Meanwhile, That night draped Ironspire City in a velvet shroud, its skyline glittering like a constellation of ambition and wealth. In the heart of the city, within the opulent confines of The Obsidian Veil, the most exclusive restaurant reserved for the elite, a clandestine meeting was unfolding. The air was thick with the scent of aged whiskey, polished mahogany, and the unspoken weight of authority. Mr. Jack, the enigmatic owner of the Viridian Gentleman, had summoned two titans of Ironspire: Trump, the wealthiest man in the city, whose empire of commerce cast a shadow over every financial transaction, and Tompolo, the underground kingpin whose iron grip controlled the city’s darker arteries. It was an unprecedented gathering, one that had both men intrigued and wary, for Mr. Jack was not one to act without purpose.The private lounge was a fortress of luxury, its walls adorned with rare tapestries and gilded accents that whispered of old-world power. Crystal chandeliers cast a

The dawn had broken over Ironspire, casting a golden haze across the city as its pulse quickened with the new day. By mid-morning, the warm glow of the sun streamed through the tall, arched windows of *Chicken Republic*, a quaint yet lively restaurant nestled in the heart of Ironspire’s bustling downtown. The air was rich with the comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee and the buttery warmth of just-baked croissants, a symphony of aromas that enveloped the patrons in a fleeting sense of calm. Serena Vox sat alone at a corner table, her elegant black dress clinging to her like a second skin, its somber hue a stark contrast to the vibrant chatter and clinking cutlery around her. Having just dropped her son off at school, she allowed herself a rare moment of solitude, her fork hovering over a delicate plate of poached eggs and smoked salmon, untouched as her gaze drifted to the city beyond the window—a sprawling metropolis waking to its relentless rhythm. Yet, beneath her poised ext

The air in Chicken Republic grew taut, as if the very walls held their breath. Serena Vox, her heart pounding like a war drum, had been jolted from her reverie by the sight of the Seven-Star General, Derrick, whose striking resemblance to her son sent her mind spiraling. “Coincidental, right?” she gasped under her breath, her eyes tracing the flawless contours of his face—a chiseled masterpiece, as if sculpted by divine hands. His chestnut hair, the rare white birthmark on his forehead, and the commanding aura he exuded were all hauntingly familiar, stirring memories of a night five years ago that had shattered her life. She couldn’t tear her gaze away, captivated yet unnerved, until a bellowing voice snapped her back to reality. “Young lady, get on the floor! How dare you sit there without paying due respect?” one of the burly bouncers roared, his towering frame and electrified baton marking him as Derrick’s personal guard, his black suit adorned with a subtle silver pin that screa

Meanwhile, In the heart of the sprawling Crane Family estate, nestled within a fortified compound that whispered of wealth and power, stood a colossal training facility—a monument to discipline and might. The Grand Hall, its centerpiece, was an architectural marvel, its towering ceilings adorned with intricate steel beams and reinforced glass, allowing slivers of moonlight to pierce the otherwise austere space. The marble floor gleamed under the dim glow, polished to a mirror-like sheen, reflecting the disciplined ranks of over five hundred men standing in rigid formation. These were no ordinary soldiers; they were the Crane Family’s private military, a force honed to perfection, armed with cutting-edge weaponry and augmented by AI-driven exosuits that granted them superhuman strength and precision. From novices barely blooded in combat to lieutenants radiating ambition, to generals whose eyes carried the weight of countless battles, the hierarchy was clear. Among them stood profe

Then, a ripple of movement broke the stillness. The heavy oak doors at the far end of the Hall swung open, and two figures strode in, their presence commanding immediate attention. Anamika and Victor Crane, the daughter and son of the late Yul Crane, stepped into the light. Victor, now the patriarch of the Crane Family, carried himself with a quiet intensity, his tailored suit pristine yet unable to mask the subtle shift in his demeanor—a hardness that hadn’t been there before. Anamika, elegant and sharp-eyed, walked beside him, her presence both regal and formidable, a woman who had inherited her father’s cunning. As they entered, the Hall erupted in a unified salute, five hundred voices booming in unison, “Hail, Lord Victor! Hail, Lady Anamika!” The sound reverberated off the steel beams, a testament to the loyalty Master Pat had instilled in these warriors.Moments earlier, in the opulent lobby of the estate, Victor and Anamika had been deep in conversation, their voices hushed a