Season 3 chapter 72
The Celebration of DI
On the stage, Filoska grabbed the microphone. Her voice rang out across the camp, shaking with an emotion she rarely showed.
"CITIZENS OF DI! THE WAR IS OVER!"
The silence that followed lasted only a heartbeat before the entire camp exploded into a symphony of joy. Thousands of people who had been mourning their homes just an hour ago were now screaming, dancing, and weeping with happiness. The news spread like a shockwave—the purges were stopping, the military was leaving, and their land was being returned.
Celebrations broke out around every firepit. The "Hail the Saviors" chants returned, louder than ever, shaking the very foundations of the camp. The long, dark arc of the civil war had finally hit its end, and in the center of the chaos, the people of the Republic were finally free to go home.
The Capital Drive
The armored steam-sedan hummed as it tore across the highway toward the capital city of Seistain. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of stale coffee and the heavy, bone-deep exhaustion of two men who had just ended a civil war before lunch.
Malesh leaned his head against the reinforced window, his eyes half-closed. "Kniya, the war is fucking over. The government is retreating, the people are eating ice cream, and I am so tired I can feel my soul leaving my body. Why the hell are we signing these papers today? The land isn't going anywhere. We can do the paperwork tomorrow."
Kniya gripped the steering wheel, his jaw set. "I want to end this shit once and for all, Malesh. I don't want to continue this. I know we're tired, I know we want rest, but this is the last thing. We finish the paperwork, we secure the land, and then it's over. We don't have any other choice, I guess."
Malesh let out a long, pathetic groan. "Fine. Let's just go. But if I fall asleep and sign my name as a doodle of a cat, that's on you."
The Fortress of Taxpayers
After a grueling 1.5-hour drive, the towering skyline of Seistain loomed ahead. They pulled up in front of a gargantuan, marble-clad structure—the National Land Department.
Kniya whistled low as he put the car in park. "Whoa. See that building, bro? This thing is fucking huge. Ah, it's a goddamn building made from the taxpayers' money. I don't think the government develops anything better than these fucking buildings while the rest of the country is in the dirt."
"Whatever," Malesh muttered, stepping out. "It looks amazing, I guess."
"Have you never visited this building once in your life?" Kniya asked.
"Never," Malesh replied. "I only ever visited the state department building in Sulwai when we bought the land for Kavilson Steel. After that, I never visited this national one. It's... a lot."
The Comic-Book Agent
As they approached the entrance, a man stepped out wearing a suit that looked like it was pulled straight out of a comic book—bright, weird colors and an even weirder tie. He held out a parcel.
"Sir! Here is the parcel for your underwear!"
Kniya stopped dead, his face turning red. "Are you an agent from that fucking underwear telemarketer? Is that fucker still bothering me?"
"Yes, sir," the agent said with a straight face. "Do you want your underwear or not?"
"I don't want that! Just get the fuck away from me!" Kniya hissed.
"Okay," the agent shrugged. "Then I'm not going to give you these foundation documents."
Kniya froze, his eyes twitching. "Okay, fine! Just give me the damn thing. I hate this."
He snatched the parcel. On the side, it was clearly labeled: PREMIUM SILK UNDERWEAR. Inside sat a pair of incredibly expensive-looking silk briefs resting right on top of the legal documents.
"I don't know how that operative manages to play jokes like this when he's supposed to be doing a serious role," Kniya grumbled, tucking the box under his arm.
Malesh looked at the papers. "It doesn't matter right now. Look—the name of the organization and the ownership lines are empty."
"What should we name it?" Kniya asked.
"I don't know," Malesh sighed.
"How about the KMSF Foundation?" Kniya suggested.
"Kniya, Malesh, Salesh, Filoska?" Malesh asked. "Don't you have a better name than that? My brain is literally not functioning, but even I know that's basic."
"If you have a better one, tell me! I don't have anyone right now!" Kniya snapped. He scribbled the name down and moved to the ownership. "I'm putting 50-50 between me and you."
Malesh paused. "Why aren't you giving any ownership to Salesh and Filoska?"
"Because," Kniya said, lowering his voice. "I have the loan deed from Mantouse. It says we are the only ones liable for that 30 trillion loan. We're the ones who have to pay back 60 trillion. Why shouldn't we be the owners? We'll just hide this and never tell them. We'll sell them some other lie later."
Malesh nodded slowly. "Yeah, you're right about that."
The Gatekeeper
They reached the inner security checkpoint. A guard looked them up and down with pure disdain.
"Hey, you poor idiots," the guard sneered. "You can't enter this building looking like that. Fucking poor people."
Kniya didn't even blink. He pulled out his gun and pressed it to the guard's head. "Don't you fucking dare call us that again."
The guard turned pale, shaking. "I—I'm much fucking richer than you, you fucking idiot!"
Kniya ignored him and marched past into the main office space.
The 30 Trillion Signature
A man met them in the hall and led them into a private room. "Here are the documents for the transfer of land deeds. You are now taking ownership of every religious city land across the country. It's a huge move. It'll take about 1.5 hours to sign everything. And you need to pay the amount in cash."
Kniya stared at him. "Are you fucking out of your mind? Do you think we brought 30 trillion credits as cash?"
Malesh rubbed his temples. "Don't you have a cheque option? Or are we supposed to summon a mountain of gold?"
"I was joking," the man smirked. "Cheque is fine."
