Season 3 chapter 108
The Corporate Grin
Kniya stared at the black screen of the television, a slow, highly devious, and absolutely terrifying grin spreading across his face. He didn't care about the unhinged reporter or the black-market fart cylinders; his brain was entirely locked onto one specific number: 25 Trillion.
The Royal Family, their ultimate geopolitical rivals who had funded the civil war against Kavilson Steel, had just taken a completely catastrophic financial hit.
Shuntesh, who had been sitting nearby reviewing a stack of engineering schematics, looked up and frowned in deep confusion.
"Sir, why are you smiling?" Shuntesh asked, blinking rapidly. "That reporter was completely unhinged and talking absolute shit on federal television. It was a disaster. Why are you happy?"
"Oh, it is absolutely nothing, Shuntesh," Kniya chuckled darkly, leaning back into the expensive leather couch. "Just a really good day for the free market."
Shuntesh didn't understand the aristocratic politics at play, so he simply shook his head and redirected the conversation back to their actual survival.
"Well, sir, can we please continue with our discussion?" Shuntesh requested, tapping his schematics. "We need to figure out how exactly we are going to secure the raw materials for this new alloy batch. The fourth reactor requires massive industrial sourcing."
"Yeah, yeah, let's get back to the alloys," Kniya nodded, his chaotic energy refocusing as they dove straight back into the metallurgy that would eventually change the world.
The Royal Siege
Somewhere in the capital...
The scene shifted away from the industrial smog of Seistain to the absolute peak of high-society luxury. Leon, the Head of the Royal Family, was sitting peacefully on the grand balcony of his massive, sprawling aristocratic estate. The manicured gardens stretched for miles. He casually took a sip of his perfectly brewed, highly expensive tea, enjoying the quiet morning.
Suddenly, the ground began to violently shake.
The deafening roar of military aviation shattered the tranquility. Dozens of federal helicopters swarmed the airspace directly above his estate. The heavy, mechanical grinding of armored tank treads completely tore up his pristine lawns. Hundreds of heavily armed, elite federal troops—the Legendary Guards—stormed the perimeter, flanked by mounted cavalry and heavy artillery cannons pointing directly at his mansion.
BOOM!
The massive, heavily reinforced, solid-gold entrance gates of the estate were violently blown off their hinges with military explosives, crashing into the courtyard with an earth-shattering thud.
Leon didn't even flinch. He slowly lowered his porcelain teacup to the saucer, his eyes narrowing with cold, aristocratic fury.
"You are absolutely going to pay for that gate," Leon stated into the smoke, his royal tone dripping with lethal arrogance.
Through the dust and the hundreds of aiming laser sights, three of the most powerful men in the Republic of DI confidently strode into the courtyard.
It was an unprecedented federal gathering: The Head Development Officer (HDO), DI'an Forces Head (DFH), and the Head of the Presidential Council (HPC).
The HDO stepped forward, his bureaucratic posture straight and authoritative.
"Leon," the HDO announced, his voice echoing across the ruined courtyard. "We are here for some highly important federal business. We just got to know two days ago that an unmarked cargo ship affiliated with the Royal Family got caught transferring illegal, untaxed wealth to the tune of 25 trillion credits. We possess a supreme legal search warrant. We are here to check this entire estate for further financial discrepancies."
The HDO pulled out the stamped federal document. "And per standard protocol, you are legally required to vacate the premises while we conduct this search."
Leon crossed his legs, leaning back in his lavish chair. He looked at the three highest officials in the country like they were absolute peasants.
"I am not going anywhere," Leon refused smoothly, his royal defiance absolute. "This is my house. I am going to sit right here, and I will continue drinking my tea. You want to check? Go ahead and rummage around like stray dogs. I am allowing you."
The DFH—the supreme commander of the military—stepped up, aggressively resting his hand on the hilt of his sidearm.
"Well, what happens if we physically drag you by your collar and throw you out of this place?" the DFH threatened violently. "This is a direct, supreme order from the Presidential Council, Leon. Don't you know who you are talking to? I think so you are very much familiar with the absolute authority of the Council, do you?"
