Ethan stood in the center of the grand hall within the main building. The atmosphere was heavy with the sll of antiseptic and the silent weight of shared trauma. During the attack, interesting things had transpired; Crul had ticulously recorded everything. The system had identified those who surrendered, those who sold information to rcenary guilds, and even the hidden infiltrators.
But most importantly, Crul had taken note of those who had actively participated in the defense. Many newly appointed office staff mbers had picked up weapons and fought, suffering serious injuries in the counterattack. The guards, too, had shown their true colors.
The Falcon Team, the warriors trained by Old Falcon and led by Jason, had perford successfully. Unfortunately, five had fallen during the assault, and the rest were in critical condition. Old Falcon had been lucky; He was out of the city closing deals for more weapons and vehicles when the chaos erupted. Now, he stood in the hall alongside the fifteen survivors, all of them bandaged and wounded, so with fresh red stains seeing through their dressings even two weeks later.
The forr local gang mbers who survived the first war against Olympus had also changed. Under the training of Old Falcon and Jason, they were no longer just numbers; they fought effectively, taking down underworld professionals—a monuntal achievent given the disparity in strength and experience.
Santiago, the first leader to join Ethan and a survivor of every conflict so far, now carried an intimidating aura. His body had taken seven direct hits, and he had barely clung to life by a thread. Beside him were Jose and his friend Antonio, the ones who had helped Ethan back in prison. They had fought with ferocity, each taking three shots—two to the chest and one to the abdon. Both were now confined to wheelchairs, yet their eyes were sharp, waiting for whatever Ethan had to say.
Ethan held the detailed report in his hands. To so, his next move might seem cruel, but he knew he needed to prove a point. He had gathered everyone who had stood their ground when the world turned against them.
"You all look like you’ve been through hell and back" said Ethan.
His voice echoed in the silent hall, cutting through the tension. Santiago looked up, his face scarred but his gaze steady.
"Hell was just another Tuesday, boss. We did what we had to do to keep this place standing" said Santiago.
"Five of our brothers didn’t make it. They died holding the line so the cowards could run" said Jason, his voice tight with suppressed emotion.
Ethan looked at Jose and Antonio, whose breathing was shallow but rhythmic. Despite the wheelchairs and the pain, they didn’t look like defeated n.
"I have the nas of every person who surrendered. I have the nas of every rat who sold our secrets to the guilds. But more importantly, I have your nas. I didn’t call you here to mourn; I called you here because loyalty in this world is a rare currency, and I intend to pay it back in full" said Ethan.
Ethan looked down at the report in his hands, then back at the wounded n filling the hall. Behind him stood several tables lined with glass cups filled with liquids of varying intensity.
He had consulted Crul earlier about the cost of healing everyone. At 100 Lux per potion, treating hundreds of people would have drained his reserves entirely. However, Crul had provided a solution: dilution.
[The system’s High-Level Healing Potion is highly concentrated. For those with damaged organs or life-threatening wounds, a 1:1 ratio with water is sufficient. For moderate injuries like fractures, a 1:10 ratio will suffice. For superficial cuts, even a 1:50 dilution will trigger rapid cellular regeneration] Crul had explained.
Ethan had cursed the system silently upon hearing this. He rembered the tis he had used full potions for minor scratches. But the past was the past; now, he had a mission to accomplish.
"I see the pain in your eyes, and I see the marks of battle on your bodies" said Ethan.
His voice carried a weight that commanded absolute silence. He gestured to the cups behind him.
"To my left, those with grave injuries. In the center, those with fractures and moderate wounds. To my right, those with light scars. Each of you, take a cup. Do not hesitate" said Ethan.
The guards and workers moved slowly, helping those in wheelchairs. Santiago took a dark red mixture, while Jose and Antonio received similar doses. Others took cups that were nearly clear. So sniffed the liquid, expecting the sting of alcohol for a celebratory toast.
"You were told that this was a job. You were told that you were just guards, clerks, or soldiers. But when the gates were breached and the world tried to tear us down, you didn’t act like employees. You acted like a wall. You bled for this ground, and in doing so, you beca a part of it" said Ethan.
He stepped forward, his athyst eyes scanning every face in the room.
