Chapter 1562: The Avoided Disaster

Screams tore through the casino as patrons scrambled in blind panic. Dealers abandoned their tables. Chips scattered across polished floors as gamblers shoved and collided in desperate attempts to flee. Security alarms blared in jagged, overlapping wails, while emergency lights flickered to life, painting the entire floor in violent flashes of crimson.

People screamed in panic, their voices rising in sharp, chaotic waves. It was only natural; they believed something catastrophic had struck. After all, who would dare unleash trouble in a place that stood under the Broker King’s protection?

Inside the ruined office, dust and glittering debris drifted slowly through the air like falling snow. Fragments of shattered crystal and gold trim glimmered as they settled across the wreckage.

Yet at the very center of the devastation, the desk and the space surrounding Lucas and his companions remained perfectly intact, as though an invisible barrier had shielded them from the destruction.

Jasper’s face drained of color, his lips parting slightly as he struggled to steady his breathing.

Fredhardt stood unmoved, one hand slipped casually into his pocket, his posture relaxed as if the explosion had been little more than an expected inconvenience. Fargo merely waved a hand lazily in front of his face, brushing away drifting dust with effortless nonchalance, his predator’s smirk never quite leaving his lips.

And Lucas...

He remained seated, composed and utterly at ease, as though the chair beneath him were not furniture, but a throne carved for him alone.

"So," Lucas said calmly, his voice cutting cleanly through the distant screams and blaring alarms below, "would you reconsider your position now, Mr. Wilford?"

His gaze settled upon the Broker King with quiet, deliberate weight.

"Joshua Wilford... is that correct?"

The Broker King’s perfectly crafted composure was shattered for the first time. Shock flooded his features, raw and unguarded. For the first time since ascending his throne, the mask of authority slipped completely away.

His identity was the most closely guarded secret within the underworld. Even those who worked directly beneath him knew him only by title. Only two individuals possessed knowledge of his true name: the receptionist who had served his family for decades, and also Jasper. Yet this man, this king of Harland, spoke it as effortlessly as reciting a common greeting.

Jasper’s breath caught sharply in his throat. He stared at Lucas, dread coiling tighter within his chest. He had no idea how the King of Harland had uncovered Joshua’s identity. And if Lucas knew that...What else did he know?

A far more dangerous thought surfaced, chilling him to the bone. Could it be he knows about Joshua’s past?

The truth was known to only a handful of souls. Joshua Wilford had not always been the ruler of the Black Market’s empire, at least, not until a few years ago. That throne had once belonged to his father, the former Broker King who governed the underworld with an iron grip and unquestioned authority.

He was killed at the very end of the Dark Age War, just as that brutal era drew to its long-awaited close. While the world celebrated the promise of peace, the underworld lost its sovereign.

In the blood-soaked aftermath, the throne passed not through ceremony, but through necessity. A far younger, far less prepared Joshua was forced to inherit a kingdom built upon shadows, secrets, and enemies waiting for weakness to surface.

To protect him during those fragile early years, his father’s most trusted confidant concealed the truth from the world. The illusion was carefully maintained.

And so, it endured.

To this day, those fortunate, or unfortunate, enough to meet the Broker King believed the old man merely relied on elaborate disguises to obscure his identity. No one realized the throne had changed hands long ago.

Joshua’s eyes locked with Lucas’ for a long moment, long enough for defiance to flicker, falter, and finally fade, and then the realization settled in. He had no other choice.

Silence pressed around him as the distant chaos from the casino floor echoed faintly through the shattered office. For a moment, he remained perfectly still, as though resisting the inevitable. Then, slowly, he drew in a deep, steadying breath.

Reaching into his coat, he pulled out his phone, then he dialed a number. Soon, the line connected after a single ring.

"Revoke all contracts concerning Zhao Li Xin and Raven Jane," Joshua said without preamble, his voice firm despite the faint strain threading beneath it. "Immediately."

There was no room for questions. No space for hesitation. Before the voice on the other end could respond, he ended the call.

The screen dimmed as he lowered the phone and placed it gently atop the desk, the soft click against polished wood echoing louder than it should have in the ruined room.

Across from him, Lucas allowed the faintest smile to grace his lips; it was very subtle, restrained, yet unmistakably satisfied.

"Thank you," Lucas said, his voice calm and measured.

Joshua’s expression hardened slightly. "And... my identity?"

Lucas regarded him with unwavering composure, violet eyes steady and resolute. "No word of it shall leave this room by my will. You have my oath."

Silence followed.

Joshua inclined his head a fraction, saying nothing more. A sovereign had given his word. There was nothing further to request.

Lucas rose from the chair with unhurried grace, smoothing the front of his suit as though concluding an ordinary meeting rather than standing amid the wreckage of a shattered office.

Without another word, Lucas turned toward the door. Fargo followed immediately, casting one last amused glance over his shoulder. The faint curl of his lips carried the quiet satisfaction of a predator who had just witnessed a flawless hunt. Fredhardt stepped after them in silence, his presence heavy and restrained.

