Chapter 99: Doomed by One’s Own Actions
A wave of pain washed over him, leaving him in agony. His head buzzed, and he wished he could just jump into a pool of ice water to clear it.
"I’m not saving him," Lily Hart said decisively. "He dug his own grave."
Frost Shaw landed a kick on him, then moved to the right of the window. "Get lost!" he said stonily.
He tilted his head slightly and asked Lily Hart, "The RV has security cameras, right? Send the footage of him attacking you to Logan Holland. He’ll know what to do."
"Okay," Lily Hart replied, looking down to do as he said.
Hunter Lowell continued to writhe on the ground as the viscous, dark green substance slowly crept over his entire body, bringing an itch so intense it felt like it was boring into his very bones.
He wanted nothing more than to tear off his own skin and replace it. The wretched screams that escaped his lips were bloodcurdling.
Frost Shaw saw Lily Hart frown. Annoyed, he strode forward, grabbed the man’s chin, and dislocated his jaw, silencing him.
All he could do was make muffled sounds as drool streamed from his mouth. His eyes were vacant, his mind already gone, as he continued to squirm on the ground.
Lost in his desperate thoughts of escaping the pain, he didn’t notice the viscous, dark green substance crawling into his ears and plugging them completely.
Logan Holland happened to be awake, on the phone with his wife and child. When he received the message, he immediately threw on some clothes and rushed over.
A bleary-eyed bodyguard followed behind him, obviously having just been woken up. The two of them ran over in a hurry.
Logan Holland took in the scene before him, his gaze landing on Hunter Lowell writhing on the ground. His expression instantly darkened. "Seize him!"
The bodyguard immediately stepped forward and knocked Hunter Lowell unconscious with a kick. He then produced a long, transparent bag from his storage space and stuffed the man inside, from head to toe.
He managed to do it without getting a drop of the viscous green substance on his hands, a clear sign of how practiced he was at this sort of thing.
"Put a few more bags on him," Logan Holland added, looking disgusted. He didn’t want the man to dirty the trunk of his car.
"Yes, sir," the bodyguard replied. He pulled out two more bags and layered them over the first.
Only then did Logan Holland relax. He turned to Lily Hart with an apologetic expression. "My apologies, Boss Hart. I had a stern talk with him earlier today. I never imagined he’d do something so rash..."
Lily Hart waved her hand. "It’s fine. I don’t blame you."
He breathed a sigh of relief and promised, "I will be sure to handle this and give you a satisfactory outcome, Boss Hart."
Lily Hart nodded.
And so, the curtain fell on this farce.
「Early the next morning」
Logan Holland took a helicopter back to Central Command.
His sedan, perfectly intact, was parked inside the helicopter and transported back with him.
When he landed at the Central Command helipad, someone was there to greet him: the second-in-command of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. The two shook hands with a show of camaraderie.
The second-in-command, Ben Shelby, probed casually, "So, how was the trip? I read in your report that the lottery shop is pretty impressive."
Logan Holland nodded. "It is very impressive." ’I’m the Minister of Foreign Affairs,’ he thought. ’Why should I have to report to a second-in-command?’
He walked past Ben Shelby and muttered to the bodyguard at his side, "Keep a close eye on Hunter Lowell."
He then led his other two bodyguards toward the main conference room, where a group of people already sat waiting for him in stiff-backed silence.
Logan Holland pushed open the heavy doors of the conference room. The space inside was large, with a bright, floor-to-ceiling window directly opposite the door.
From there, one could see a panoramic view of Central Command. In the middle of the room sat a massive conference table.
It was flanked by people on both sides, and the moment he entered, all eyes turned to him.
Their gazes held scrutiny, anticipation, admiration... and even jealousy and hatred.
Logan Holland strode to the head of the conference room. He was presiding over today’s meeting. He connected his Light Brain to the large screen.
He opened the report on the lottery shop he had prepared, but feeling it lacked a certain punch, he took the fruit basket out of his storage space.
He had only eaten one apple. On the way back, he had taken out a little of each type of fruit and set it aside for his wife and child.
The moment the fruit basket appeared, the breathing in the room collectively hitched. Several people even shot to their feet, their gazes burning with intensity as they stared at it.
In that instant, the fruit basket became the center of attention.
Logan Holland’s Space Ring was a costly, custom-made item with a powerful preservation function, so the fruit was still just as plump and fresh as when it was picked.
Everyone present in this conference room was a major figure in Central Command—either the head of a department or one of the venerable, highly respected elders.
An old man in the first seat on the right, being the closest, took a deep breath. "That’s the smell of fruit," he said, a nostalgic tone in his voice.
Logan Holland gestured to the meeting’s scribe and a secretary. "Distribute the fruit," he instructed.
The two stepped forward and lifted the basket, their hearts pounding with excitement. Handling it as if it were made of glass, they took it to a small adjacent room to separate and count the pieces for fair distribution.
One had to be careful; these sharks in Central Command were obsessed with so-called fairness, and the slightest perceived imbalance could cause an uproar.
They were quick. In less than ten minutes, they emerged, each carrying two enormous platters upon which the fruits were sorted by type and artfully arranged.
The pair placed the four platters on the conference table and began by distributing the items that could be divided evenly, such as the Holy Daughter Fruits and the grapes.
The basket Logan Holland had received was a deluxe one—large in quantity and variety—but still not enough for everyone present.
The remainder was given to the most senior elders at the head of the table, who accepted it without the slightest hesitation.
Logan Holland waved a hand. "Please, everyone, try the fruit. See if it tastes just like it did back in the age of civilization."
’I’ve already tried it,’ he thought. ’It’s many times better than fruit from the age of civilization. It’s juicier, sweeter, larger, and plumper. Every piece is perfect, not like the old days where you might get unlucky and buy a dry one.’
Everyone was already dying to try them. They popped the Holy Daughter Fruits and grapes into their mouths. With a single bite, juice burst forth, filling their palates with a sweet and tangy flavor.
Delicious. It was so delicious! They ate one after another, unable to stop. But each person had only been allotted three pieces. Once they were gone, all they could do was watch the others eat with longing eyes.
They couldn’t bring themselves to eat the rest of their allotted fruit, swallowing hard to suppress their urges.
Logan Holland stood at the head of the table, observing their reactions. He waited until they had all finished, their faces showing a clear desire for more, before he finally spoke. "Well?"
One of the elders spoke first. "Excellent. It’s the real, authentic flavor. Far more delicious and refreshing than that stuff the research institute churns out."
It was a direct diss, and he was probably the only one who could get away with it.
The director of the research institute, sitting a few seats back, hung his head in shame at these words. He clutched a grape seed in his hand, planning to go back and try to plant it.
Another elder stepped in to mediate. "Alright, let’s focus on the lottery shop. Minister Holland, how did your discussion with the owner go? Is she willing to surrender her superpower?"
Logan Holland scoffed internally. ’Surrender her superpower? I didn’t even dare to mention it.’
’All I dared to do was suggest she open a business in Central Command, and failing that, to ask to purchase supplies from her. As for talk of surrendering superpowers... Ugh. I wouldn’t dare say such a thing. I’d be afraid of Frost Shaw and Roman Rowe tossing me out on my ear.’
What they called "surrendering a superpower" was a process of forcibly extracting it from one’s body to be transplanted into a loyal subordinate. For the donor, it was a near-certain death sentence.
Logan Holland shook his head, his expression troubled. He sidestepped the question and said slowly, "I proposed that we purchase supplies from her. She agreed."