The word "erase" hung in the air of the luxurious suite, colder than the grave. It wasn't a threat; it was a statement of intent, delivered with the same casual certainty one might use to announce they were stepping out for a walk.
Elara stared at him, truly seeing him for the first time. Not as a savior, not as a monster, but as a force of nature. An extinction event in a tailored black suit. The hope that had flickered within her was now a raging inferno, but it was a fire fueled by something terrifying. She wasn't praying for justice anymore. She was bearing witness to the prelude of a reckoning.
"Erase them?" she echoed, her voice barely a whisper. "The whole... the whole Hand?"
"One piece at a time," Kaelen corrected, his gaze still locked on the city below. He pointed a single, elegant finger towards a distant, grimy section of The Dregs, a cluster of flickering neon and decaying industrial buildings. "We'll start there. The Carmine District. We'll start with the 'Grinder'."
His nonchalance was the most frightening part. He spoke of dismantling a criminal empire that held a city of millions in its grip as if he were discussing a grocery list.
He turned from the window, his golden eyes settling on her. "You are tired. You have been through an ordeal. Rest." He gestured to one of the lavish bedrooms. "No one will find you here. No one will harm you. That is my promise."
For a moment, she wanted to argue, to say she could help, but one look into those commanding eyes silenced her. He wasn't asking. He was telling her. More than that, the sheer exhaustion from her ordeal suddenly crashed down on her like a physical weight. The adrenaline was gone, leaving behind only bone-deep weariness and the fragile safety of this gilded cage.
She nodded silently and retreated into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She collapsed onto the bed, the silk sheets feeling alien against her skin. The last thing she saw before sleep claimed her was the image of Kaelen's silhouette against the window, a dark god looking down upon his future kingdom of ruin.
[System Notification: Harem Candidate #1 (Elara) Trust Level Increased: 35% -> 55%]
[Attribute Gained: Sanctuary. Elara now perceives proximity to the MC as the ultimate form of safety.]
Once she was gone, the air in the suite shifted. The faint, almost passive aura of power around Kaelen thickened, coalescing into something palpable and oppressive. The lights in the room flickered for a moment as tendrils of his Abyssal Aura snaked through the air, tasting the potential for violence.
He picked up his phone again, but didn't look at the data. Instead, he dialed a number. Not from a contact list, but one he knew by heart. It rang twice before a voice answered—a voice that was tinny, female, and utterly dripping with sarcasm.
"Well, look what the Abyss dragged in. I was wondering when you'd grace this dimension with your presence again. Get bored of tormenting elder gods?"
Kaelen's lips curved into a rare, genuine smirk. "Hello, Yuki. I need a favor."
A snort came from the other end of the line. "A 'favor'? Kael, the last time you asked for a 'favor,' I ended up having to reroute the entire satellite network of a minor nation to cover your tracks. What did you break this time?"
"Nothing yet," Kaelen said, his voice smooth as polished obsidian. "I'm in Aethelburg. I need a clean identity. Top-tier credentials, untraceable financial backing, and ownership of this hotel, backdated a month. Can you manage that?"
There was a moment of silence, followed by the furious clatter of a keyboard. The sound was so fast it was almost a single continuous buzz.
"Aethelburg? That cesspool? And you want... the Grand Aethel?" A low whistle. "Ambitious. The shell corporation that owns it is buried under six layers of offshore holdings, and I'm detecting some... very nasty digital watchdogs connected to it. Smells like the Obsidian Hand's work."
"It is," Kaelen confirmed.
More furious typing. "Ooh, a challenge! I like it. Give me... ninety seconds."
Kaelen waited, staring out the window. The ninety seconds passed in silence.
"Annnnnd... done!" Yuki's voice was triumphant. "Congratulations, Mr. 'Kaelen Sterling'. You are now the reclusive, eccentric billionaire owner of Sterling Holdings, a multinational investment firm with a sudden interest in Aethelburg's urban renewal. The Grand Aethel is your flagship property. Your new bank account has enough untraceable funds to buy this entire city block and turn it into your personal swimming pool. The digital paperwork is flawless, retroactive, and buried so deep God himself couldn't find the original copy. Happy now?"
"Adequate," Kaelen replied.
"You wound me! 'Adequate'?" Yuki scoffed playfully. "That was my masterpiece! So, what's the plan, oh great and powerful one? Buying up the city's criminal underbelly for a hostile takeover?"
"Something like that," Kaelen said, his gaze zeroing in on the Carmine District again. "I'm just taking out the trash."
He ended the call, cutting off Yuki's string of intrigued questions.
[Ally Contact: Yuki 'Glitch' Tanaka. Status: Intrigued. Loyalty: Guaranteed (for now).]
With his new identity solidified, Kaelen strode towards the door of the suite. He hadn't changed clothes. He didn't need to. His simple black shirt and trousers were like a uniform for the judgment he was about to deliver.
As he walked through the opulent lobby, the staff, including the previously snooty concierge, bowed their heads in perfect, fearful synchronization. Word of the new ownership—and the terrifying aura of the new owner—had apparently spread like wildfire.
He stepped out into the rain-slicked street. The downpour had intensified, a torrential curtain that shrouded the city in a gray gloom. He ignored the waiting cabs, the offers of an umbrella from a trembling doorman, and simply began to walk.
He moved with an unhurried, relentless pace, heading directly towards the festering heart of The Dregs. The shimmering lights of the Lumina Core faded behind him, replaced by the broken neon and oppressive shadows of the Carmine District.
The people here moved differently. They huddled in doorways, their gazes darting about nervously. The air was thick with the smell of cheap synth-booze, desperation, and the ever-present stench of fear. Knuckle-level thugs loitered on street corners, their cruel eyes scanning for easy prey.
They all saw him coming. A tall, handsome man in a fine suit that had no business being in this part of town. He was walking through the downpour as if it didn't exist, his clothes remaining impeccably dry. He was an anomaly. A target.
A group of three thugs, emboldened by their numbers and the misery of their surroundings, stepped out to block his path.
"Look what we got here, boys," the leader sneered, revealing a row of yellowed, broken teeth. "A pretty lamb, strayed far from the flock. Your wallet, your watch, and your suit. Hand 'em over, and we might just let you crawl home."
Kaelen stopped. He didn't look at them. He looked past them, down the street, towards a dilapidated warehouse with a gaudy, flickering red sign that read: GRIS'S GRINDHOUSE.
"I'm looking for a man named Gris," Kaelen said, his voice calm and low, yet it carried effortlessly over the sound of the storm. "Tell me where he is."
The thug laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "Listen to this one! Giving orders! You got a death wish, pal?" He took a step forward, reaching for Kaelen's shoulder. "You're gonna learn some respect—"
He never finished the sentence.
Kaelen's hand shot out, not in a punch, but with his fingers extended and rigid. It moved in a blur, striking the man in the throat. It wasn't just a strike; it was a puncture. His fingers, hard as steel, plunged into the man's neck, severing his spine with a wet, sickening crunch.
The thug's eyes went wide with shock, a gurgling sound escaping his lips as his life was extinguished in an instant. Kaelen withdrew his hand, and the body crumpled to the wet pavement like a discarded puppet.
The other two thugs froze, their bravado vaporizing into pure, ice-cold terror. They stared at their dead leader, then at the man who had just killed him with less effort than swatting a fly.
Kaelen turned his head slowly, his golden eyes, now beginning to glow with a faint, malevolent light, falling upon the two survivors.
"I will ask one more time," he said, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper that promised a fate worse than the quick death their friend had received.
"Where. Is. Gris?"