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Chapter 93:
🕑 Added 2025-07-20 16:27:46 +0000 UTCRussell eyed the quiet suburb on Northgate's fringe, the house's isolated charm sealing the deal. Beyond the peace it promised—far from the city's relentless hum—its seclusion suited his shadowy ties to the Spirit Begging Society. Tasks from them meant slipping out unseen; downtown crowds would spotlight every move. Here, under night's cover, he could activate the [Beads of Concealment], duck into a shadowed alley, don the [Mark 3], and soar away like a ghost in the wind.
He'd lined up the realtor during the exam's final days, so today was all about settling in. Luggage? Barely a burden—spare clothes and essentials, with the real treasures, those silver-level materials, tucked close like guarded secrets. Furniture shopping would dent his wallet, but with funds flowing, it was a minor sting.
For now, though... "Time to poke the hornet's nest. What's the Society scheming?"
"Well, well—what wind blew you in?"
Misty lounged in her leather throne of a chair, dabbing crimson lipstick with a compact mirror, her movements deliberate, almost theatrical.
Russell sank into the sofa, rolling his eyes at her theatrics. "Cut the act. You know damn well what day it is."
She pursed her freshly painted lips at her reflection, then swiveled toward him, fox-like eyes glinting with mischief. "Oh, everyone's whispering your name now—'Russell the Genius,' Northgate's shiny new star. So, spill: which ivory tower claimed you?" The unified exam's curtain had fallen today, but Russell hadn't looped her in on Blake's early promise. News from the ceremony was still trickling out, leaving her blind to the master-level tug-of-war.
"Northgate University," he said flatly, no games.
Regret flickered across her face. "Imperial would've been ideal. But Northgate's no slouch."
The Society craved influence, and Imperial in the capital was power's beating heart. Northgate, for all its prestige, was regional—potent, but not the epicenter.
Russell weighed his next words, the air thick with unspoken calculations. Spill about Blake's discipleship? It could unlock perks, but risks loomed—spying demands, perhaps. Still, secrets like this wouldn't stay buried. Better to leverage it now, dangle the bait. If they pushed too far? The contract didn't own him; he'd fabricate intel, play the long game.
Decision made, he leaned forward. "Blake Whitmore took me as his disciple."
Misty bolted upright, shock etching her features like a lightning strike. "You mean... the Blake Whitmore?"
His nod confirmed it. Her expression cycled—disbelief, calculation, a spark of opportunity. She exhaled slowly, voice dropping low. "You've dropped a bomb on me. I'll escalate this to the higher-ups."
Russell pressed, sensing leverage. "The Society's got rewards for this kind of win, right?"
Her lips curved into a wry half-smile. "Sharp as ever. Don't fret—with this in your pocket, they'd chain you to life support before letting you slip away."
Then kill the contract first, he griped inwardly. As long as it bound him, true freedom was a joke—save for Regent Jin and, well, himself.
Outwardly, he stayed cool, cutting to the chase. "Those materials you slipped me mid-exam? Not charity. What's the mission?"
Silence stretched, Misty's gaze turning inward. Finally, she sighed. "There was one lined up. But now, with you under Blake's wing... we're reevaluating."
Russell's instincts flared. "Sounds like the original was a suicide run."
She brushed it off, rubbing her temples like the weight of secrets pressed down. "Head home. Rewards are coming—whatever the brass deems fit. Mission details? Wait for my word."
Her evasion screamed confirmation—dangerous, probably lethal. But Russell let it slide; the Society wasn't some benevolent guild. "Fine. I'm out." He rose and exited the Everspring Clinic, leaving her to her schemes.
Upstairs, Misty stared at the empty room, whispering to the shadows. "Russell... I underestimated you. This changes everything. Maybe... just maybe, that impossible play's back on the table."
Outside, Russell grabbed his spare clothes from the hotel, mind already shifting gears. Society business on hold? Fine—time to hunker down, meditate, and spar with his cards, honing edges in simulated clashes that felt all too real, like prepping for a demon's brutal ambush.
Luggage in tow, he hailed a cab. Fate's twisted humor delivered a familiar face.
"You again, kid? Back to Everspring already?" The driver's grin was all knowing winks.
Russell's mood soured, face darkening as he barked his new address, ignoring the jab. The car glided through traffic, but the silence cracked eventually. "Last time was just family stuff, swear it."
The driver chuckled, that universal smirk men share. "Hey, no judgment. A guy's gotta unwind somehow."
Russell's scowl deepened—did this clown think he was dense? Puns like that hit like bricks.
At his new doorstep, he paid up stone-faced, unlocked the door, and stepped into the barren space. Empty walls stared back, echoing his sigh. "Northgate's my turf now. No more surprise visitors crashing my pad, right?"
He fired off online orders for essentials—bed, desk, the basics—then sank into planning mode, mind racing like a strategist plotting a siege.
Top priority: Craft more cards. Silver rank loomed close, a tangible barrier he could almost touch, but the breakthrough demanded time. Pidgeot was lagging, outpaced; with [Mark 3] under wraps for his student facade, he needed a fresh flying mount—something sleek, evasive, perhaps with adaptive shifts like those transforming mechs from old tales, morphing mid-flight to dodge demonic strikes. Defense too—a new shield card, resilient enough to weather a hero's stand against overwhelming odds, echoing the unyielding spirit of seafaring warriors facing impossible seas.
The six million from Northgate had padded his account, a war chest begging to be spent. Leftover funds? Channel them into a storage card—practical, like a hidden arsenal ready for deployment. Hoarding cash for silver materials was tempting, but markets for those were slim on fiat alone. Better to forge power now; money meant zilch if you were demon chow.
(End of this chapter)
Comments
Raphael Espinoza Angulo
There are a lot of super OP things you can get if you know the correct history and background of the anime objects and characters, although I don't know how much you know because these protagonists tend to take some characters very lightly.