Leon let out a soft, highly condescending sigh.
"I think so you speak way too much," Leon insulted, his royal style completely unshaken by the military threat. "If you want to do your little investigation, just continue with it. I absolutely do not have the energy for your fucking drama, nor do I care for the vulgar shit you are currently barking at me."
The HDO held up a hand, stopping the military commander from escalating it to violence.
"Listen, Leon," the HDO stated coldly. "We know very well that the Royal Family was behind this massive wealth transfer. But legally, because of archaic federal laws, we cannot directly blame you for this. The Royal Families are documented as separate entities in the federal notes, and this specific operation was not directly connected to your personal signature. So, we will carry out this investigation, and after that, we legally have to let you go because we do not have foundational proof."
"First of all," Leon corrected sharply, pointing a manicured finger at the officials. "The wealth transfer you are currently crying about was absolutely not under my orders, even though you keep throwing the term 'Royal Family' around. It was entirely the fault of a rogue Royal Financial Analyst. Anderson acted on his own. I didn't do anything wrong. You cannot arrest me, and you cannot touch me without foundational proof, because I am a legal citizen of this country and I possess fundamental rights."
The Trolling of a King
The Head of the Presidential Council, who had been completely silent the entire time, finally stepped forward. A highly obnoxious, politically lethal smirk stretched across his face.
"Well, we know this technicality very well, Leon," the Council Head chuckled darkly. "But the thing is... we know a lot of other things too. We know that your Royal Family was the one secretly funding the civil war. And we know you were the ones coordinating this untaxed wealth transfer to flee the sinking ship."
Leon casually dusted off his hands, completely and utterly unmoved. He didn't even blink at the accusation, maintaining his absolute aristocratic authority over the men standing in his ruined courtyard.
"You are blaming me out of your fucking theories," Leon replied smoothly, his voice devoid of a single ounce of panic. "It was your fucking president's fault, the exact one which you guys elected. I didn't even vote for him, and now you are trying to blame me for the civil war. It was the president's fault, not mine. So why the fuck are you blaming me?"
The Council Head leaned in, resting his hands on the balcony railing to get directly into Leon's personal space.
"Because what I find truly fascinating..." the Council Head mocked, refusing to back down, "is that after Anderson's brutal arrest, and after having all of your assets seized... you are still sitting here, pretending to be so incredibly calm. In my professional opinion, Kniya and Malesh must be your absolute biggest nightmares by today."
Leon took another slow, perfect sip of his highly expensive tea. He did not give a single fuck about their intimidation tactics.
"Well, can you please stop talking absolute shit?" Leon stated, entirely unbothered. "I do not have any kind of vengeance against anyone, and you cannot blame me out of no reason just because you lack proof. I do not care about that Anderson guy, I do not care about your financial analysts, and I do not care about your theories. Just check my house and leave."
The Council Head burst out laughing, completely enjoying the psychological warfare.
"You really are a fucking bastard, Leon," the Council Head grinned, entirely dropping his diplomatic filter. "But you know... twenty-five is such a massive, beautiful number. Don't you think?"
Leon simply stared at him, his face an unreadable mask of pure, royal boredom.
The Council Head tapped his finger against the table, matching the rhythm of his words to maximize the absolute disrespect.
"I know that from the inside of your chest, straight down to your aristocratic soul, there is exactly one thing screaming loudly in your mind right now," the Council Head trolled mercilessly. "And that is the number twenty-five. Twenty-five trillion credits. Completely gone. Poof. Don't you think it is just a great number? It possesses so much power."
Leon didn't freeze. He didn't tighten his grip on his teacup. He simply set the porcelain down gracefully on its saucer, absolutely refusing to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. He realized exactly what the three highest officials in the government were doing. They hadn't brought tanks and helicopters just to search his house.
They had brought the entire federal military just to physically stand in his courtyard and brutally troll him to his face over his bankruptcy. And Leon, with absolute aristocratic superiority, was simply going to let them waste their breath.