Chương 129: Chapter 122: The Facade of the Elite

The howling, sub-zero wind of Solitas battered against the frosted windows of an abandoned Atlesian industrial warehouse. Inside the cavernous, unlit structure, the freezing air was thick with dark, festering tension. Emerald Sustrai and Mercury Black sat on a stack of rusted shipping crates. The pale, cyan glow of Emerald's Scroll illuminating their faces. They were watching the news broadcast from the Mantle Daily on a continuous, mesmerizing loop.

On the screen, a man in a black suit, pristine white trench coat, and a bowler hat was casually holding the severed, bloody stinger of Tyrian Callows. A few yards away, pacing like a caged, superheated tiger, was Cinder Fall. The dual magic of the Fall and Spring Maidens radiated from her in unstable, angry waves, melting the frost on the concrete beneath her boots into hissing steam.

"This is completely unacceptable," Cinder hissed, her single amber eye burning with megalomaniacal fury as she glared at the large holographic projection hovering in the center of the room. Projected from Hazel Rainart's heavy-duty Scroll was the impeccably dressed, larger-than-life visage of Arthur Watts.

"A master assassin, a member of our Goddess' inner circle, was easily get crippled and handed over to Ironwood's lackeys!" Cinder shouted at the hologram.

"You said you had complete control of the board, Arthur! You said the rally would be a massacre!" Watts stood in the holographic projection, his hands clasped casually behind his back. Outwardly, his mustache was perfectly groomed, and his expression was a mask of cold, aristocratic boredom. Inwardly, however, his calculating mind was frantically attempting to process the absolute, physics-defying absurdity he had witnessed through his drone feed.

"The board was under my control. My digital blockade was flawless. The blackout was executed with microsecond precision." Watts replied smoothly, his refined Atlesian accent dripping with condescension.

"However... I must admit, this particular variable was entirely beyond my calculations." Watts narrowed his eyes, a flicker of genuine, uncharacteristic unease crossing his face.

"I never anticipated that a Huntsman would not only possess the visual acuity to track Tyrian in pitch darkness, but also harbor the sheer, localized kinetic output required to physically tear a Faunus appendage from its spinal root with his bare hands. At least, not a Huntsman stationed here in Atlas." Cinder scoffed, turning her back on the hologram. In truth, she didn't care about Tyrian's fate in the slightest. She had always found the psychotic scorpion Faunus to be deeply repulsive and incredibly annoying.

But professionally, losing a piece of their vanguard to the Atlesian military was a catastrophic vulnerability.

"Tyrian is a madman," Hazel's deep, resonant voice echoed through the cold warehouse. The towering man stood near a frosted pillar, his arms crossed over his massive chest.

"Ironwood will interrogate him. They will use every method at their disposal to break him. We must assume he will eventually spill our plans and the location of this hideout."

"He will do no such thing," Watts assured him confidently, waving a dismissive hand.

"I have worked alongside that lunatic for years, Hazel. You know as well as I do how utterly, blindly fanatic he is to Salem. He may proudly declare himself the Queen's underling, but betraying the grand design? Revealing the identities and whereabouts of Salem's chosen agents? That goes directly against the Goddess's will. Ironwood could peel the skin from his bones, and Tyrian would only laugh."

While the senior members of the inner circle debated the geopolitical fallout, Mercury leaned closer to Emerald's Scroll. He squinted at the paused, high-definition image of the "Savior of Mantle."

"Wait a second..." Mercury muttered, his gray eyes widening in sudden realization.

"Em. Look at the coat. The hat." Emerald paused the video, her dark eyes scanning the pixelated face of the man beneath the bowler hat brim. A cold shiver ran down her spine as the memory from the Diamond District suddenly clicked into place.

"It's him," Emerald gasped, her head snapping up toward the others.

"Hazel! Cinder!" Hazel turned his heavy gaze toward the two young assassins.

"Did you find something?" Emerald quickly expanded the holographic image from her Scroll, projecting the frozen frame of "Darwin" holding Tyrian's tail into the center of the room.

"We know him," Emerald stated, her voice tight with disbelief.

"Mercury and I bumped into this exact man just days ago while we were patrolling the commercial district." Cinder halted her pacing. The ambient heat in the room spiked dangerously.

