Even the team leaders, who prided themselves on their composure, instantly rose to their feet. It was rare to see Jerome in person.

"Sit," the general said simply. "I have an announcement."

Xander's face flushed with excitement. Leona caught the look and sneered. Sucking up again, huh?

Jerome's tone was steady, commanding. "We've obtained new evidence. The details remain classified. Nolan, Sethan — each of you will gather two elite teams. Nolan, you'll head to Langford. Sethan, Briarhold."

Langford and Briarhold — both home to powerful exile organizations from the Stormhold Imperium.

"Yes!" Nolan and Sethan answered at once.

Jerome's gaze swept over the others. "The rest of you, with me. We leave for Everton in ten minutes. Nolan, Sethan, you stay behind and prepare. No communication outside the operation. No exceptions."

The leaders glanced at one another, but none dared question him. They rose, saluted, and filed out to carry out orders.

The conference room emptied until only three remained.

Jerome looked at Sethan. "Is the process flawless? The evidence conclusive?"

Sethan swallowed hard. "I saw it myself, General."

Jerome gave a single nod. "Then get ready." He stood and left the room.

The door shut behind him, leaving Sethan sagging in his chair, relief flooding his face. He turned to Nolan with a strained laugh. "Talking to General Jerome is… exhausting."

Nolan gave a faint nod. "Yeah."

That single syllable left Sethan oddly deflated. If only Xavier were here, at least he'd have someone to banter with.

He tried again. "You Whisper Syndicate guys really found a talent. Let me tell you, Axel—"

But Nolan was already standing. "Come on. We're leaving."

"…Right."

Sethan stayed behind for a moment, staring at the empty chairs, shoulders slumping. "I really am the most pitiful bastard in the entire military," he muttered.

.......

Outside Everton, beneath the cover of night, several Level 6 military team leaders closed in from every direction, surrounding a squat, six-story building in the city.

Jerome stood at the center, with Nolan on one side and Sethan on the other. Neither of them moved.

"Go," Jerome said calmly. "Search everything. Don't give them time to destroy the data. Kill anyone who gets in the way."

Sethan's heart sank at his tone.

The Stormhold Imperium had been rooted in Krythos for decades, its influence tangled deep within the city's families and politics. Even the Starcrest Family—one of the Five Great Families—was tied to them.

Tadeo Starcrest, the head of the family, wasn't just a Level 9 powerhouse who had played a pivotal role in resisting the beast tide. He also controlled martial schools and Awakened training organizations across Krythos… and he was the mastermind behind the Havoc Division.

Anyone who stands in their way should be killed…? There was no way the Starcrest Family, with multiple seats in the Senate, would tolerate that.

"I'll deal with the Starcrest Family," Jerome said. Then, without hesitation, he launched himself northwest into the night sky.

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Sethan's pupils narrowed. He turned to Nolan, whose expression hadn't shifted an inch. His voice trembled. "Nolan… what does General Jerome mean by this? Did he not report this operation to the Senate?"

Nolan shot him a flat glance. "Is this your first day meeting Jerome?" A massive, blood-red sword materialized under his feet, dragging him forward through the air.

"Wait—this…" Sethan swallowed hard and followed.

.....

Everton itself was silent, but more and more people sensed the movement of powerful forces converging on one point in the city.

The Wandering Fellowship headquarters was hardly imposing—a six-story concrete-and-wood block, with two dozen surrounding courtyards housing its executives and high-level Awakened.

Tonight, however, the entire compound was shrouded in a faint veil of light. Within moments, the silence shattered. Screams rang out, and the battle erupted.

"Who are you? Do you even understand what you're doing?" "You bastards are insane—stop this now!"

The Wandering Fellowship masters surged out in fury.

"Hid it well," Sethan muttered under his breath.

"Everyone, focus on the search. Don't interfere. If you do…" Nolan's voice boomed from above as he hovered in the night sky, "…I'll kill you without hesitation."

