The Departure
Kniya and Malesh stepped toward the heavy leaf-curtain exit of the bunker. As they prepared to leave, the entire crowd of orphans rushed forward.
"Bye, uncles!" the kids shouted, waving their sticky, candy-covered hands. A few of the younger ones were even crying, sad to see the terrifying but extremely wealthy men leave.
"Yeah, bye," Malesh nodded politely. "We will meet again."
Kniya smirked, tossing a final wave to the crowd. "Stay sharp, kids! Be a democrat, not a communist! See you at the top!"
The little girl with the strawberry candy crossed her arms. "You can't just tell people what political ideology to follow as a parting greeting. It lacks nuance."
"I can do whatever I want, I own the steel grid!" Kniya yelled back, slipping through the bamboo curtain and disappearing into the smoke of the ruined city.
The Narrator's Intervention
Okay. Hold up.
You guys are probably reading this and feeling extremely confused about one major thing.
What the fuck are they talking about? What "plan"? What is Phase One? What is Phase Two? Why did two multi-trillionare MD's drop their entire corporate empires to build a bamboo hut and run a covert rescue operation in the middle of a military warzone? What is this "shit" they keep vaguely referring to?
To understand absolutely any of this, we cannot just look at the burning streets of Wollondaik.
So, let me tell you how all of these things actually line up. Let's rewind the clock. Let's go back exactly five days ago, when all of these unhinged planning things officially started behind the closed doors of the Seistain Hub...
The Five-Day Flashback
(Five days prior to the rescue in Wollondaik)
The air inside Kniya's underground bunker was heavy with the suffocating weight of the truth. The decoded margins of the Demon Lord comic and the flatulence manual lay scattered across the glass coffee table, spelling out the absolute destruction of the DI'an Republic.
Kniya leaned back on the plush leather sofa, staring blankly at the concrete ceiling. The adrenaline from discovering the Royal Family's master plan had faded, leaving behind a grim, bitter reality.
"Well, Malesh," Kniya sighed, popping a piece of mint gum into his mouth and chewing it slowly. "We shouldn't just sit here being sad like this. Sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves is useless. We should do something about it."
Malesh, who was meticulously organizing the decoded coordinates into a leather ledger, didn't look up.
"Yeah. True, Kniya," Malesh agreed, his voice a cold, practical deadpan. "Grief is a complete waste of corporate time. It fixes nothing. First, the best thing we can do is to go and meet the priestess. We need to tell her the whole story."
Salesh jumped off the arm of the sofa, waving his hands with sudden, frantic energy. "Exactly! We can't just sit down here in a bunker hoarding this intelligence! If we know the truth and do nothing, we're basically letting the royal family win!"
Filoska didn't hesitate. She grabbed her designer coat off the back of the chair and aggressively threw it on. "Salesh is right. Let's move right now! Every second we waste feeling bad down here is another citizen getting completely brainwashed by Leon's propaganda!"
"Yeah, that would be the best case," Kniya nodded, sitting forward and resting his elbows on his knees, a dangerous spark returning to his eyes. "She needs to know about this thing. Because if this propaganda spreads, there would be a lot of chaos in the country. Let's go."
The Ten-Trillion-Credit VIPs
Fifteen minutes later, the massive, matte-black, heavily armored R-12 luxury sedan violently screeched to a halt outside the emergency entrance of the provincial hospital. Kniya, Malesh, Salesh, and Filoska stepped out, walking shoulder-to-shoulder like a terrifying corporate hit squad.
They marched through the automatic glass doors and headed straight for the private wards.
However, before they could reach the corridor, a highly stressed hospital receptionist jumped out from behind his desk, holding his hands up to block their path.
"Sir! Stop right there!" the receptionist commanded, trying to sound authoritative. "You cannot enter here. Visiting hours are strictly prohibited right now!"
Malesh stopped. He slowly turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto the trembling receptionist with absolute, chilling emptiness.
"Why can't we?" Malesh asked flatly. "We literally paid the bills of the entire wing. We fully funded the medical care of the person who is residing in that room. We practically own this floor."
The receptionist blinked, his eyes darting to Kniya's arrogant smirk, Filoska's sharp glare, and Malesh's dragon-themed tie. Recognition suddenly hit him like a physical blow.
