The Northern Warlord Returns

CHAPTER 3

The Chevron Ark was starting in a few hours in the Northern Hemisphere, drawing the wealthiest businessmen and elite figures from across the country.

Richard and Oscar had just arrived in the city, though their company had been represented by their COO until they stepped directly into the venue.

Richie and Oscar wore high-tech, custom-designed masks that revealed only their piercing eyes, which would also make their voices sound different.

It was a newly upgraded technological mask voice effect licensed by Richard Eagle Initiative that no programmer or scientist had caught a glimpse of globally.

Instantly, all heads turned.

Crowds of socialites and starstruck ladies strained forward, dying to catch a glimpse of the faces hidden under those masks.

They walked swiftly as flashbulbs popped blindingly in front of them, reporters desperately hunting for the best angles of the imposing men and their bodyguards.

“Who are they? They look insanely powerful!”

“What’s with the custom-designed masks? They look like high-tech billionaires.”

“Their suits look like they were custom-tailored straight off a Princess Helen’s pageant.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd, but Richie and Oscar kept their stride steady, gliding past the cameras straight into the VIP section of the grand hall.

Their company name was proudly embossed on the front-row seats, where they audaciously took their places.

“I feel like the king of the Northeast right now,” Richie muttered over their encrypted internal communications.

“You earned every bit of it, boss,” Oscar replied.

Before they could settle in, however, a loud, obnoxious voice cut through the ambient chatter.

“Who the hell do you think you are, sitting in the chairs reserved exclusively for the RET Chairman?!”

Necks snapped around in unison.

Richie turned his head slightly and recognized the arrogant face immediately: it was Mr. Morgan.

Richie smiled coldly behind his advanced mask.

“Call security and throw these masked clowns out of here!” Morgan screeched, red-faced with indignation.

“Do you think he’s talking to us, Richie?” Oscar whispered dryly.

“I doubt it. Besides, it’s way too early to show this old fossil that he’s sitting right at the top of my blacklist,” Richie replied smoothly.

Even the venue's security guards hesitated to step forward, intimidated by the aura and expensive tech radiating from the masked men.

“Are you all completely deaf and dumb?! Get them out of my sight!” Morgan screamed at the guards.

“That’s my boss you're shouting at, sir. Everyone back off,” the head of the event's elite security detail intervened, stepping protectively in front of Richie’s table.

“You just earned yourself a raise, man,” Richie muttered, tapping his mask in a silent salute.

He had no intention of removing his mask just yet. These vipers were dangerous, and he wanted them sweating in the dark a little longer.

“I’ll have the Warlord of the Northeast Battalion drag you out myself! You look like absolute fraudsters!” Morgan bellowed.

Richie intentionally flashed a peace sign with his fingers in mockery, a gesture that only fueled Morgan’s fury as he whipped out his phone to make a call.

Just then, heavy footsteps echoed across the floor. General Thickcup arrived.

‘Ah, the star player on my personal blacklist,’ Rich thought, a dangerous smirk forming behind his mask.

These monsters hadn’t changed at all. They still walked into rooms like they owned the world, immediately threatening anyone who didn't bow.

Mr. Morgan rushed over to brief Thickcup, who immediately started barking orders for military enforcers to crush the two masked men.

If only Thickcup had the slightest clue who was actually sitting across from him, hell would break loose right then and there.

“Just who exactly are you planning to crush?” a familiar voice interrupted.

A sharply dressed man made a dramatic entrance, walking right up to Richie’s table.

“Welcome to Northeast Hemisphere, Mr. Chairman and President of RET and Security Treats,” Mr. Scott greeted them warmly with a bright smile, pulling out a chair and seating himself right beside them as an esteemed CEO.

Gasps echoed around the surrounding tables.

“Is that... is that the prodigal son of the late Great Commander?” Mr. Morgan muttered, his eyes narrowing in shock.

“The one who abandoned his multi-billion-dollar inheritance ten years ago for some woman,” Thickcup added loudly, drawing the rapt attention of the entire room.

Mr. Scott did not bother raising his voice yet. Instead, his expression became serious, as he stared down his father’s old rivals.

“I prefer my business title, but yes, that’s me. Though I wouldn't call myself 'prodigal.' My dad and I engineered that falling out to protect me from ruthless vultures like you two, though tragically, he failed to protect himself,” Scott shot back fiercely, pointing a sharp finger directly at Thickcup.

Murmurs broke out across the hall.

