Ethan watched the man’s expression, a faint, knowing smile on his lips.
"So, this phrase here: ’agrees... to deploy only two (2) Expert-tier crafters.’" Ethan’s tone was deceptively light. "How do you explain the factual presence of two additional Expert-tier players on your team?"
The mont the question left his mouth, the muscles in the man’s face twitched violently.
"I... I imagine they must have just leveled up to Expert after arriving here to work on the project," the man stamred, digging his own grave with sheer desperation. He had no other choice. To admit the deception outright would trigger the system-enforced penalty clause instantly. "I’ll have them both replaced imdiately..."
He couldn’t let that happen. Ten tis the market value? He’d be ruined. He didn’t know the exact going rate for the [Schematic: Blazing Cannon], but it wouldn’t be low. If it were, corporate wouldn’t have greenlit this entire shady operation—sending two Experts in under the guise of Advanced crafters to learn the schematics. The plan was simple: the two official Experts, ’TwoHamrs’ and ’NutsAndBolts,’ would keep their mouths shut, per the contract. anwhile, the two secret Experts would learn the crafting and assembly processes for free. The company could then turn around and mass-produce the cannons themselves. With the Fortress Wars expansion dropping in a few hours, this kind of siege weapon was guaranteed to be a license to print money.
But then Tears of the Fallen had thrown a wrench in the works. She’d ordered all effort focused on crafting components, delaying assembly. She’d only handed out the forging schematics. Just today, they’d finished about thirty sets of parts, and she’d finally called the engineers in to begin assembly. And then, as luck would have it, Ethan had returned. He’d imdiately ordered a full stop to the Blazing Cannon production. The Reynolds crew had panicked. They had the forging part down, but without the final assembly knowledge, the components were useless. Now, with the sche exposed, Ethan was going to nail them to the wall. And the damages? He could basically na his price.
Not only had Reynolds been brazen enough to try and screw the Renegade Alliance, but as a direct competitor to his own shops, they needed to be made an example of.
Seeing the man cling to his pathetic lie, Ethan’s smile widened. He simply raised a hand.
A single sheet of paper appeared in it. Observant eyes would have noted it didn’t materialize from thin air; it was passed to him by a figure that flickered for a nanosecond in the periphery—a Rogue, dropping in and out of Stealth with breathtaking skill. The elite Renegade Alliance mbers exchanged glances; where had these guys co from? They didn’t know. Only Ethan, Celia, Victor, Leo, and Williams were aware of this particular team—the mixed Druid and Rogue squad Celia had assembled on Ethan’s orders. They didn’t participate in normal guild activities. Their gear and pay were the best the guild could offer. Their only jobs were to remain unseen and to gather intelligence. They were Ethan’s personal eyes and ears, answerable to no one else, not even Celia.
Ethan thrust the paper forward.
"Knew you’d say that. Let’s take a look at this certification, freshly issued by the Artisan Guild system, shall we?" he said, his voice dripping with mock cheer. "Expert Blacksmith: ’SoEmbarrassing.’ Date of Promotion: twelve days ago. Expert Engineer: ’UnbeatableSwagger.’ Date of Promotion: fifteen days ago." Ethan let out a low whistle. "Impressive... both hit Expert tier quite a while ago. Bright futures ahead of them!"
As the Vice President reached for the docunt, Ethan didn’t hand it over. Instead, he gave his wrist a sharp flick.
SMACK.
The paper slapped directly onto the man’s face.
The playful expression vanished from Ethan’s face, replaced by an arctic coldness.
The Vice President scrabbled the paper off his face, his eyes scanning the contents. His heart sank. It was over.
How? How could the system produce this? How could it issue such proof? He didn’t even know this function existed!
If Ethan could read his mind, he’d have spat in contempt. ’Of course you didn’t know. It’s a niche, buried function. If I hadn’t lived through this once before, I wouldn’t know about it either.’
Seeing the ice in Ethan’s eyes, the man gritted his teeth and spoke slowly, conceding defeat. "Fine. We were in the wrong. We’ll pay the damages. A single schematic is rare, but it’s only worth a few hundred Gold, a thousand at most. Ten tis that is ten thousand Gold. The Reynolds Trading Company can manage that."
His composure returned now that he had a number in his head. It was just money, right? Who was afraid of that? His corporation was massive. What was ten thousand Gold? The total assets of Reynolds were conservatively estimated at five million Gold. It wasn’t a solo venture; it was backed by a powerful consortium. He was just a Vice President in title, a glorified errand boy. But he had connections higher up. A ten-thousand Gold fine was nothing, and since he was acting on orders, he wouldn’t be the one left holding the bag.
With that settled in his mind, he saw no need for further explanations. He just wanted this to be over so he could leave. Once he was out of here... he’d make them pay. The Renegade Alliance, the so-called top guild... that kick to his gut... and this ’Druid God’ slapping him with a piece of paper... he’d rember it all. And that woman, Tears of the Fallen... he’d make her beg at his feet one day. The thoughts fueled his simring rage.
Ethan, hearing his response, thawed slightly. "Well, since you’re being so reasonable... let’s settle this. I’ve done a quick estimate. The schematic’s current market value isn’t too steep. Let’s call it... thirty thousand Gold? We’ll round down. So, ten tis that would be..."
The man’s eyes bulged out of their sockets. "Are you out of your damn mind?! Thirty thousand? You’re just plucking numbers from the air! You’re demanding three hundred thousand Gold from us?!" He trembled with rage, barely stopping himself from screaming obscenities. He rembered where he was and who he was dealing with—the legendary Druid God, a man known for doing whatever the hell he wanted. Insulting him here would be suicide.
"Oh?" Ethan’s eyes glinted with dangerous amusent. "So, the esteed Vice President of Reynolds... ’Fido,’ is it?... is unwilling to settle this privately? I suppose we’ll have to take this public, then."
The man stared, utterly bewildered.
’Fido...?’
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