"Oh... oh, are you that guy?" the receptionist stammered, instantly lowering his hands and stepping out of the way. "Okay, okay. Yeah, if you are here to meet the priestess, then you can go. Please don't fire me."
"Yeah, we are there," Kniya smirked, adjusting his tailored coat as they breezed past the terrified medical staff.
The Brotherly Education
They pushed open the heavy wooden door to the private ward.
Inside, the atmosphere was surprisingly peaceful. The young Yatsua priestess was sitting up in her hospital bed, looking significantly healthier. Sitting in a chair right next to her was her little brother. They were quietly playing a simple drawing game on a notepad, with the priestess playfully teaching him how to sketch an animal.
The door clicked shut. The priestess and her brother looked up, absolutely astonished to see the four most powerful billionaires in the Republic suddenly standing at the foot of their bed.
"Is there any problem?" the priestess asked, her voice tight with sudden anxiety as she pulled her brother closer.
Kniya walked over to the edge of the bed. He didn't put on his fake, hyper-capitalist smile. He looked completely serious, carrying a weight that she hadn't seen on him before.
"It took us quite a long period of time," Kniya said, his voice dropping into a dark, gravelly register. "But we finally got the reason. We uncovered the whole plan of what is actually going on out there. The absolute nightmare that your town had to face... was because of my family, unfortunately."
The priestess froze. The color drained from her face. "What is actually going on? Can you please tell me?"
The Anatomy of a Trap
Kniya pulled up a chair and sat down heavily. "Yeah. Let me explain the plan to you."
For the next ten minutes, the entire executive team laid out the sheer, terrifying brilliance of the Royal Family's geopolitical trap.
"My family—the Aristocracy—manipulated the President of the Republic," Kniya explained, his voice laced with venom. "They bribed the federal government to use the military to completely destroy your religious towns. They didn't do it for renovation. They did it because your Yatsua God statues are forged from incredibly rare-earth metals. The government is hoarding them, and the royals are seizing your sacred lands."
Filoska leaned over the hospital bed, her eyes wide with urgency. "But that was only the first part of their trap! They played the government perfectly, and now they are playing the civilians! The Royal Family is the exact group leaking the news of these massacres to the public!"
"It's a total setup!" Salesh yelled, pacing furiously at the foot of the bed. "They are actively encouraging your people and the religious followers to protest against the government. But they are explicitly instructing everyone to protest in a peaceful way!"
The priestess clutched her brother's hand, her eyes wide with shock. "Why peaceful?"
"Because the democratic government cannot legally or optically attack peaceful protesters without looking like tyrants," Malesh interjected smoothly, his tone cold and clinical. "The peaceful illusion allows more and more innocent people to join the crowds without fear. It builds the numbers."
"And once the crowds are massive enough..." Kniya growled, his eyes burning with absolute disgust. "...my family is going to plant agitators in the crowd. They will force a violent riot. The military will panic and open fire. It will be a total bloodbath."
"It is a hostile takeover of the entire nation," Malesh concluded bluntly. "They collapse the democratic government under the weight of a civil war, and then they swoop in to reinstate an absolute monarchy."
The Bursting of the Bubble
The hospital room went completely, suffocatingly silent.
The priestess sat in her bed, staring blankly at the wall. The sheer scale of the betrayal broke her mind. Her parents hadn't just died in a tragic military overreach. They had been slaughtered as pawns on a chessboard so a group of inbred aristocrats could steal their metal statues and steal the country's freedom. The "righteous" protests that her surviving friends were joining right now weren't a path to justice—they were a slaughterhouse.
Her grief violently mutated into pure, unadulterated rage. Her hands shook, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the bedsheets. She looked up at Kniya, her eyes burning with a terrifying, holy fire.
"What can I do?" she demanded, her voice no longer trembling. It was the voice of a woman ready to tear an empire to the ground.
Kniya smirked. It was the exact reaction he needed.
"The best thing you can do to help us is to burst that propaganda," Kniya stated, his arrogant, commanding aura returning in full force. "This is the thing that is really, really required right now. The royals are relying on the ignorance of the masses."
"You possess immense sociological leverage," Malesh analyzed cleanly, stepping forward. "Your voice carries weight."
"You have to tell other people of your class about this thing," Kniya ordered, pointing his gold pen at her. "You need to warn them about this exact plan. By spreading the information, you need to basically spread out the truth. The actual reality of this corporate, royal blood-trap."