Chương 112: Chapter 105: The Warmth of Luxury and the Cold Ambition

The sheer, unprecedented opulence of the Schnee-sponsored luxury penthouse was entirely lost on the man who had just bypassed the magic of the Brother Gods. He was far too busy having a religious experience on the living room floor.

"It's coming from the floorboards..." Saitama comically lay flat on his back in the center of the expansive, high-rise suite. He was still fully dressed in his sharply tailored black dress suit and the heavy white trench coat, with Roman Torchwick's pristine bowler hat resting squarely on his head. But his arms and legs were splayed out like a starfish, and he was slowly, rhythmically rolling back and forth across the polished hardwood.

"It's everywhere," Saitama whispered, his voice trembling with profound, soul-shaking emotion. Comical, heavy tears of absolute joy streamed from the corners of his dotted eyes, dampening the collar of his expensive coat.

"The heat... it's so even. It radiates straight into your bones. I don't have to wear three sweaters just to watch TV anymore. This is heaven. I have finally reached heaven." While Saitama wept tears of profound thermal gratitude, Neopolitan was actively treating the multi-million-Lien penthouse like her own personal playground. She strolled elegantly out of the master bathroom, running her gloved fingers along the imported marble countertops.

She had already investigated the sprawling glass balcony, the crystal chandeliers, and the walk-in closets that were larger than Saitama's entire apartment in A-City. She spun her pink-and-white parasol, a highly satisfied, wicked smirk resting on her lips. For a thief accustomed to the grimy underworld of Vale and Mistral, this level of authorized luxury was a delightful change of pace. Ding-dong. A polite, melodic chime echoed from the heavy mahogany front doors. Saitama instantly stopped rolling.

His eyes widened into massive, detailed circles of sheer, unadulterated anticipation.

"The beef," Saitama gasped. He scrambled to his feet with blinding speed, completely ignoring the dust he was rubbing into his suit, and practically flew to the entryway. He yanked the heavy doors open. Standing in the hallway was a rigid, highly disciplined Atlesian military butler. The man wore a crisp, tailored uniform adorned with silver epaulets, his posture radiating absolute, unwavering professionalism. In front of the butler rested an ornate, multi-tiered silver cart.

Resting atop the cart, beneath a polished silver cloche, was a platter emitting a scent so savory, so overwhelmingly rich, that Saitama's mouth instantly flooded with saliva.

"Good evening, sir," the military butler greeted, his voice an even, practiced baritone as he wheeled the cart into the foyer.

"Compliments of the Schnee Dust Company and General James Ironwood. Your requested provisions. The highest grade, imported Solitas Wagyu beef, seared to perfection."

"Oh my god," Saitama breathed, his hands hovering over the silver cloche as if approaching a holy artifact.

"It actually exists." The butler stepped back, clasping his hands politely behind his back. He had been briefed by Special Operative Winter Schnee that the individual residing in this penthouse was a top-tier, highly classified military asset. A man of immense, terrifying potential. Saitama grabbed the edge of the bowler hat and casually tossed it onto a nearby coat rack. The butler's professional composure fractured for a fraction of a microsecond.

His eyes widened slightly as the imposing, mob-boss aesthetic was entirely shattered by the sudden, blindingly shiny appearance of a perfectly smooth, egg-like bald head. Saitama didn't notice the butler's brief existential confusion. He was already drooling.

"Thank you, sir," the butler recovered smoothly, bowing his head to hide his bewilderment.

"Will there be anything else required for the evening?"

"Nope! You're the best guy ever! Have a great night!" Saitama practically shouted, grabbing the handles of the silver cart and furiously wheeling it toward the living room before the butler could even finish his bow. The heavy mahogany doors clicked shut. Saitama shoved the cart right up to the massive, plush velvet sofa in the center of the living room. He threw off his white trench coat, tossing it carelessly over the back of the couch, and plopped down onto the cushions.

With trembling hands, he lifted the silver cloche. The steam billowed outward, revealing perfectly marbled, thick cuts of premium Wagyu beef, resting in a pool of rich, savory au jus alongside roasted wild vegetables. Saitama grabbed a silver fork, stabbed a massive piece of beef, and shoved it into his mouth. He froze. His pupils expanded, a brilliant, cosmic light seeming to shine down upon his bald head.

