Chapter 1508: Chapter 1508

The bedroom was quiet, bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. Dust motes drifted lazily in the air, shimmering in the sunlight that spilled through the tall windows. Behind her desk, Lory sat with one leg crossed under the other, her eyes fixed on the laptop screen.

The surveillance feed from the gallery played in sharp, full-color clarity, each marble tile, each passing shadow rendered in lifelike detail. But the halls remained empty, the air in them still.

"She didn’t come today?" Lory murmured, her brows faintly furrowing. The latest_epɪ_sodes are on_the 𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵·𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖·𝙣𝙚𝙩

The glass door opened with a soft click. Zhao Li Xin stepped in, his presence as composed as ever, carrying a mug of lemon tea that trailed a light citrus scent through the air. He set it gently beside her laptop.

"Maybe she’s realized it’s useless," he said, his tone casual but edged with quiet mocking tone.

Lory hummed in thought, unlocking her phone. Her fingers tapped out a quick message. Moments later, the screen lit up with a reply. Her lips pursed slightly as she read it.

"Huh... She doesn’t look like she’s looking for you," she muttered, eyes narrowing. "The agent we sent said she spent the day shopping, luxury malls, high-end boutiques."

For a moment, the only sound was the low hum of the laptop fan. Lory leaned back in her chair, fingers absently brushing her lower lip. "It can’t be that she’s given up, right?"

The sunlight caught the side of Zhao Li Xin’s face as he turned to her, painting his features in warm gold. A faint, knowing smile tugged at his lips.

"If her goal was romance," he said softly, "then yes, she might’ve given up by now. But if it’s something else..." His gaze lingered on the glowing laptop screen. "Then she’s just biding her time."

Lory tilted her head, resting her chin on her palm, studying him through half-lidded eyes. "And what kind of plan do you think she’s concoted?"

Zhao Li Xin’s smile deepened, though it carried no warmth—only calm certainty. He shrugged slightly, his voice smooth and unhurried. "Well we have to wait and see, then" he didn’t look wory but in anticipation.

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__At Luxemborough capital city, Zenon__

The bar was dimly lit, its air thick with the mingled scent of ale, sweat, and roasted meat. From his seat in the far corner, Clift watched Samuel and Igor hunched over their table, their faces half-shadowed beneath the flickering amber glow of a dying lantern.

Samuel spoke in that calm, deliberate tone of his, the kind that drew people in without them realizing. He talked of beastfighting: instincts, weaknesses, the rhythm of survival in combat.

Igor listened, eyes bright, nodding eagerly between gulps of his drink. Every so often he leaned forward, his calloused hands gesturing wildly as he blurted out his own theories. With each laugh and refill, his restraint slipped further, his voice louder, his smile looser.

Clift watched quietly, the corner of his mouth twitching. He had to admire the ease with which Samuel worked, the slow, effortless way he dismantled a man’s defenses with little more than patience and a friendly smile.

After several meetings and a handful of uncanny demonstrations, Igor’s skepticism had evaporated completely. Now, his guard was gone, dissolved in liquor and laughter, leaving only trust behind.

"It’s already late," Samuel murmured, checking the time on his watch. "We should head home."

"Come on!" Igor barked with a grin, leaning back in his chair. "It’s only twelve! What are you, a princess or somethin’?" His words slurred together, his flushed face glistening with sweat.

Samuel sighed and sank back into his seat, motioning for the bartender to refill his glass. When the glass slid across the counter, Igor grinned triumphantly. "That’s my friend!" he roared, slapping Samuel’s back hard enough to make him jolt.

Samuel laughed softly, taking a slow sip. His gaze drifted over the bar, then returned to Igor, who was already pouring himself another round. "You’ve been out late a lot lately," Samuel said casually. "No one comes looking for you?"

"Hick—ah," Igor muttered with a careless wave of his hand. "They don’t even know I’m gone." He took a long swig, the liquor sloshing over the rim before he slammed the cup down with a dull thud. "As long as I get the job done, they don’t care. Still, they keep tabs on me, watch where I go after work, follow me around like hounds." He chuckled, shaking his head.

"Lucky for me, I’ve already mapped their patterns," Igor said, his tone carrying that blend of smugness and weariness only long practice could forge. "There are days when the security’s a bit lax, so it’s a perfect time for sneak out."

He gave a short, raspy laugh, the sound caught somewhere between defiance and frustration. "Honestly..." He snorted, a crooked grin splitting his face as he leaned back in his chair. "Feels like I’m a seventeen-year-old girl sneakin’ out to see her boyfriend."

Samuel chuckled, eyes glinting with amusement. "Then you must be one ugly girlfriend."

For a second, Igor blinked, then he threw his head back and burst out laughing, the sound echoing off the bar’s wooden walls. When the laughter finally ebbed, Samuel tilted his glass, watching the amber liquid swirl. "All jokes aside," he said quietly, "if the place is that bad... why don’t you just quit?"

