Cruise offered an apologetic smile, though his eyes betrayed a deeper weariness. "I understand how inhumane this sounds, but my hands are tied. Without an investigation warrant, I can't act on my own."
He hesitated before continuing. "And Oakland is firmly in the grasp of the Metallia family. If we were to attempt a rescue by force, we'd have no chance without the Robins family's support."
Ivan processed the information silently. It made sense. His own capabilities, ranked only at 2D, were insufficient to take on an entrenched family like the Metallias. Even Cruise, likely rated no higher than a B, didn't have the firepower for a full-scale infiltration. Charging in recklessly wasn't just foolish, it was suicide.
But Ivan couldn't ignore the situation. He'd only met Martha once, but the memory lingered. Despite his cynicism, something in him recoiled at the thought of leaving her to such a grotesque fate. A flicker of resolve took root; he couldn't let her become another victim.
'But how?'
Ivan sighed heavily, the weight of his thoughts pressing on him. "What's the plan?" he finally asked, his voice tinged with reluctant acceptance.
Senator Richard nodded, as if expecting the question. He leaned forward, his tone calm but urgent. "First, tell me, what happened to John Metallia, the man who came to recruit you?"
"I killed him," Ivan said simply, but his mind flashed back to the moment. An odd detail nagged at him: there had been no familiar system prompt after John's death.
"Good," Richard replied, his expression steady. "Where's the body?"
"I've hidden it. I can retrieve it if needed."
"Perfect. Bring it to Santos today," Richard instructed. "Here's the plan."
He leaned back slightly, speaking with precision. "Tomorrow, our people will deliver the drugs to the address you left. Your role will be simple: hand them over to the Mexican Gang as you would in a normal transaction."
Ivan raised an eyebrow. "And your people?"
"They won't act," Richard clarified. "Their job is only to observe, study the terrain, map out the Mexican stronghold, and gather intelligence. That's all."
"And after the drop?"
"Stay in Oakland," Richard said firmly. "Use your time to locate Martha. Find out where they're keeping her."
"Then?"
"Next Monday," Richard continued, his tone growing colder, "the Robins family and the police will raid the Mexican operation under the guise of cracking down on drug trafficking. In the chaos, you'll extract Martha."
Ivan listened intently, his mind already mapping out the logistics. It didn't sound overly complicated, but complications always had a way of finding him. "What about John?" he asked. "Won't the Metallias notice he's missing?"
Richard waved off the concern. "Santos will handle it."
The mention of Santos gave Ivan pause. He recalled the Chinese-obsessed B-level wizard he'd encountered before. The Robins family clearly trusted him to manage sensitive matters.
"One more question," Ivan said, his tone sharpening. "Do we have any idea how many wizards are in the Mexican family?"
Richard's expression darkened. "Unfortunately, no. The Mexicans are notoriously secretive. We've gathered very little intelligence on their inner workings."
"That's reassuring," Ivan muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Richard ignored the remark. "You'll need to be cautious. The Metallia family head, Buster Metallia, is almost certain to attend the wedding between Martha and Guzman on Sunday. He's a B-level wizard. Avoid drawing his attention at all costs."
Ivan filed the warning away, his mind racing through potential scenarios. He nodded slowly. "I don't have any more questions."
"Good." Richard's expression shifted, the faintest hint of satisfaction in his smile. "Then we have an agreement."
"If you succeed, you'll be rewarded 40,000 dollars. Even if you fail, you'll still receive 10,000."
Ivan leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "For once, it seems kindness and profit align."
Richard chuckled lightly, extending his hand toward Ivan. "I'm glad to hear it. Together, we can stop the Metallias from turning this city into something unrecognizable."
Ivan didn't immediately respond. His gaze drifted to the bed where Alia lay, her frail form motionless beneath the quilt. Her face, marked with faint scars, looked peaceful in the sunlight streaming through the window. She seemed less like a person and more like a broken doll, discarded after serving its purpose.
The breeze from the open window carried a faint chill, ruffling the curtains and brushing against Ivan's skin. The room felt too quiet, too still.
Finally, Ivan stood, his movements deliberate. He turned to face Richard, his expression unreadable. "Maybe, Senator," he said softly, "but I don't think you and I see kindness the same way."
Richard's hand remained outstretched, but Ivan didn't take it. Instead, he quietly walked to the door, opened it, and stepped out without another word.
Behind him, the faint creak of the door closing echoed through the room.
Ten minutes after Ivan had left the building, the tension in Phillips Richard's office was palpable. The heavy oak door creaked open, and in strode Santos, a 4B-level wizard. His robes billowed slightly as he stepped inside, his face shadowed with a mixture of curiosity and disdain.
