Tactician was tall and lean, while Gold King was powerfully built. Both wore tailored suits, exuding the air of upper-class gentlemen. Gold King had thick brows and piercing eyes, his gaze sharp and masculine—when he looked at Fyren, contempt and loathing flickered unhidden. Tactician, in contrast, had fine eyebrows and a gentle gaze, composed and indifferent. Unlike Gold King, he showed no aggression, wearing a kind smile.
The moment Tactician entered, he strode toward Fyren beaming. "Fyren! Fyren, my boy! Hahaha, your reputation precedes you! I've long hoped to meet you, but the stars never aligned."
Fyren rose to meet him, clasping his hand warmly. "Mr. Tactician, at last! I've yearned for your wisdom for ages. This is a dream come true."
Chloe and Zaring exchanged bewildered glances. Impossible! These two had clashed behind the scenes for months—they should be glaring daggers, not acting like old friends.
"Please, have a seat."
"Thank you, Fyren. Too kind."
Fyren bypassed his executive chair, sitting beside Tactician on the sofa as if reuniting with a long-lost brother. "Mr. Tactician, you look remarkably well."
"Oh? Do I?"
"Indeed! I'd imagined you as a bearded sage, but you're far younger and more dashing. Most inspiring!"
"Come now, Fyren—young, successful, a force of nature. You're the one to admire."
The two launched into a litany of business flattery. Gold King's scowl deepened, his icy stare making Fyren feel a chill. "Chloe, why stand there? Bring tea—the finest we have."
"Ah!" Tactician interjected. "I hear you have Northlandia's best brandy, Fyren. Don't be stingy."
"Hahaha! You have taste, Tactician. Chloe, tell the kitchen to prepare a feast in the reception hall—we're entertaining our guests."
Moments later, a table groaned under sturgeon, deer tail, and bear paws. In Fyren's old world, these were protected species, but here, strict conservation made them legal—though exorbitantly priced. Common folk couldn't afford them, and Fyren found the taste overrated. But as status symbols, they were perfect.
Chloe circled the table, pouring wine as two men smiled and one—Gold King—never took his eyes off Fyren. Fyren raised his glass. "To Gold King's valor! To Tactician's wisdom! A perfect pair—cheers!"
Tactician smiled and said, "Fyren, your organization's headquarters is magnificent—grand, imposing, with exquisitely carved beams and columns. A world unto itself. Please."
Tactician, Gold King, and Fyren began to drink. The first two traded endless business flatteries, skirting the main topic. This was negotiation tactics: from Tactician's angle, the longer he withheld, the more Fyren would stew in uncertainty.
But Fyren wasn't green. Though he couldn't match them in brute force, his wits were a match. You're not rushing? Neither am I. If they'd wanted him dead, he'd be gone—they must need something. So he let the small talk flow.
After a long while, Gold King slammed his palm on the table, silencing the room. Chloe tensed; Fyren's pulse quickened.
Gold King thumped his chest. "I, Gold King, first of my line, am here for business! As Gold King, I make money—from the wealthy, not the poor. And you..." He pointed at Fyren. "Head of Crystalpeak City's Four Families, Zhang heir—you're swimming in it."
Fyren grinned, confidence oozing. "Simple. Name your price, Gold King."
"I'm no common thief," Gold King barked. "My business is legitimate."
"Admirable." Fyren set down his bottle. "But word is, Mighty Syndicate's Crystalpeak branch has raked in fortunes lately—especially you, Gold King. Richer than some nations."
"Wrong. I'm just a messenger for Helmsman."
Tactician interjected, "The strongest leg."
Fyren arched a brow. "How many legs does Helmsman have?"
"Four," said Tactician.
Gold King slammed the table again, hoisting a thigh onto the mahogany surface. "But three are broken! Silver, Copper, Iron—all kidnapped. So, who's profiting?"
Fyren nodded slowly. "I see."
Tactician's eyes narrowed. "Fyren... you know something about this, don't you?"
Fyren poured a drink, draining it in one gulp. "I do."
"Oh? Do elaborate."
"Silver, Copper, Iron—they defected to save themselves," Fyren said, studying his empty glass. "But my liquid assets are tied up in the shantytown project, under government lock and key. And that recent funding? Eight out of ten cents went to a man named Herbert. Wanna guess his take?"
