Chapter 47: THE SHADOW IN THE OVAL OFFICE
The 49th floor corridor smelled of burnt copper, fried circuit boards, and pulverized marble.
Before Renan stood the massive, three-foot-thick Class-S blast doors shielding the Presidential suite. Reinforced with enchanted adamantite plating and runes designed to withstand an orbital strike, the door hummed with an iridescent blue barrier.
"Master," Shadow Commander Jonathan stepped forward, his spectral frame radiating dark violet energy. "Allow me to crush this barrier."
"No need," Renan replied quietly, adjusting his black leather gloves. "We do not waste time on dead stone."
Renan extended his right palm, pressing his fingertips directly against the glowing anti-mana runes inscribed on the door. The moment his skin made contact with the magical barrier, the air violently inverted.
[Skill Activated: ’Ominous Sovereign Consumption’ (Tier-3)]
Target Structure: Class-S Arcane Aegis Barrier
Absorption Rate: 100% (Instant Nullification)
SWIRL!
The blinding blue runes flared once in a desperate surge of energy before being violently sucked into Renan’s open palm. The dense magical barrier protecting the blast door dissolved into harmless, black wisps of smoke in less than three seconds.
[Mana Absorbed: +5,000 Points]
[Current Reserve Mana: 24,000 / 24,000 (Maximum)]
With the magical seal drained to zero, Renan curled his fingers into a loose fist and delivered a casual, light thrust toward the center of the three-foot-thick metal slab.
BOOM!
The heavy adamantite door didn’t just cave—it was torn completely off its internal hydraulic hinges, flying fifty feet into the luxurious oval boardroom on the 50th floor, shattering a twenty-foot mahogany conference table into splinters before embedding itself deep into the far wall.
Dust and floating embers poured into the dimly lit presidential sanctum.
Inside, sitting behind a massive bulletproof obsidian desk at the far end of the room, was President James.
The most powerful political figure in the nation—the man who commanded armies, regulated the global Hunter economy, and secretly sanctioned the human trafficking black markets of Sector 2—sat with his silk tie loosened, his silver hair disheveled, and his face pale as chalk.
On the wall monitors behind him, hundreds of live camera feeds showed the horrifying reality outside: the Capital Iron Wall reduced to rubble, the Three Pillars converted into specters, and three thousand five hundred Shadow Knights securing the perimeter below.
Standing in front of James’s desk were four individuals clad in gold-and-black ceremonial armor—the Executive Guard Captains, the highest-ranking S-Rank bodyguards assigned exclusively to protect the head of state.
"Stay back, monster!" Captain Drake, the lead bodyguard, shouted, his voice cracking despite his S-Rank status. He drew a glowing, crimson-bladed longsword that burned with divine holy flames. "We are the Sovereign Guards of the Republic! You will not lay a hand on the President!"
Renan walked through the ruined doorway, his footsteps sounding with deliberate, terrifying rhythm on the plush crimson carpet. Behind him, the shadowy figures of Jonathan, Beatrice, Ronald, and Ignis materialized from the darkness, their glowing eyes locking onto the four bodyguards.
"Sovereign Guards?" Renan echoed, his layered, double-toned voice reverberating through the spacious office. "Where were your swords when Guild Apex rounded up thousands of unregistered scavengers and worked them to death in unranked dungeons? Where was your holy flame when the Association profited off the blood of the slums?"
"We follow the law of the State!" Drake yelled, stepping forward as his crimson aura flared. "Order requires sacrifice! A few thousand scavengers mean nothing compared to the economic stability of thirty million citizens!"
Renan stopped ten paces from the desk. His glowing golden eyes narrowed into thin, predatory slits.
"Then consider your state bankrupt," Renan said softly. "Sylas. End them."
Before Captain Drake could complete his sword chant, Shadow Commander Sylas merged directly into the shadow cast by Drake’s own armor.
SLASH!
A pair of void-infused daggers emerged from the floor behind Drake, severing his hamstrings in a fraction of a millisecond. Drake collapsed to his knees with a choked scream, his holy sword clattering harmlessly against the floorboards.
Simultaneously, Shadow Commander Beatrice moved like a gale of dark wind, passing between the remaining three bodyguards. A three-fold burst of compressed wind blades erupted instantly, slicing through their enchanted pauldrons and pinning all three S-Rank guards to the wall pillars with black wind spears.
The entire fight was over in four seconds.
President James trembled, his hands clutching the arms of his leather executive chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. As the bodies of his elite bodyguards bled out onto the rug, James reached slowly toward a hidden red button under his desk—the trigger for the Ancient Relic Vault buried fifty meters beneath the tower.
"I wouldn’t touch that, James," Renan spoke, appearing instantly in front of the desk without making a sound.
Renan reached across the mahogany wood, his pale hand clamping around James’s wrist with the crushing force of a hydraulic press. James gasped in agony as his bones groaned under the pressure.
"Renan... wait..." James pleaded, sweat pouring down his face as he stared into the glowing gold eyes of the Monarch. "Listen to me! You want power? You want wealth? I can grant you the title of Supreme Commander! I can give you control over every S-Rank Rift in the country! The Association has offshore accounts in Switzerland... billions in mana crystals... it’s all yours! Just name your price!"
Renan leaned down, his dark face inches from the President’s terrified eyes.
"You built an empire on the corpses of the weak, James," Renan whispered, his breath carrying the cold, dry scent of the abyss. "You thought gold and laws made you untouchable. But in the end, when the system falls away... you are just meat waiting for the harvest."
Renan raised his left hand over James’s head. Black miasma began to ooze from his fingertips, swirling like a dark crown above the President’s brow.
[Absolute Extraction System: Target Locked]
Target: President James (Head of National Hunter Association)
Status: Fully Immobilized / Critical Terror State
Initiating Primary Soul Extraction Protocol...