They spent the next hour and a half signing their names until their fingers cramped. When the last paper was stamped, Kniya and Malesh were officially the largest private landowners in the history of the Republic.
The Final Call
As they walked out, Kniya's phone buzzed. It was the operative.
"I think I need to specifically reward you with that silk premium underwear now," the voice chuckled. "You completed the mission and even managed to find the money. Truly impressive."
"I don't want any fucking underwear!" Kniya yelled. "Just fuck off and cut the call!"
He slammed the phone shut. He turned to Malesh. "Call Filoska and Salesh. Tell them to meet us at the Kavilson Steel main headquarters in 30 minutes. It's time to reunite and end this day for real."
The two billionaires climbed into their car, heading toward the headquarters in the heart of Seistain, ready to finally close the door on the war.
The Nostalgia of the Boardroom
The high-speed elevator hissed as it reached the 85th floor of the Kavilson Steel Headquarters in Seistain. The doors slid open to reveal the familiar, cavernous luxury of the Managing Director's suite. For the first time in months, the air didn't smell like gunpowder or cheap refugee-camp kerosene; it smelled like expensive mahogany and high-end air filtration.
Kniya marched into the room and practically collapsed into his massive executive chair, kicking his boots up onto the desk. Malesh, with a sigh that sounded like a dying steam engine, draped himself across the leather sofa. Salesh and Filoska were already there, reclaimed by their familiar chairs, looking at their bosses with a mix of absolute exhaustion and total confusion.
"Goddamn," Kniya breathed, staring at the ceiling. "The fucking thing is over. After all that bullshit, we are actually back in the office."
Malesh stared blankly at a spot on the wall. "Yeah. It feels fake. You remember that morning, Kniya? When we were just two bored billionaires high on coffee at 3:00 AM? We left this exact office to chase Loxard's crusty, billion-credit flying underwear down the federal highway, ran out of gas, and somehow ended up buying half the country's real estate. It's... nostalgic, in a deeply disgusting way."
Salesh leaned forward, aggressively rubbing his face. "I am still angry about that night. Why the hell did you guys resign from doing actual work just to prank call me at three in the morning?! You literally told me my parents had 'expired as products'! I thought you were just sociopaths high on espresso!"
"It was a joint venture in corporate stress-testing," Malesh defended flatly.
"I never knew it would start from an underwear game," Kniya laughed, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Honestly, we should call this the 'Underwear War.' It started with a piece of flying trash, and it ended today with that Gleb operative literally mailing me a premium silk brief as a reward."
Filoska let out a long, deeply irritated groan, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Can you guys just stop talking about this shit for five minutes?! Every single time, every fucking day, it all comes back to underwear! Don't you have any other things to discuss? Read a novel? Talk about the global market? My brain is literally rotting listening to your laundry obsession."
"Hey! Don't look at me," Malesh deadpanned, not moving a single muscle on the sofa. "I'm the victim here. Kniya is the one who made us drive 1.5 hours today with a parcel of tactical silk sitting in his lap."
"It was high-quality silk, Malesh! Don't be a prick!" Kniya shouted back, pointing a finger. "And besides, Filoska, if it wasn't for our 'obsessions,' we wouldn't have the paperwork for the KMSF Foundation sitting on this desk right now. So shut the fuck up and let us enjoy the victory."
The Royal Shadow
The scene shifts away from the chaotic comfort of the corporate boardroom, traveling across the capital to the cold, silent opulence of the Royal Estate. Here, the air was still, and the luxury was suffocating.
Leon Debestez stood by a massive floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the glittering city lights of Seistain. He held a glass of dark, aged wine, his expression completely unreadable. Behind him, an Elite Royal Member bowed deeply, his voice hushed and urgent.
"Sir, we must inform you," the member whispered. "Clist... he died a few days ago. Our primary informant has been liquidated."
Leon didn't even turn around. He took a slow, methodical sip of his wine. "Well. I expected such a move from those vulgar bastards. Kniya and Malesh have a certain primitive effectiveness. Let them celebrate. This civil war was a major loss for their bank accounts, not for me."
"There is one more thing we want to inform you, Sir," the guard continued, his voice trembling slightly. "It concerns the island near Territory 774... where the military base blast occurred. A massive portion of our untraceable money and shadow-assets are stored on that island. Now that the Presidential Council has been entirely replaced, a full-scale investigation is definitely going to start. If the new government's agents reach that island, we will be in severe trouble."
Leon's grip tightened on his glass. The aristocratic mask didn't break, but his eyes turned into chips of black ice. He set the wine glass down on a marble table with a sharp clink.
"Start the protocol," Leon commanded, his voice dropping into a terrifyingly calm register. "Plan 3674B."
The guard looked up, his eyes widening in realization. "Sir? You mean... The Leviathan Transit Protocol? The massive transportation mission?"
"Exactly," Leon replied, turning his head just enough to look at the guard over his shoulder. "If the new Council wants to investigate our territory, let them. By the time their ships arrive, they will find absolutely nothing but empty rocks and dirt. Mobilize the heavy freighters immediately. We are moving every single credit off that island before the sun rises."
"Understood, Sir. Leaving for the orders right now," the guard bowed, swiftly retreating into the darkness of the hall.
Leon looked back out at the city, a thin, cruel smile playing on his lips. The Underwear War was over, but the Royal Family was already moving their pieces for the next game.
(THE FUCKING CIVIL WAR ENDS— HERE)