“They must genuinely be the real RET Chairman if Mr. Scott is showing them this level of public respect,” a prominent tech investor whispered nearby.

Richie smiled behind his mask, a sight that somehow infuriated Morgan and Thickcup even more.

Realizing they had walked into a trap and deeply offended the most powerful tech mogul in the country, Morgan and Thickcup beat a hasty, humiliated retreat.

Yet Thickcup couldn't shake Scott's parting words; a cold sweat broke out on his neck as he desperately tried to figure out how much Scott actually knew about the late Great Commander's death.

“How did you even recognize us?” Oscar asked Scott once the dust had settled.

“I know your security uniforms. They might be brand new to Northeast Hemisphere, but I’ve worked alongside your Bolton operatives long enough to spot your tactical footprint,” Scott said with an approving grin.

Scott knew that if his massive investment in Richie had gone sideways, he'd be ruined, but within a remarkably short time, he realized Richie was an unstoppable force. In fact, Richard was already infinitely wealthier than he was.

“You never mentioned you were the son of the late Great Commander,” Richie said, his tone softening with genuine respect.

“He was the only high-ranking official who stood by me when I was betrayed. It broke my heart when he died, and his case was abruptly closed.”

“Well, I couldn't broadcast my lineage back then, and I legally changed my last name,” Scott chuckled softly.

“We can swap stories about my dad later. But seriously... what’s with the high-tech masks?”

Richie and Scott shared a hearty laugh, knowing outsiders would find the advanced facial-concealing technology baffling.

“I’ll fill you in on that soon enough. It’s refreshing to cross paths with another genuinely good man in this city,” Richard said, extending a firm hand. They shook on it.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the country business elite, the Chevron Ark presentations are officially underway. May interested investors connect and seal their partnerships!” the host announced over the PA system.

The presentations began in earnest.

Audrey looked as stunning as ever, perhaps even more radiant than Richie remembered.

She took the stage to pitch her father’s massive health insurance conglomerate.

While investors swarmed to back various ventures, Richie intentionally bypassed the Morgans, throwing his massive financial weight behind other competing firms instead.

As the hours ticked by, Mr. Morgan grew visibly desperate. A staggering majority of the room’s capital was flowing straight into RET Limited projects!

He had already annoyed the mysterious chairman earlier that evening, and now financial ruin loomed over his family name.

“And now, for the climax of this year's summit. May the undisputed Chevron Ark Champion, RET Limited, please step up to the stage for our closing toast and keynote dismissal!” the host declared, beaming directly toward Richard’s table.

Oscar nudged Richie, urging him forward.

Richie stood up, his posture commanding authority as he walked up the steps.

The host politely offered him a handheld microphone, but Richie shook his head, declining it.

“My mask is equipped with an integrated directional microphone. Good evening, business elites of the Northern Hemisphere,” Richie’s synthesized, deep voice echoed clearly across the massive auditorium.

A wave of envy swept through the room; every tech titan in attendance suddenly wanted the secret behind that multipurpose mask.

“I couldn't help but notice that most of the legacy corporations leading this market are run by arrogant grandpas who refuse to step aside for the younger generation,” Richie continued, his gaze locking dead onto Thickcup and Morgan, who looked ready to pop a blood vessel from pure rage.

“I hope the Northeast Hemisphere is ready for my team and me. Because we aren't just here to invest... we are here to unearth a lot of buried secrets.”

A cunning smile played across his lips.

The crowd erupted into a mix of cheers and uneasy whispers.

“Cheers to new beginnings, and to the inevitable downfall of old blood,” Richie declared into the mic before turning and walking down the steps, every single stride radiating unstoppable power.

“And with that, we conclude this year’s Chevron Ark! The RET Chairman has secured the highest volume of funded projects in history. Cheers to new partnerships, and Shalom!” the host announced as professional cameras began snapping flash photos of the stage.

For the first time in over a decade, the Morgan family had been utterly dethroned at the annual summit.

Back in the luxury town car sliding through the rainy Northeast Hemisphere streets, Audrey stared out the window, her chest tightening with an unspoken dread.

“Dad, why did you look so panicked back there? Do we actually have something major to announce? Why are we suddenly throwing a massive gala next week?” Audrey asked, breaking the tense silence.

Mr. Morgan adjusted his collar, a desperate, calculating gleam in his eye as he tried to mask his financial bleeding.

“Yes, dear. We do,” Morgan replied smoothly, his voice dripping with forced optimism.

“It’s to celebrate your upcoming engagement to Sean Thickcup.”