At the same time, several military team leaders flickered into the interior of the Fellowship's building. Faces darkened as residents and guards poured out of the courtyards.

"Without Senate approval, what the hell do you think you're doing?" one of them demanded, stepping forward.

A bronze sword floated before his chest, halting him in place.

"The military has issued its orders," came the cold reply. "Anyone who interferes dies."

The Level 6 Awakeners bristled, fists trembling with fury—until an old man cloaked in black mist appeared silently at Nolan's back, pressing a dagger to his neck.

"There's no Senate transfer order," the man said flatly. "Are you declaring war?"

"President!" several Fellowship members cried out from below.

Sethan, noticing their hesitation, allowed a smile to curl across his lips.

"This isn't war," Nolan replied calmly. "It's an investigation. Cooperate, and you'll be compensated afterward. Resist, and you'll regret it."

The old man's pupils narrowed. His dagger slashed downward—sparking harmlessly against Nolan's skin.

"Then don't blame me," Nolan said, his voice colder now.

A dozen blades of every shape and size pierced the air where the man had been standing. His body split apart—only to crumble into a block of wood.

The real figure reappeared yards away, chest heaving.

"Fight your way out!" the old man barked.

Jared—the current president of the Wandering Fellowship. A Level 7 Intermediate Awakener.

His heart ached. Decades of careful planning, undone in a single night… but there was no time left to think. All that remained was escape.

"So, Jared," Nolan's voice cut through the air, his giant blood-red sword hovering at his side. "You've chosen to fight to the bitter end."

Jared scoffed. "When I awakened, you weren't even born."

"Nolan, I'll cover you!" Sethan shouted reflexively—only to realize the words were pointless.

With a roar, Jared slammed his body forward, cracking the marble underfoot. But the blades orbiting Nolan multiplied, hemming him in from every direction.

"Fuck…" Jared cursed under his breath.

A Level 7 Intermediate Awakener, utterly crushed. He didn't even have the strength to fight back.

.....

The lights of Starcrest Manor gradually flared to life on the outskirts of Everton. The manor was a seamless blend of antiquity and modernity—its sprawling courtyards and martial arenas stood alongside training facilities armed with cutting-edge technology.

Though Tadeo remained patriarch of the Starcrest line, his seventy-six-year-old son, Timothy, oversaw the family's daily affairs. He also held a coveted seat in the House of Lords.

Timothy now stood at the main hall's doorway, smiling faintly, several prominent family members flanking him. It looked almost as if they'd been waiting.

From the darkness beyond the gates, a tall figure emerged—Jerome, a scroll tied at his waist, his steps steady.

"General Jerome," Timothy greeted, bowing his head just enough to be polite, yet never deferential. "It's been a long time."

"Mr. Timothy," Jerome returned, his tone calm but edged. "I'm here to see your father."

Timothy's brow twitched, but before he could reply, a middle-aged clansman hurried in from the side. His expression was conflicted, and he cast Jerome a wary glance.

Timothy waved him on. "Say it plainly. No need to hide it from the General."

The man swallowed. "The military raided the Wandering Fellowship tonight. President Jared… was killed by Nolan."

Timothy's composure cracked, if only for a moment.

He turned to Jerome, his voice low but hard. "General, do you care to explain? This wasn't sanctioned by the Senate."

Jerome remained unruffled, even smiling faintly. "Confidential matters, Mr. Timothy. I haven't yet reported to the Senate. That's why I've come here directly. Is Mr.Tadeo available?"

Timothy steadied himself with a deep breath, then gestured toward the gardens. "Follow me."

Jerome inclined his head. "Thank you." His footsteps were soft, deliberate, as they entered the mansion's lush inner court.

In the center of the garden stood a man whose resemblance to Timothy was undeniable—yet sharper, more vigorous, and paradoxically younger in bearing.

"Mr. Tadeo," Jerome bowed politely. "You're still in fine form."

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