"It melts..." Saitama whimpered, fresh tears of comical joy spilling down his cheeks as he chewed.

"It literally melts in my mouth. I didn't even have to use my teeth. I'm eating the food of the gods." Neo hopped gracefully over the back of the sofa, landing silently on the plush cushions beside him. She leaned forward, eyeing the platter with mild interest, before reaching into her own pocket to produce a stolen, incredibly expensive box of Atlesian chocolate truffles she had swiped from the lobby downstairs. She popped a truffle into her mouth, chewing elegantly, before pulling out her Scroll.

She typed a quick message and shoved it toward Saitama's tear-streaked face. [Don't choke.]"I couldn't choke on this if I tried!" Saitama mumbled through a mouthful of meat, his cheeks bulging like a chipmunk's.

"It's softer than butter!" Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. For the next hour, the two anomalies enjoyed the absolute peak of Atlesian luxury. Saitama wiped his mouth with a napkin, letting out a massive, contented burp. He reached for the coffee table, grabbing a sleek, incredibly complex universal remote control that featured no fewer than fifty glowing, holographic buttons.

"Man, the technology in this kingdom is ridiculous," Saitama complained, squinting at the glowing glyphs.

"How do you turn on the news? I just want to see the weather forecast. Is it the blue triangle or the green circle?" He pressed the green circle. Instantly, the grand crystal chandelier above them dimmed, and a series of pulsating, neon disco lights erupted from the baseboards, bathing the living room in a chaotic, flashing rave sequence while heavy, synthesized electronic bass began to thump from hidden speakers.

"Gah! Turn it off! Turn it off!" Saitama yelled, furiously mashing his thumb against the remote. Neo threw her head back in a silent, breathy laugh, her shoulders shaking violently as she watched the strongest man in the universe get completely overwhelmed by a television remote. She casually crossed her legs, holding a crystal flute of sparkling apple cider, thoroughly enjoying the impromptu light show.

After successfully disabling the disco lights and accidentally turning on a documentary about Vacuan sand-worms, Saitama let out a massive, jaw-cracking yawn. He stretched his arms high above his head, his joints popping satisfyingly.

"Well, that was a solid dinner," Saitama mumbled, rubbing his tired eyes.

"I'm exhausted. Crossing an ocean by accident really takes it out of you." He stood up, looking down the hallway.

"Alright. There are two bedrooms. I saw the one at the end of the hall has the massive, king-sized bed with the ridiculous amount of pillows. As the guy who just secured us this free rent, I am officially claiming the big bed." Saitama took a step toward the hallway. Whoosh. A blur of pink and brown zipped past him. Saitama blinked. Standing in the open doorway of the master suite at the end of the hall was Neo. She had already claimed the massive king-sized bed, hopping onto the plush mattress with her boots off.

In her hand, she held the bottle of stolen sparkling cider, popping the cork with a cheerful, victorious pop. Saitama's jaw dropped.

"Hey! Wait a minute! I said I was taking the big bed! I'm the one who practically got us this suite! You're just tagging along!" Neo smirked. She stepped back into the doorway, leaning against the frame. She didn't even bother pulling out her Scroll. Instead, she locked eyes with him, dragged her right lower eyelid down with her index finger, and stuck her tongue out in a flawless, highly mocking Akanbe face. First come, first served.

She reached out, grabbing the ornate brass handles of the double doors, and slammed them shut right in his face. The heavy, metallic click of the lock turning echoed down the hallway. Saitama stood in the corridor, completely dumbfounded. His right eye twitched violently. He raised a red-gloved fist, entirely capable of shattering the entire building with a single tap, but he hesitated. He remembered Glynda Goodwitch's terrifying, chilling promise to delete his bank account if he caused any structural damage.

Saitama slowly lowered his fist. His shoulders slumped to his waist in an agonizing display of pure, unadulterated defeat.

"I am a pushover," Saitama groaned miserably to the empty hallway. He turned around and trudged sluggishly toward the secondary guest bedroom.

"Whatever. As long as it has heated blankets, I don't care."

Miles away from the warm, glowing safety of the luxury penthouse, the biting, sub-zero winds of Solitas howled like a pack of starving Beowolves. Standing on the precarious, icy ledge of a towering communication spire in the upper echelons of Atlas, was Cinder Fall. The freezing gale whipped her dark red dress violently around her legs, but the cold did not touch her.