"Richard," Santos began without preamble, "that guy delivered the body of Metalia."
Richard, seated at his desk with the authority of a man who had seen too many deals and betrayals, nodded slowly. "That fast? What's the condition of the body? Will your witchcraft still suffice?"
Santos shrugged, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the intricate runes on his belt. "Hard to say. Maybe he used some advanced telekinetic magic or some kind of dimensional storage technique. I'm not entirely sure how he managed it."
Richard raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "And the soul? What of Jon?"
"That's the issue," Santos said grimly. "Whatever he did to him, Jon's soul has completely dissipated. It's like he's been dead for a month or more. There's no trace left to recover."
Richard leaned back, his cigar resting unlit between his fingers. "Then how do we proceed?"
Santos smirked faintly, the kind of smirk that came with years of navigating dark arts and unsavory negotiations. "We don't need his soul, not entirely. Using the fragments of Jon's memories that we copied from Alia, I can craft a believable enough facade to fool Metalia for a few days at least."
"That will do," Richard said, his voice flat. He lit his cigar, the soft crackle of the flame filling the silence. Taking a long drag, he exhaled a ribbon of smoke that curled lazily toward the ceiling.
Santos hesitated for a moment, then asked, "What's your impression of him?"
"Who?" Richard's tone was measured, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of interest.
"Ivan," Santos clarified. "Do you really think he'll follow the plan? Or is he just another hot-headed young fool who'll charge in, trying to save Martha like some hero out of a dime novel?"
Richard didn't answer immediately. He rotated the cigar slowly in his fingers, watching the tip glow red before releasing another plume of smoke. Finally, he spoke, his voice calm yet carrying a weight that demanded attention. "You know I am a Robbins. My actions are always guided by the family's interests."
He turned toward the window, gazing at the overcast sky. Layers of dark clouds blanketed the heavens, but a single ray of sunlight managed to break through, casting a faint glow over the city. "But that doesn't mean I'm devoid of mercy," he added quietly, almost to himself.
Santos didn't press further. The conversation dissolved into silence, punctuated only by the occasional crackle of the cigar.
---
Elsewhere, Ivan frowned as he stared at the shimmering display of the alchemical interface. Notifications filled the air around him, floating like holographic panels.
[Your rating has been improved!]
[Philosopher (Delusion): 1D]
[Recipe illustration: 8]
[Refining Level: 3]
[Space: 10/12]
[New formula retrieved: Unable to analyze…]
[Repeat: Unable to analyze…]
[Recipe illustrations have been recorded.]
"Unable to analyze?" Ivan muttered under his breath, his brow furrowed in thought. "Does this mean Jon's rating is higher than mine?"
He navigated to the recipe illustration column, his fingers deftly swiping through the interface. A list of ingredients appeared before him, glowing faintly.
[Formula Illustration: Alchemical Matrix, Spiritual Salt, Mumbling Bone Cone, Cool and Refreshing Calming Water, Crisp and Numb Paralysis Agent, Blazing Rooster Blood, Strong and Hard Skin Hardening Agent, Unknown Formula]
"Just as I thought," Ivan murmured. "I can't use Jon's recipes yet. They're tied to a higher level of refinement."
He leaned back in his chair, processing the implications. "He must've been a C-level weapon at best. If he'd been B-level, there's no way he'd have gone down to a simple pistol. But still, I need to upgrade one level before I can make use of his knowledge."
Ivan had returned to his room at the Hilty Hotel, the faint hum of the city outside his window providing a soothing backdrop. Charlie, his roommate, hadn't come back yet, likely still out shopping with his mother. The solitude gave Ivan a chance to clear his mind.
Stretching his arms, he decided to revisit an old discipline that had once been his passion: Bajiquan. He hadn't practiced in years, but something about his newfound physical strength compelled him to test his limits.
Starting with a steady stance, Ivan launched into a series of moves: a false step flowed seamlessly into a shock kick, followed by a sharp top elbow. His movements grew faster and sharper, six grab hands, a scorpion kick, and the finishing touch, an iron mountain lean. He executed each strike and step with precision, his body moving as if it had never forgotten.
By the time he finished the set, Ivan was barely winded. He exhaled deeply, feeling the strength coursing through his limbs. "Not bad," he mused. "Back in college, I'd be gasping for air after just a few moves. Now, I feel like I've only just warmed up."
He smiled to himself, remembering the grueling hours spent learning Bajiquan from his grandfather as a child. Somewhere along the way, he'd lost that discipline, consumed by late-night gaming and unhealthy habits. But now, standing in the quiet room with his body honed and his mind sharp, Ivan felt like he'd rediscovered a part of himself long forgotten. A part that was ready for the challenges ahead.