungeon, waited for the reset, and sent them back in for another cycle of torment."

Searanox remained perfectly still, his expression unreadable.

"We were just a small scavenger squad, hunting what we could to survive. After several failed attempts and a few lucky breaks, we figured out how the System contracts actually worked—the precise wording, the loopholes, the way the Geas functioned as an inescapable cage." Gareth shifted uncomfortably, his fingers tracing patterns on the blood-stained armrest. "But we were powerless against the Enclave. They'd entrenched themselves too deeply. Their strength was overwhelming." His gaze dropped to the floor. "When we received the notification about this new city, we saw our chance. We accepted the transfer immediately, recognizing the untapped potential in those contracts. We targeted the most desperate—the ones without families or connections. The ones no one would notice if they vanished."

Searanox cut him off, his voice like ice. "A fascinating story." His eyes swept over the men huddled near the doorway, their faces pale with horror. "Using others as disposable meat shields to clear dungeons. Owning a forced harem... was it worth it?"

Gareth met Searanox's cold gaze, a desperate flash of false pride burning in his eyes. "What did you expect? The System gives us power and tells us to survive. We did what we had to do. We survived," Gareth spat, his voice cracking with strain as he gestured vaguely at the corpses. "You're no different. You sit on your throne, a king in a city of slaves. Don't you dare pretend you're any better than us."

"Right. I'm not better," Searanox mocked, rising slowly from his position. "I am infinitely better. For one, my city doesn't reek of filth and fear." He stalked toward Gareth with predatory grace, his armored boots crunching over a broken bottle.

"Two, you speak of survival, yet I offer anyone willing to work a place to live. You cleared the beginner dungeon in my city and believe you know how the world works. You haven't seen the horrors that await in the higher tiers. The looming threat of other worlds prepared to send thousands of warriors here." He paused inches from Gareth's face, his breath steaming in the chilly room. "Gareth, what would you have done with this city if it were yours? What would you have done except fuck every woman inside it?"

The question hung in the air, a rhetorical spear aimed at the exposed heart of Gareth's tattered ideology. His men, trembling like frightened animals, looked to their leader for a response, for some last shred of justification. Gareth simply stared, his jaw working wordlessly like a fish gasping on land. The bravado drained from him, leaving only the pale, empty shell of a man whose world was about to be erased.

Searanox smiled—a cold, thin-lipped expression that held no mirth. "You have nothing left to say? Then you have no reason to exist." He raised a single gauntleted finger, the metal catching the dim light.

"You can't kill me! We're under contract!" Gareth grinned, a desperate last attempt at defiance stretching his lips into a grotesque mask of triumph. "You'll die if you try!"

"Ignorant fool," Searanox spat, walking right past him. His armored footsteps echoed through the silent room like drumbeats at an execution. "Iris, they're all yours."