The morning sun over the Seventh Heaven did not bring its usual serene, golden warmth. Instead, it broke through a thick, suffocating cloud of absolute, panicked commotion [INDEX].
Before the grand gates of the World Alchemy Summit could even open to the public, the capital's black market and underground informational grids had violently exploded [INDEX]. Tony Clark sat lazily inside a secluded tea pavilion near the edge of the central commercial district, his dark hunting cloak draped loosely over his shoulders.
With a casual, careless flick of his finger, he had instructed the fully awake system spirit to duplicate and leak a microscopic, highly precise fraction of the Crown Prince's affair crystal directly into the transmission matrices of the capital's largest rogue merchant guilds.