"Five of our brothers are gone, and I swear on my life that their families will never know want again. Their nas will be engraved in the foundation of everything we build. But for those of you still standing... you are no longer just subordinates. From this mont on, you are my family. If the world strikes you, it strikes . If you hunger, I hunger. I will avenge every drop of blood you spilled two weeks ago" said Ethan.
He raised a single, undiluted potion in a crystal glass.
"Many believe that justice is a lie. They believe that the strong crush the weak without consequence. Today, we prove them wrong. Today, we start our recovery. Drink! To the family we’ve forged in fire!" said Ethan.
"To the family!" said Santiago, raising his glass with a trembling hand.
"To the boss!" said the survivors in unison.
They all drank. For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then, the miracle began.
Santiago felt a sudden, intense heat in his chest. Underneath his bandages, the seven bullet wounds began to itch violently. He watched in shock as the blood-soaked gauze was pushed outward by new, healthy skin knitting itself together in seconds.
"My... my lungs! I can breathe without pain!" said Santiago.
In their wheelchairs, Jose and Antonio gasped. They felt their shattered ribs snap back into place and the deep abdominal wounds close up as if they had never existed. They stood up, their legs shaking not from weakness, but from the sudden rush of strength.
"I can walk... Antonio, look! The scars are fading!" said Jose.
All over the hall, shouts of disbelief and joy erupted. n tore off their bandages to reveal smooth, unblemished skin. The heavy, oppressive atmosphere of a hospital ward was instantly transford into a temple of miracles.
"Is this... magic?" said one of the office workers, staring at his perfectly healed arm.
"No. This is what it ans to be on my side. In this world, we take care of our own" said Ethan.
The n looked at Ethan not just with loyalty now, but with a devotion that bordered on worship. They realized that they weren’t just following a powerful leader; they were following a man who could command life and death itself.
"Look at this! Not even a scar remains!" said one of the Falcon team soldiers, tearing a bandage from his neck.
Ethan watched the scene with restrained satisfaction. At that mont, the side doors of the grand hall opened, and the won who ford the heart of his life entered. Sarah, Lena, Cassandra and the others walked in with elegance, followed by staff carrying trays loaded with steaming food and bottles of the finest reserve wine.
"You have perford a miracle, Ethan. It shows on their faces" said Lena, approaching him and placing a soft hand on his arm as she observed the recovered n.
"It is not a miracle, Elena. It is justice. They could not celebrate their victory if they still felt the pain of their wounds" said Ethan.
Ethan made a gesture, and the tables began to fill. What had been a war infirmary just a mont ago transford into an improvised banquet. The sll of roasted at, freshly baked bread, and spices filled the room, stimulating the senses of those who had spent weeks eating hospital rations.
"Don’t just stand there! Today there are no ranks or hierarchies; there are only brothers! Eat and drink until you can’t take any more!" said Ethan.
Santiago approached Ethan, still wearing the torn shirt that showed his now perfectly healthy chest. His eyes were slightly damp, though his expression remained hard.
"Boss, I’ve fought in many streets and for many n, but no one ever looked at us as anything more than cannon fodder. What you did today... we won’t forget it" said Santiago.
"I told you, Santiago. You are my family now. And family eats at the sa table" said Ethan.
Sarah moved among the wounded, handing out glasses and offering words of encouragent, bringing a warmth that softened the warrior atmosphere of the hall. Jason, now recovered and with renewed energy, approached Old Falcon, who watched everything with a proud smile beneath his gray mustache.
"It seems the kid really knows how to earn an army, doesn’t he, old man?" said Jason.
"He’s not earning an army, Jason. He’s forging a brotherhood. There is a big difference" said Old Falcon.
Music began to play softly in the background, and for a few hours, the fear of the Union, the mystery of the Outsiders, and the shadow of the world matrix vanished. Ethan allowed himself to relax for a mont, surrounded by his people, watching as Jose and Antonio joked while devouring a plate of ribs, standing with a strength they hadn’t possessed in years.
"Enjoy this mont, Ethan. You’ve earned it as much as they have" said Sarah, handing him a glass of wine.
"I will. But tomorrow, the training becos ten tis harder. If we are going to be a family, we will be the strongest family this damn place has ever seen" said Ethan.
The banquet continued late into the night. It was a scene of perfect harmony: the powerful leader, his loyal won, and his devoted warriors, all united under one roof, ready to face whatever fate threw their way.
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