"I'll contact you once I crack it," he said, already turning away.

That person was one of the Order's contractors. Tech Specialists. The kind you hired when you wanted answers without questions.

It was the upside of using the app. Every transaction was private, encrypted end to end. No trails. No names. No leaks.

Master Tang told me the servers routinely destroyed finished transaction data. If that was true, it was reassuring.

Still… I didn't trust it.

Tech corporations loved to preach privacy, then quietly hoard everything just in case it became useful later.

Back in my office, I found myself staring at my desk.

The sensation of slipping from one body to another lingered. Like waking from a dream and needing a few seconds to remember which reality was real.

ring! ring! ring!

My phone buzzed, and showed an unrecognized number.

I picked it up.

"Hello. Who's this?"

(Mr. Mercer. This is Alfonso. I hope you didn't forget about me.)

Oh that old guy from Mythical.

"I almost forgot about you," I started with a light reply. "You mentioned your benefactor wanted to talk, but it's been a while. I figured you'd changed your mind."

(I apologize for the delay, Mr. Mercer. A lot of circumstances came up,)

"That's it? You're not going to explain in more detail?"

"I don't know if you've heard the news, but my value—and my time—just skyrocketed. I'm not the same guy you talked to back then."

"We're fully aware of that, Mr. Mercer, but I—"

He paused.

Muffled voice echoed through the line, someone else speaking in the background.

(Once again, I apologize,) he said. (You see, my benefactor had deep ties to the late Senator Rockwell. His death… disrupted her schedule.)

I half expected this scenario. Still, hearing it out loud stirred my curiosity.

Who was she?

Don't tell me she was his daughter.

That would be really awkward—considering I was the one who killed him. Traded his life for a green piece of armor like it was just another transaction.

Well… technically, it was Master Tang who wanted him dead. I was just the hired muscle.

Which probably reduced my share of the sin from a clean 100% down to—what—99%?

Yeah. Huge moral victory.

"I'm sorry for her loss. Senator Rockwell was a good man. He didn't deserve what happened to him."

(No, he didn't. But thank you, nonetheless,)

Without waiting for my reply, he changed the topic—saving me the trouble of pretending I cared.

(Mr. Mercer, are you free tonight? My benefactor would like to have dinner with you, if you're not busy.)

I tapped at my keyboard, pretending to scroll through a nonexistent schedule planner. After a full minute, I replied.

"Yeah, I can make time for her."

(I'll send you the location, Mr. Mercer,)

He explained that the place had been prepared in advance—near the outer zone, carefully chosen to offer maximum privacy.

Before, I might've hesitated—afraid of being surrounded and attack.

But not anymore. I was strong enough to beat anyone dumb enough to get in my way.

After the call ended, I headed to my bedroom and changed.

The outfit was still black, but more casual. A knee-length coat hung open over a white silk t-shirt.

Black pants, white shoes, and a sleek black watch completed my outfit. Of course, I sprayed on some expensive cologne—after all, I had no idea what kind of drop-dead gorgeous woman I was about to meet.

In the parking lot, I hopped into my white sports car instead of going with the usual convoy.

I loved driving at night—there was something about the control, the way the city lights blurred past, that made me feel alive.

VROOOOOM!

I slammed the pedal to the floor and shot onto the highway, overtaking cars in the blink of an eye.

With my body, even smashing into a truck at two hundred miles per hour wouldn't do more than leave a dent.

The other party, though?

Yeah… they better pray I don't run into anything unexpected.

30 Minutes Later

The drive through the winding roads already had me in the zone.

Night had fully settled in, and the city's neon glow gave way to the dark, serene stretches of the mountains.

Streetlights became sparse, replaced by the occasional lantern outside a private villa or resort entrance.

The air smelled different here—cleaner, cooler, with a hint of pine and damp earth. I slowed the car around a sharp curve, the engine's vibration blending with the distant sound of rushing water.

Even from the road, I could sense it: this wasn't just a flashy tourist trap. It was exclusive. Carefully curated.

And then, as the highway opened into a broader clearing, I saw it—lights twinkling softly across the elevated main building, steam rising from pools below, nature stretching around it like a silent guardian.

I parked my car at the entrance, and a valet came over to take the keys.

"Here." I handed it to him, and made my way inside, where the soft glow of the lobby greeted me.

The staff guided me to a private room on the second floor. The windows looked like traditional paper screens, but I could tell they were made of sturdier material.

Glancing around, I noticed how empty the area was. Almost no one was here. Just quiet hallways, the faint scent of hot springs wafting up, and the muted sound of water trickling somewhere below.

"Where's everyone?" I asked one of the servers.

She looked at me, with a confused expression.

"This whole place has been rented out for tonight, sir,"

"I see," I nodded, not asking further.

It wasn't uncommon for the ultra-rich to pull stunts like this. Whoever I was meeting clearly wanted to stay hidden.

The fact that she wanted to meet me in person and risk being known meant one thing: she got an important matter to discuss.

"Mr. Mercer," Alfonso spoke up as he entered, offering a respectful bow.

Beside him, a woman stood in a dragon patterned red dress, her head shrouded in a veil that prevent anyone from seeing her true face.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.