From Zero Blood, I Became the Untouchable Solar Overlord!

Chapter 8

The morning sun broke over Aethelgard, but inside the luxury estate of the Energy Syndicate, the air remained dead and freezing.

A fine crystal goblet smashed against the stone wall, sending dark red wine dripping down the marble like fresh blood.

"What do you mean our credit is frozen?!" Garrick’s roar echoed through the massive study, his face flushed with boiling rage.

On the cold floor, Accountant Orson trembled violently, pressing his forehead into the carpet. "Young Master, it is a disaster! The merchants saw the glowing ledger tablets in the Commerce Hall last night. They saw the Syndicate’s debt numbers! The coal drivers are refusing to load wagons without cash upfront, and our private shares dropped by forty percent in less than an hour!"

Garrick kicked his heavy mahogany desk, sending stacks of gold-bound ledgers flying into the air. His chest heaved as panic tore through his chest. Just one day ago, he held the entire city in the palm of his hand. Now, his vast empire of heat and coin was dissolving before his eyes.

His murderous gaze locked onto the corner of the room.

Cynthia sat huddled on a small velvet stool, clutching her silk sleeves with shaking fingers. Beneath her chalk-white skin, thick, black veins pulsed up her neck like crawling dark spiders. Every shallow breath she drew felt like jagged glass scraping through her lungs.

"You," Garrick growled, stepping toward her with heavy, menacing strides. "This ruin is all your doing!"

Cynthia shrank back into the corner, tears of agony welling in her eyes. "Garrick... please... my inner meridians are burning... the core is tearing my heart apart..."

Garrick didn't care about her pain. He reached out, grabbed her by her styled hair, and dragged her off the stool. Cynthia let out a sharp shriek as the sudden strain tore at her roots.

"You useless fool!" Garrick screamed straight into her weeping face, his heavy breath reeking of stale alcohol. "You swore your solar flame was completely restored! You promised you were a divine phoenix! But when that hooded stranger stepped into the hall, your fire flickered out like a cheap candle! You made me a laughingstock before the entire high council!"

"It wasn't my fault!" Cynthia sobbed frantically, the tears ruining her heavy powder. "The core rejected the energy flow! It flared out of control on its own!"

"Then you will stand before the public square and fix it!" Garrick barked, viciously throwing her to the hard floor. Her shoulder cracked against the wood with a dull, painful sound. "You will declare to the press that the solar ignition failed due to minor weather interference! You will assure the merchants that the Syndicate remains absolute, or by morning, I will strip your title and dump you into the public labor wards!"

Cynthia curled into a ball on the floor, shivering in terror. The labor wards! Only degraded slaves and dying criminals were dragged to those filthy work camps. She was a noble lady! She was supposed to rule the city at Garrick's side!

"Ethan..." she whispered through her quivering lips, the name escaping her throat before she could stop it.

Garrick froze mid-step, his dark eyes narrowing into razor-sharp slits. "What did you just say?"

"Ethan could never be behind this!" Cynthia cried out, desperately clinging to her own denial to keep her world from crumbling. "He is just a Zero Blood parasite! He was coughing blood, broken, and crippled when we threw him out! He must have stumbled upon some ancient relic buried in the snow drifts! He is relying on a dead cultivator's trick! He has no true strength of his own! He is still just a helpless worm from the slums!"

She had to believe it. She forced herself to believe it. Because if that masked sovereign was truly Ethan, it meant she had thrown away a living god to embrace a ruthless monster.

"Relic or not, I will crush him under my heel!" Garrick snarled. He turned back to his writing desk and snatched a heavy golden quill.

"Orson!" Garrick barked.

"Y-yes, Young Master?!" the accountant squeaked from the floor.

"Dispatch sixty elite syndicate guards immediately!" Garrick ordered, signing his name across an imperial red parchment with violent strokes. "Seal off the Slum District completely! Erect runic iron barricades across every main street! Issue an official decree branding those golden briquettes as illegal, poisonous contraband! Anyone caught holding, buying, or burning one will be hanged publicly from the city ramparts!"

Orson scrambled forward to grab the signed decree, nodding frantically. "At once, my lord!"

Garrick's lips twisted into a dark, cruel smirk. "If those slum dogs want to stay warm, they will bow down and pay double our new price! Let us see how long their mysterious 'Ash Walker' stays brave when his followers are swinging from gallows!"

He picked up the heavy wax seal, ready to press his mark into the paper.

The double doors of the private study blew wide open, slamming violently against the marble pillars.

Garrick flinched, dropping the seal onto the desk. "Insolent fools! Who gave you permission to enter?!" he screamed in rage.

The chief banking envoy of the city stood at the entrance, his fine coat stained with sweat, his face pale as a sheet, and his knees wobbling uncontrollably. He looked as though he had just witnessed an apocalypse.

"Young Master Garrick!" the clerk gasped, clutching his racing heart. "Hold the enforcement decree! You must hold!"

"Are you out of your mind?!" Garrick yelled, grabbing his gold-topped cane. "Get out before I have you thrown into the dungeon!"

"Look at the regional trade feed!" the clerk wailed, holding up a glowing crystal messaging slate. "An anonymous benefactor just entered the headquarters of the Frost-Spire Chamber of Commerce fifteen minutes ago!"

Garrick sneered. "That miserable little bank? They're on the verge of bankruptcy!"

"Not anymore!" the clerk shrieked, falling to his knees in utter horror. "The patron just deposited twenty million imperial gold coins directly into their vault!"

Garrick’s hand went numb. His golden cane slipped from his fingers, clattering loudly against the floor. "Twenty... million...?"

"And there is more!" the clerk cried out, his voice shaking with hysteria. "The Frost-Spire Chamber just broadcasted an imperial decree across all public plazas! They are setting up free-market solar heat distribution hubs in every single district starting at noon today... and they are selling high-grade primordial warmth briquettes for a single copper coin per basket!"

A suffocating, icy silence settled over the room.

Garrick stood frozen in place, his eyes wide with horror, his throat completely dry. Beside his desk, Cynthia lay on the floor, her veined hand trembling against the velvet rug as the terrifying reality of their collapse settled deep into their bones.