A localized, suffocating aura of heat radiated from her very skin, melting the frost on the steel grating beneath her boots into hissing, evaporating steam. She looked out over the sprawling, illuminated majesty of the floating city. It was a kingdom that prided itself on logic, military supremacy, and impenetrable defenses. To Cinder, it looked like a gilded cage waiting to be shattered.

Her remaining amber eye shifted away from the commercial districts, locking with predatory intensity onto the massive, fortified structure of Atlas Academy resting at the center of the city. Beneath that fortress lay the Vault. The chamber that housed the Relic of Creation. A cruel, knowing smile stretched across Cinder's scarred face. She could almost feel the power radiating from it.

She had failed to secure the Relic in Haven, thwarted by the structural collapse and the chaotic interference of Ozpin's little vanguard. But Atlas would be different. Cinder slowly turned her gaze away from the Academy, her eye tracking across the military skyline until it landed on a heavily fortified, highly isolated structure nestled within the primary military compound. The Atlas Medical Facility. The smile on Cinder's face widened into something dark, obsessive, and terrifyingly ambitious.

The Fall Maiden's fire burned hotly in her chest, but the newly acquired, roaring tempest of the Spring Maiden's magic hummed greedily in her veins, demanding more. She raised her left arm, the monstrous, elongated Grimm appendage twitching and flexing with dark anticipation. The Winter Maiden is in there. Cinder thought, a rush of intoxicating adrenaline flooding her system. Hidden away by Ironwood. Weak. Vulnerable. Waiting to be claimed.

A soft, encrypted beep echoed from the small earpiece tucked beneath her dark hair.

"I hope you are maintaining a low profile, Cinder." Arthur Watts's crisp, cultured voice filtered through the comms, dripping with its usual aristocratic condescension.

"Atlas is currently a highly volatile powder keg, but we need it to detonate on our precise schedule, not whenever you feel the urge to burn something." Cinder's eye narrowed, the temperature on the spire rising sharply.

"I know exactly how to play the game, Arthur," Cinder purred, her dual-toned voice laced with lethal confidence.

"I am merely surveying the board. The Winter Maiden is practically mine."

"Patience," Watts chided smoothly from his subterranean server room deep within Mantle.

"Your lust for power is commendable, but premature action will ruin the foundation I have so meticulously laid. The heating grid in the lower city is failing beautifully. The civil unrest is distracting the entirety of Ironwood's military apparatus." Watts chuckled, the sound dry and echoing over the transmission.

"Let Jacques Schnee and the Council elections run their natural, chaotic course. The political division is paralyzing the General. While his lapdogs are busy chasing shadows and trying to pacify the rioting peasants in Mantle, the upper echelon's defenses will naturally thin. That is when we strike." Cinder flexed the sharp, bone-white claws of her Grimm arm, staring unblinkingly at the medical facility in the distance.

"You handle the politics, Arthur. I will handle the power," Cinder commanded coldly.

"Ozpin and his little Vanguard are undoubtedly here in Atlas. They managed to secure the Relic of Knowledge from Haven. I will not allow them to slip through my fingers again."

"Just ensure your vendettas do not blind you," Watts warned sharply.

"And keep an eye out for any... anomalies. We still do not know the origin of the mechanical titan that appeared in Mistral, nor the nature of the silver entity that destroyed the Leviathan. The board is full of hidden pieces." Cinder scoffed, a dark, dismissive laugh escaping her lips.

"Let them hide behind their machines and their illusions," Cinder sneered.

"When I breach that facility, no amount of Atlesian technology will save them." With a sharp tap of her finger, Cinder severed the communication link, cutting Watts off entirely. She stood alone on the freezing spire, the wind howling around her. She raised both of her hands into the air. In her right palm, a brilliant, superheated orb of Fall fire ignited. In her left, a swirling, violent gale of freezing Spring wind coalesced around her Grimm claws.

The magic battled and synchronized within her soul, a terrifying testament to her stolen might.

"Fall. Spring. And soon... Winter." Cinder whispered to the empty, starry sky. Her amber eye burned with absolute, unquenchable megalomania as she stared down at the distant medical facility.

"The power of a Triple Maiden," Cinder smiled, the sheer ecstasy of the thought sending a shiver of pure evil down her spine.

"When I am finished with this kingdom... no one will ever be able to look down on me again."