"Rat! Come out and die!"

The roar from outside wasn't just loud; it was heavy.

The air in the command room grew thick and suffocating, vibrating with a specific, malicious frequency. It felt like invisible chains were wrapping around everyone's throats, weighing down their souls.

"Ugh…" Barnaby fell to his knees, clutching his chest. "Boss… I can't… breathe…"

Cipher was trembling, his shadow flickering erratically.

Damien narrowed his eyes, his Dual-Core spinning to push back the pressure.

"Intent," Damien realized. "That's 5th Order Intent."

He walked to the window and looked down.

Baelor, the Slaver King, stood at the front of his army. He wasn't just a brute in armor. The mana radiating from him formed the image of a massive, spectral shackle crushing the fortress.

And behind him…

One, two, ten… forty.

"Forty," Damien counted, a cold smile playing on his lips. "He brought forty 4th-Order elites. And he is a Peak 5th Order Warlord."

He looked back at Lyra.

"You were right, Lyra. Back in Silverwood, you warned me about a 5th-Order leader. I thought Vargus was him. I was wrong."

"Vargus was the babysitter," Lyra said, her face pale as she gripped her bow. "This… this is the Master."

"If we fight here," Leona growled, her Berserk Aura flaring up to resist the pressure, "we can win. But the castle falls."

"And my money burns," Damien finished.

He turned to his subordinates. A plan formed instantly in his mind.

"Barnaby. Cipher. Listen to me."

Damien grabbed Barnaby by the collar of his silk robe and hauled him up.

"You two are the foundation of my empire. You have the blueprints. You have the gold. If you die, I lose my future."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, jagged black stone, a Communication Gem linked to his own.

"Take this. I want you to take the gold and the blueprints into the deep tunnels. Abandon the fortress. Let them have the empty shell. Go underground and spread the Golden Coin Guild to the other cities. Hide in the shadows until I call for you."

"B-But Boss!" Barnaby stammered. "Who will protect us? If Baelor finds us—"

"He won't look for you," Damien said. "Because I'm going to make him look at me."

He turned to the corner of the room.

"Alfred."

The shadow rippled. The butler appeared, bowing calmly despite the crushing pressure outside.

"Young Master."

"I have a new order for you," Damien said, his voice absolute. "You are not coming with me to the Dwarf Kingdom."

"Young Master?" Alfred frowned, a rare sign of disagreement. "My duty is to protect—"

"Your duty is to protect the Voss Family Legacy," Damien cut him off. "And right now, this organization is that legacy. If Cipher and Barnaby die, the Black Thread dies."

Damien pointed at the two terrified spies.

"Stay with them. Protect them. Build the network from the shadows. But listen closely, Alfred, do not expose yourself."

Damien's eyes burned with intensity.

"If a 7th-Order Dark Mage appears here, the Empire will know I survived. The Second Prince will send an army. You only reveal your power if it is absolutely necessary to save their lives. Otherwise, be a ghost."

Alfred hesitated, looking at Damien, then at the trembling merchants. He understood. The boy wasn't playing adventurer anymore. He was playing King.

"As you wish," Alfred bowed deeply. "I will guard the shadows until you return."

"Good."

Damien turned to his combat team.

"Isabelle. Lyra. Leona. We are the bait."

He pulled his hood up.

"Leona, break the back wall. We're leaving."

........

[Outside the Fortress]

Baelor swung his massive war hammer.

"Come out, rat!"

BOOM!

He hit the air, but the shockwave slammed into the fortress gate like a battering ram. The iron buckled. The Intent of Slavery washed over the guards, forcing them to their knees, mentally broken before they were even hit.

"He's going to level the place!" a lieutenant shouted. "Sir, should we storm it?"

"No," Baelor sneered. "I want to see him beg."

Suddenly, a massive explosion rocked the rear of the fortress.

CRASH!

A section of the stone wall exploded outward. Through the dust and debris, a black carriage drawn by Spirit Stags burst out, hitting the ground with a bone-shaking thud.

Sitting on the roof of the carriage was a silver-haired boy, flanked by a demon maid and an elf ranger.

"Hey! Ugly!"

Damien stood on the roof, his voice amplified by mana. He held up a bag of gold coins—loot from the fortress—and shook it.

"Looking for this?"

Baelor's eyes bulged. "Voss!"

"Catch me if you can, you slaver trash!"

Damien threw the bag—not at Baelor, but into the middle of the mercenary army. Gold coins rained down like hail.

"Money! It's gold!" The mercenaries instinctively scrambled, breaking formation.

"Idiots! Ignore the gold! Kill him!" Baelor roared, his aura exploding.

"Now! Leona!" Damien shouted, jumping back into the carriage.

"Hyah!" Leona whipped the stags.

The carriage surged forward, accelerating with magical speed, heading straight for the Southern Pass.

"After them!" Baelor screamed, smashing a greedy mercenary who was picking up a coin. "Leave the fortress! The boy is the target! I want his head!"

The entire army turned. Forty 4th-Order elites and the 5th-Order King mounted their war-beasts and charged after the carriage.

......

[Inside the Fortress Ruins]

In the silence left behind, three figures stood in the shadows of the command room.

Barnaby clutched the blueprints to his chest, his heart racing. "He… he drew them away. All of them."

"He is a true Lord," Cipher whispered, his eyes gleaming with a new fanaticism. "He used himself as the lure to save the foundation."

Alfred adjusted his glasses, his eyes cold as he watched the dust settle.

"We have work to do," the Butler said, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "The Young Master has bought us time. Let us not waste it."

He placed a hand on their shoulders.

"Spatial Shift."

The three of them vanished into the dark, leaving an empty fortress for the Empire to find.

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