Their footsteps gradually faded down the corridor, leaving only the distant echo of chaos from the casino floor below. The moment the door closed behind them, the last trace of Lucas’ oppressive presence seemed to lift from the room.

Joshua’s shoulders sagged. He leaned heavily into his chair, the strength draining from his posture as he released a long, unsteady breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

"You’re certain about this?" Jasper asked cautiously, anxiety tightening his voice as he stepped closer to the desk. "We’re going to receive a great deal of complaints."

He called them complaints, but in the underworld, complaints were never simple matters of dissatisfaction. They rarely ended with words. More often than not, they ended in blood.

Joshua let out a humorless sneer, his gaze still fixed on the shattered remains of his office.

"You want to pick a fight with the most powerful man in the world—the sovereign of the most powerful kingdom in existence?" he quipped flatly.

Even Theodore Navaro, formidable as he was, could still be maneuvered around by Joshua. He can always find the cracks to exploit, some officials to bribe, information to purchase, and loyalties to bend. After all, no nation was ever truly free of corruption. Given time and resources, Joshua could usually carve out a narrow escape for himself.

But Harland was different.

The kingdom’s inner circle was notoriously loyal, thoroughly devoted to the point of fanaticism. The Archknights were proof enough of that. If King Lucas decided Joshua was an enemy, then Harland itself would move as one body against him. There would be no escape, only death.

"..." Jasper fell silent. He also understood the consequences of provoking the heir of Lucient.

By the time Lucas, Fredhardt, and Fargo stepped out of the frozen storage room, their disguises had already been restored, and whatever overwhelming presence had filled the office earlier was now carefully veiled beneath altered faces and composed expressions.

Cold mist trailed faintly from the open steel door before it shut with a heavy thud behind them. Waiting in front of it is the old receptionist.

"Gentlemen... allow me to see you off," he said, bowing respectfully.

His posture remained proper, yet something in his demeanor had changed. The politeness was no longer routine hospitality; it carried weight. His voice was steadier than before, but softer. More cautious.

It seemed word had already reached him.

He escorted them through the kitchen and into the grand lobby of the Calla Noir Hotel without a single unnecessary word being spoken. His steps were measured, his head slightly lowered, though is not in servitude, but in careful acknowledgment.

The guests in the lobby noticed. Curiosity lingered in the air. Because even the leaders of notorious underground gangs were not treated with such gravity within these walls. Yet no one dared to ask questions.

Outside, the night felt unnaturally still; it feel almost ominous. The receptionist bowed once more as Lucas and the others entered their car. He remained in that position until the vehicle’s taillights faded into the distance beyond the parking lot.

Only then did he straighten. He drew in a slow, controlled breath before taking out his phone.

"Yes," he said quietly when the line connected. "They have left." ℴ𝒗ⅇ𝑙.

A brief silence followed. His gaze lowered, the weight of the night

settling deeper into his aging features. After a moment, he spoke again, his voice solemn and subdued. "Yes, Sir, I understand."

When the call ended, the old man stood alone beneath the dim lights of the entrance, the cold night air settling heavily around him. As if the world had just narrowly avoided something far worse.

Meanwhile, inside the car—

Lucas calmly reached into his suit and pulled out the hotel brochure he had taken earlier. He unfolded it with great seriousness, as though reviewing a military strategy.

"Fargy, take a left at the next turn."

Fargo’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. "You have somewhere to go?" he asked, genuinely confused.

Fredhardt, seated beside Lucas, also turned slightly. "Didn’t we just demolish half a building?"

Lucas ignored the commentary and tapped the brochure. "According to this, the dessert shop on Third Street has reopened. You remember it, right?"

Fargo blinked. "...The pudding shop?"

Lucas nodded solemnly. "Yes. The only decent thing in this entire city is that pudding shop. It closed after the war, but look—" he lifted the brochure slightly, "—it says here they reopened today." He looked... genuinely pleased.

Fredhardt stared at him for a moment, then his expression shifted into sudden realization. "Oh. You want to buy pudding for Lory, right?"

"Yes." Lucas’ expression softened immediately, the terrifying king from earlier nowhere to be found. "Lory likes their pudding."

Fargo frowned. "So you were actually reading the brochure that whole time?"

"Of course," Lucas replied smoothly. "Why else would I read it?"

Fargo opened his mouth...then closed it.

"...I thought you were just pretending," he muttered under his breath as he made the turn anyway.

"Why would I do that?" Lucas asked, feigning innocence as he folded the brochure with satisfaction. "Alright, let’s go buy the pudding."

Fredhardt leaned back in his seat. "Remember, she likes caramel pudding," he reminded Lucas.

"Of course, I remember what my sister likes. I know her better than anyone," Lucas said, lifting his chin with obvious pride.

"Sis-con," Fargo muttered under his breath.

"What?" Lucas’s eyes narrowed as he shot a glare at the rearview mirror.

"Nothing, Your Majesty," Fargo replied smoothly.