"Herbert?!" Tactician frowned. "You sure that's his name?"
"You recognize it?"
"Can't say I do." Gold King leaned in, eyes slitted. "Is he in Crystalpeak now?"
"Physically? No. Spiritually? Everywhere."
Tactician smiled. "Fyren, your words carry mystery. Care to elaborate?"
Gold King barked, "Explain."
Fyren leaned forward. "This man has deep roots in Crystalpeak City, vanishing without a trace. My conflict with Otto? It all stems from him. He's brilliant—I can't outwit him, not even Otto. Help me eliminate Herbert, and money is no object."
Tactician and Gold King exchanged a loaded glance.
Tactician's smile turned wolfish. "We lack the guts to kill Herbert, but robbing a tycoon? Now that's a different story."
This was a barefaced threat: Stop stalling. If you don't pay, we'll take by force.
Fyren laughed sharply. "Can't blame me. Blame your limitations."
Gold King bolted to his feet. "What did you say?!"
Tactician held him back, still smiling at Fyren. "Elaborate."
Fyren spread his hands. "I'm just a figurehead. Every morning, tens of thousands of employees depend on me. How much do I actually keep? Daily expenses are staggering. Check my accounts—there's $5 billion in cash. Take it now."
Tactician's eyes narrowed. "What about the $15 billion earlier, and Hakan's $30 billion..."
"Herbert stole the $15 billion. The $30 billion went to buy a Qingfeng Group subsidiary—straight into their accounts, not mine." Fyren wiped his mouth. "And the shantytown project? A money pit. For every dollar I invest, the other Three Families must match it. Crystalpeak is tapped out, and so am I."
"However!" He slammed the table. "Kill Herbert, and the $15 billion is yours immediately."
Tactician studied him. "Aren't you afraid your days are numbered?"
Fyren guffawed. "Not in the least. Contingencies are in place. When Herbert dies, his decades of stolen funds—hundreds of billions—will surface. Compared to that, $50 billion is a drop in the ocean."
"A drop?"
"A drop!"
Gold King snapped. "Enough about Herbert! Fyren, make a deal—we didn't come to leave empty-handed." He leaned in, gaze piercing. "Do you really think you're going to die?"
Fyren howled with laughter. "Brother, it's written in the stars! The fortune-teller told my mother I was born with a death wish. Can I change my fate now?"
Gold King waved dismissively. "No. It's in your blood."
Fyren snapped his fingers. "Chloe!"
Chloe approached, balancing a tray with a bank card. Fyren snatched it and tossed it in front of Tactician. "Five billion in this. Take it as a down payment. Once Herbert is dealt with, we'll all cash in."
Tactician glanced at Gold King, who eyed him in return. Fifty billion dollars sat on the table—should they take it?
Tactician smiled, resting a finger on the card and sliding it toward himself. "Fyren, don't renege on this."
Fyren hoisted a wine bottle with both hands. "To Tactician's wisdom! To Gold King's might!"
The others mirrored him, raising their bottles. "To Fyren's ambition!"
In the elevator, Gold King scowled. "We agreed on twenty billion. This is only five."
Tactician shot him a sideways glance. "Idiot! Did you see how calm he was? Fyren's no fool. Five billion? We can't just report that to HQ. But if we demand more now, he'll dig in his heels."
"Then kill him!"
Tactician groaned. "Kill, kill, kill—all you think about is bloodshed. Is his life worth fifteen billion? We need the funds first, then align with Young Lord's plan to topple the Zhangs. No money, no move."
"Just looking at his swagger makes my blood boil!"
Tactician glared. "Herbert? I've never heard of him in the criminal underworld. But remember—Young Lord was beaten by someone named Herbert a few days ago. Rumor has it he's Young Lord's former mentor."
"Seriously?"
"Think about it—could Silver King alone take down Young Lord?"
Gold King frowned. "So we're really doing Fyren's dirty work?"
Tactician smirked. "Doing his work? We kill Herbert, take his money, then come back for more from Fyren."
"Herbert's money isn't Fyren's?"
"You moron! Herbert has no money!"
"Then why bother?"
Tactician wanted to slap him. "We steal Herbert's funds, stash them, then tell Fyren he came up empty—so he keeps paying us. Double-dipping, get it?"
Gold King nodded, still confused. "But Fyren has no money."
Tactician looked at him like he'd grown a second head.