It was obvious—Trent was flat broke, and he could barely hide how desperate he was.

Led by two of Trent's lackeys, Ethan stepped into the building. The place practically oozed luxury—no surprise there.

The lighting was dim, the air thick with the smell of alcohol and a heavy, almost sleazy atmosphere.

Right then, Trent was lounging in a private room, arms draped around two women, with a few other young men seated across from him. Each of them came from powerful families, their status on par with the Hawke family—pillars of human civilization.

But they weren't gambling. Not yet. They were just drinking.

By now, the booze had clearly gotten to Trent. His eyes were glassy, his words slurred.

"My... my cousin's bringing me some cash," he mumbled, raising his glass. "Once we're done drinking, we'll start a new round. I'm telling you, this time I'm gonna clean you all out..."

"Didn't your dad tell you to head back early?" one of the guys teased, grinning. "You sure you've got time to mess around?"

Trent waved him off, breath reeking of alcohol. "Screw that! He wants me in the lab every damn day. I'm sick of it!"

"C'mon, it's for the good of the family," the guy said, trying to sound supportive, though his smile was a little awkward.

Trent scoffed. "I think our whole direction is screwed. Always messing with weird tech. We should be doing what your family does—heading off-world, grabbing whatever resources we can."

"Man, it's not that easy," the guy replied with a sigh. "It's dangerous as hell. My uncle Lorn? He was strong enough to hit SSS rank, and he's been missing for ages."

Just then, the two lackeys returned. "Trent, Dorian's here."

"Oh? Bring him in! Come on in!" Trent perked up and waved eagerly toward the door.

Ethan, disguised as Dorian, stepped into the room, his eyes quickly scanning the scene.

He'd heard everything from outside—every word—and now had a decent read on these guys and their families.

Trent jumped up. "Hey, bro! You brought the gold bars, right?"

"Nope," Ethan said casually.

"...What?" Trent's smile froze. "Wait, what do you mean? Dorian, didn't you say you'd lend me the money? How could you show up empty-handed?"

"Relax," Ethan said, still in character as Dorian. "I'll lend it to you, no problem. But lately, I've been really curious about Guard Mechs. And with the academy's assessment coming up, I figured I'd go check one out... maybe get a little hands-on experience."

Trent's face tightened. He got the message loud and clear.

The others in the room looked like they'd expected this. They all knew Dorian—he wasn't the type to just hand over money without a reason. No wonder he'd been so eager today—he wanted something. That made sense.

Ethan kept going. "What's the deal? I just wanna see the mech. That's not asking too much, is it, Trent?"

"Bullshit!" Trent snapped, clearly annoyed. "Dorian, I'm not bragging, but I've got full access to the mechs. Hell, I'll let you pilot one if you want!"

"No way, that serious?" one of the guys chimed in, seizing the opportunity. "Then count me in too. I wanna see it."

Now that someone had spoken up, the others jumped in as well.

"If he's going, I'm going."

"Yeah, don't leave me out."

"Let's all go!"

"Screw the drinks—let's check it out now!"

"..."

Everyone was suddenly on board.

Of course, they each had their own agenda. Even though they were all part of the human alliance, there was still plenty of competition between families. Getting a peek at the Hawke family's tech? That was a golden opportunity.

"Uh... well..." Trent hesitated, clearly caught off guard.

The guy next to him smirked. "Hey, if it's too much trouble, forget it. Let's just keep drinking. No need for another round of bets either."

"No trouble at all!" Trent blurted out. "The whole Hawke family's gonna be mine one day. What's the big deal about showing you around? I've got the authority. Let's go!"

"..."

Ethan stood quietly to the side, watching the scene unfold. He hadn't expected this many people to jump in and help push things along.

Of course, they all had their own motives.

But it was clear—Trent was the only one here who was actually straightforward. Probably got played by these so-called "bros" all the time. No wonder he kept losing money.

Guess I'll help you sort out your social circle later, Ethan thought to himself. Consider it a thank-you gift for letting me walk off with the Guard Mech.

Ethan's eyes swept over the group—every one of them was a direct heir from one of the major families. If someone were to wipe them all out right now, the entire human civilization would be thrown into chaos...

They left the club shortly after, heading toward the Hawke family's lab. With so many people in the group, Ethan blended in easily, drawing no attention.

But what caught him off guard was where Trent was actually leading them.

They were heading straight for Pinnacle Academy.

The lab was located beneath it.

Ah... that explains it, Ethan thought, the pieces clicking into place. He'd scouted this area before and noticed several psychic barriers and hidden zones. Now it all made sense.

Trent stopped in front of a sealed underground passage and placed his hand on a panel beside the door.

A blue light swept across his palm, scanning for identification.

Clunk!

The heavy alloy doors slid open with a deep mechanical groan.

Beyond them stretched a long corridor, brightly lit on both sides.

Ethan moved with the group, feeling the distance to his target shrink with every step.

Once he got his hands on the Guard Mech...

That's when the bloodbath would begin.

...

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Exile Zone, things weren't exactly peaceful on the zombie-infested continent of Necroterra either.

After Ethan left, Umbradrake had kept his word, continuing to pose as The Voidborn Undying, shaking down every major corpse nest for livestock.

The Zombie Kings were absolutely fed up with him.

But after relentless effort, Umbradrake had finally scraped together ten thousand pigs.

Ethan had previously handed off the pig-rearing duties to Big Ears, even giving him the grand title of Pigmaster General.

And Big Ears hadn't disappointed—he'd kept everything running like clockwork.

So naturally, Umbradrake went to him for the handoff.

"That's ten thousand pigs. We're good now, right?"

"Are we?" Big Ears replied absentmindedly, not even looking up.

"Uh..." Umbradrake froze, a bad feeling creeping in. Judging by Big Ears' tone, something was off. Still, he was sure the count was right.

"I swear, it's all there. You can check if you want."

"I don't know how to count," Big Ears said matter-of-factly.

"..." Umbradrake's face twitched. He was getting the distinct impression this was all on purpose.

"Big Ears, come on, don't mess with me. It's getting harder and harder to get pigs. The Zombie Kings are losing it. If I push them any further, they're gonna come after me for real."

"Oh..." Big Ears' eyes flicked up, a mischievous glint in them. Then he suddenly had a thought.

"What if they found out you're not actually The Voidborn Undying? Wouldn't that be... way worse for you?"

Umbradrake's face went pale.

"..."

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