The Unbeatable Warlord

Chapter 9

The following afternoon, news outlets set up along Liberty Square. Military bands rehearsed patriotic anthems. Dignitaries began arriving under tight security.

  At exactly 12:20 p.m., Alexander stepped into the main hall of the residence, dressed in a dark tailored suit adorned with the official insignia of his office. His expression was composed, resolute.

  Seraphina stood near the grand staircase, radiant in a pale blue gown that caught the afternoon light.

  At exactly 12:30 p.m., the convoy engines ignited.

  Black armored vehicles lined the driveway. Security personnel took their positions with disciplined precision.

  Alexander entered the primary vehicle.

  Inside the residence he had left behind, Seraphina Vale stood motionless in her private chamber.

  A staff aide rushed past the corridor moments earlier with an update: “The convoy has crossed Meridian Avenue. They are ahead of schedule.”

  Seraphina dismissed the aide with a calm nod, and dialled a number.

  “He’s on the way,” she said quietly. “Reports confirm he’s approaching Liberty Boulevard.”

  A rough voice answered. “We know. We have eyes on the convoy.”

  Seraphina turned toward the window, her face expressionless.

  “Nothing must trace back to us,” she said firmly.

  “It won’t.”

  She paused, then added carefully, “If you succeed in getting rid of Alexander today, my father will compensate you beyond what was originally agreed.”

  There was silence for half a heartbeat.

  “Beyond?” the man repeated.

  “Far beyond,” she confirmed. 

  Another voice in the background murmured something approving.

  “You don’t need to sweeten the deal,” the man said with a faint edge of pride. “We’ve never lost a battle.”

  That part was true.

  The group she had engaged was not made up of reckless street criminals. They were a structured rogue syndicate—one of the most feared underground networks in Dawn City’s history. 

  For years, they had operated in shadows: orchestrating strategic strikes, disappearing before retaliation, manipulating markets and movements with chilling precision.

  They were not amateurs.

  They had never failed an operation.

  Not once.

  Seraphina exhaled slowly.

  “Then don’t start today.”

  She ended the call.

  Meanwhile, inside the lead vehicle of the convoy, Alexander sat reviewing the final paragraph of his speech.

  “…and we shall ensure that no generation after ours inherits fear as its legacy.”

  He closed the folder.

  Twenty minutes.

  That was all that remained before the convoy reached Liberty Square, where dignitaries and cameras waited.

  He glanced at the time.

  1:40 p.m.

  The ceremony was set to begin at exactly 2:00 p.m.

  If he was even one minute late, headlines would speculate unnecessarily. Timing mattered in politics. Precision conveyed control.

  Just then, Alexander’s phone vibrated against the seat beside him.

  He glanced down.

  It was an unknown number.

  He frowned slightly.

  Now?

  He reached for the device, then paused.

  No.

  He had no time for distractions.

  The convoy was nearly at the square. He needed to focus.

  The phone stopped ringing.

  He exhaled and looked forward again.

  Then it rang again.

  Longer this time and insistent.

  He ignored it.

  Two minutes later—

  It rang again.

  Alexander’s jaw tightened.

  Whoever this was clearly intended to reach him urgently.

  He looked at the time again.

  1:45 p.m.

  Now, fifteen minutes left!

  The phone continued ringing.

  So he decided to pick up.