Igor’s grin faltered; he clicked his tongue and let out a bitter laugh. "If only it were that easy..." He downed another gulp before sighing heavily. "They’ve got me on a leash. They know I can’t leave, and that’s why they don’t bother keeping a close eye. They’re confident I’ll always crawl back." His lips twisted into a humorless grin. "And they’re right."

Samuel’s expression softened, concern flickering behind his calm eyes. "They don’t sound like good people."

The laughter burst out of Igor’s chest, sharp and bitter. "Ha! Good?" he scoffed, leaning forward until his breath carried the heavy scent of liquor. "They’re worse than I ever was." His lips curled into a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "Everyone thinks I’m some kind of monster, cruel, savage, whatever name they want to throw at me. But compared to them..." He let out a low, humorless chuckle. "Hell, I might even be a saint."

The words hung between them, raw and unfiltered. Then, as if realizing what he’d just said, Igor slammed his palm against the table and burst out a mocking laugh, "A saint! Now that’s ironic," he barked, shaking his head.

Sit beside him, Samuel’s hands on the glass tightened. His expression darkened, eyes narrowing slightly. When he spoke, his tone was calm but edged with quiet intent. "What are they doing, Igor? Human trafficking... or something worse?"

For a moment, Igor just stared at him, his eyes glassy, mind sluggish from drink. Then he blinked slowly, the alcohol peeling back layers of restraint. "...That’s— among other things."

Samuel’s pulse quickened. He said nothing, waiting. The silence stretched so long he thought Igor had shut down again. But then, with a faint tremor in his voice, Igor spoke.

"The thing they created... It’s not something I ever dreamed of." His gaze dropped to his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the dim light like molten gold. His jaw clenched. "You know what their plan is? When it’s over... we’re all screwed. And not in the good way."

Samuel gave a short, dismissive laugh, masking the surge of tension in his chest. "You make it sound apocalyptic."

"It is!" Igor’s voice spiked, sharp and desperate. Someone from behind hissed for him to quiet down. He flinched, shoulders jerking, and his eyes darted around the dim bar, wild, unfocused, full of paranoia. Then he leaned closer, his breath thick with liquor, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper.

"It’s true. That invention will change everything; it will stir the world’s balance, the hierarchy... even kingdoms like Harland won’t stand a chance. And those Gifted people?" His lips curled into a grimace. "Let me tell you, this is a bad time to be one of them."

Samuel leaned in, his voice low but steady. "What do you mean?"

Even in his drunken haze, the fear in Igor’s eyes was unmistakable. He swallowed hard, then whispered, "They rebuilt an ancient structure, mixed it with the most advanced technology you can imagine. They want to bring us back to the time when the war between the Gifted and the Creator first began. But this time..." His eyes darkened. "...it’s going to be far worse, cause no group will win. Whoever wins, we will lose"

Samuel froze, caught off guard. "What—what’s that supposed to mean?" he asked, glancing briefly toward Clift, who was silently listening through the earpiece.

Igor lifted a hand, about to speak. "That—"

A heavy thud cut him off as his face crashed onto the table. A second later came the deep, guttural rumble of a snore.

"Hey! Wake up!" Samuel grabbed his shoulder, shaking him hard. "Igor, wake up!" His voice rose, sharp with frustration. But it was no use, the man was completely out.

"Sh*t!" Samuel cursed under his breath.

Across the room, Clift pushed back his chair, the soft scrape of wood almost lost beneath the lazy murmur of jazz spilling from the old speakers.

Clift’s expression was grim as his eyes darted between Samuel and the man slumped over the counter. Igor’s head rested on his folded arms, his empty glass catching the warm light like a mirror of his exhaustion.

Samuel clicked his tongue, breaking the soft rhythm of the melody in the air. "What do we do with him?"

Clift gave a quiet exhale. "What can we do?" His voice was low, rough with frustration. "We need to wake him before someone from his place realizes he’s missing."

He reached into his jacket, pulled out a small glass vial, and popped it open with a flick of his thumb. A sharp, minty scent spread as he waved it beneath Igor’s nose.

The reaction was instant. Igor jolted upright, blinking in confusion as his surroundings swam back into focus. "Oh—did I just black out?"

Samuel leaned back on his stool, amusement flickering across his face. "Yeah. You passed out mid-story."

Igor squinted. "What story?"

Samuel chuckled softly, the sound blending with the gentle tap of a snare drum in the background. "Just another story of how you went broke after losing a bet."

"Oh, that one." Igor laughed, voice warm and unguarded. "Could’ve been any of them. I’ve lost a lot..." Igor pondered for a moment, then reached for his wallet, but Samuel stopped him with a raised hand.

"Forget it. Tonight’s on me." Samuel slid a few bills across the counter.

Igor grinned happily, "Thanks, Connor." He glanced at his watch and gasped.

"Oh, it’s already this late? I need to get back!" He sprang to his feet, wobbling slightly before regaining balance, then gave Samuel a quick nod. "See you again, Connor. Wait for my call, okay?"

"I’ll be waiting," Samuel replied, watching him weave his way toward the door.