2025-09-01 10:54:01
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Max listened with a serious gaze, his brow deeply furrowed. This was the first time he had heard about this matter so clearly. He raised his hand, signaling everyone in the room to be silent. “I am hearing about this for the first time,” he said, his voice heavy. “What kind of organization are you talking about? And how can this be considered an obligation? Explain it to me in detail.” The room fell completely silent. Some faces went pale, some lowered their eyes, and a few stared at Max cautiously. From the back row, an old man slowly stood up. His hair was white, but his eyes burned with fanatical certainty. He was Mr. Homus. “Chairman Max,” he said, emphasizing every word. “This is not new. For a hundred years, our ancestors, the founders of business empires in Vesula, have made agreements.” “It is a tradition passed down through generations. We did not create it, we only inherited it,” he continued. Max stared at him sharply. “Agreements with whom?” “With the unseen
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The old man was Master Sanuni, leader of the Demonic Cult, who disguised himself in the outside world as a powerless, poor human. Yet in this place, he was the controller of darkness. “Max must be killed,” Sanuni said, his voice heavy, firm, and cold. A young man in front of him frowned. “But… why, Master? Is he really a threat to us?” Sanuni leaned forward, staring at his student intently. “Max is extremely dangerous. If we do not remove him immediately, sooner or later he will remove us.” “He not only knows of our existence, but he is actively moving to destroy the entire Demonic Cult network.” Another young man spoke, his voice hesitant. “How is that possible? How do you know all of this, Master? We have never interacted with Max directly…” Sanuni gave a thin smile, one that carried venom. “You have not seen him yet. But I have observed. From the CCTV footage when he fought Azam—” he paused, letting his words press on the souls of his students, “..his martial arts movements…
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Elsewhere, at midnight in Venua. The streetlights were dim, and the air was damp after the evening rain. Aurora ran in haste, her breath uneven. She had just managed to escape from Max’s mansion. All the guards who were usually strict were, for some reason, fast asleep that night, as if an invisible force had put them under. Even Zoza, who was usually always near the mansion, was nowhere to be seen. Aurora seized that chance. She ran, though she did not know where to go. Her steps carried her along the wet sidewalk, her nightgown fluttering in the night breeze. Her heart was filled with a turmoil of emotions she could not explain. “Why do I have to stay there?” she thought, biting her lip. “I am nobody. Max should not waste his time and energy on me.” Memories of Max spun in her mind. How he had saved her, given her a luxurious place to live, and even planned to enroll her in a music university. It was all too much. “Why is he so kind to me?” she whispered, her voice hoarse wit
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Those words were delivered with extreme caution, full of formality. But it was clear, Yaqub was pressing Dixon. Max glanced briefly, but said nothing. He knew this was not the time to interrupt. Dixon lifted his teacup, blew across its surface, then sipped slowly. His expression did not change, calm like a stone cliff. Only after that did he look straight into Yaqub’s eyes. “There was nothing hasty about it, Yaqub. I know only Max is capable of controlling those elites.” Dixon was certain that Max possessed extraordinary ability, proven when he healed him in just one minute. Dixon believed Max was the heir to the power of the ancient gods. Yaqub lowered his head, but his fingers twisted nervously on the table. In his heart, he carried deep doubt. “A young man, not even thirty years old… leading the billionaires of Vesula? That is madness.” Yet Dixon’s sharp gaze tied his tongue. He knew that pushing further meant defying a man whose name even the top conglomerates feared.
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Dinner finally ended. The guests rose from their seats and moved toward the main hall of the gala, where the prestigious exhibition event was about to begin. Long tables with grand crystal lighting had been prepared, showcasing stock files, company growth charts, and even video records of spectacular achievements from the last six months. The atmosphere shifted drastically. If earlier it had been tense and silent because of Dixon’s presence, now glittering luxury once again dominated the scene. The billionaires of Vesula competed to show who was the strongest, the most influential, and the wealthiest. A technology entrepreneur proudly presented his new stock that had risen 300 percent in just three months. Meanwhile, an energy investor played a video of his company’s new mining project on another continent, drawing loud applause from several guests. But the most striking displays were from those flaunting their lifestyles. One showed a private space vacation using a luxu
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All the guests held their breath, their eyes now full of hope as they looked at Dixon. Oscar, the second richest billionaire in Vesula, sat with his chest puffed out. His hands adjusted the dark blue silk tie that could buy a luxury house. He smiled slightly, certain his name would be called. “This is my moment,” he whispered to himself. For him, becoming the gala chairman was the recognition he needed to solidify his dominance in Vesula’s business world. But he was not the only one confident of his chances. Yoseph, a 67-year-old man, sat upright with a face full of certainty. As the largest investor in Vesula, he felt his contributions could not be ignored. Over the past ten years, his company had supported almost half of Vesula’s economy. “If not me, then who is more worthy?” Yoseph thought. He had even prepared a short speech in case Dixon called his name, a speech about devotion and prosperity. On the other side of the room, Oyuma, an elderly man from a Vesula noble fam
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