"You encountered a Huntsman capable of dismembering Tyrian, and you didn't think to report it to me?!"

"We didn't know he was a Huntsman!" Mercury defended himself instantly, holding his hands up.

"He didn't have a weapon! He wasn't projecting any Aura! The guy bumped into Emerald and dropped a bag of groceries on the snow! He looked like a complete civilian! How were we supposed to know the guy buying milk was a lethal threat?!" On the main holographic screen, Watts rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes locking onto the image of the anomaly.

"I have already run extensive background checks across every Atlesian military and civilian database," Watts explained, bringing up a secondary file next to his face. It displayed a highly classified, clearly fabricated Atlesian ID card.

"His official registration identifies him as 'Darwin', a veteran professional Huntsman. Yet, I was born and raised in this Kingdom. I designed the security networks. And I have never, in all my years, seen or heard of this man." Watts's eyes narrowed into sharp, analytical slits.

"He could be a Huntsman from another Kingdom operating under a newly minted Atlesian alias. He could be one of Ironwood's deep-cover operatives. Or... he could be one of Ozpin's hidden pieces. He could be anyone."

"And he did that with his bare hands," Hazel noted grimly, his massive fists clenching.

"No weapons. No Dust injections." Cinder stared at the image of the bowler-hat-wearing man. While Watts and Hazel were baffled by the raw, physical display of power, Cinder was not entirely surprised. Her mind violently flashed back to the chaotic, fiery Battle of Haven.

She remembered the sheer, humiliating shock when the blonde boy, Jaune Arc, had casually caught her superheated arrow with his bare hand to protect Pyrrha Nikos, before delivering a devastating, hyper-dense punch to her stomach that had shattered a much portion of her Aura. She had to use her Fall Maiden power to take him down, temporarily. And thinking of Jaune Arc's terrifying physical strength immediately brought a much darker, much more traumatic memory bubbling to the surface.

She remembered the Battle of Beacon. The Wyvern turning to ash. She remembered the bald man in the yellow suit appear from nowhere. A man who had shattered her protective glass, bypassed her Fall Maiden powers, and delivered a punch so incomprehensibly powerful it had nearly severed her soul from her body, sending her far away in Mach 5. Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. I have felt that kind of raw, impossible strength before.

Cinder thought, her amber eye burning with a mixture of hatred and lingering trauma.

"I will find him," Cinder declared, her voice dropping into a dark, lethal register. She summoned a swirling orb of Fall fire into her palm.

"I don't care if he is Ironwood's lapdog or Ozpin's pawn. I will hunt this 'Darwin' down, and I will burn him to ashes."

"No, Cinder!" Watts barked from the screen, his cultured voice snapping like a whip. Cinder glared at the hologram, her flames licking higher.

"Excuse me?"

"Do not be reckless!" Watts warned, his expression hardening into absolute authority.

"This 'Darwin' is currently the absolute center of public attention. He is paraded across every network as the Savior of Mantle. He is being swarmed by the media at every hour of the day. He is heavily guarded and highly visible." Watts leaned closer to his camera, his eyes piercing.

"If you attack him now, you will instantly compromise our entire operation. You are the vanguard of Salem's inner circle. We need you to secure the Winter Maiden. If you engage in a highly public, destructive vendetta in the middle of Atlas, Ironwood will lock the Kingdom down completely. You will fail the Goddess." Cinder's jaw clenched so tightly her teeth ground together. The Spring and Fall magic warred violently beneath her skin, desperate to be unleashed.

Tyrian was captured, the Relic of Knowledge had eluded them for days, and now Watts was commanding her to stand down. Her patience was entirely exhausted.

"Do not test me, Arthur," Cinder hissed.

"I am reasoning with you. Salem will not be pleased if her most powerful piece is compromised in a blind strike," Watts countered smoothly, dropping his aggressive tone for a manipulative, calming logic.

"We cannot afford to lose you, Cinder. I just need one more move. Just a little more time, and I will tear Atlas apart from the inside. Then, you can burn whoever you wish." Cinder stared at the hologram for several agonizing seconds. Slowly, the raging fire in her palm extinguished. She let out a sharp, furious exhale, turning her back on the screen to stare out the frosted window.

Emerald let out a quiet, trembling breath of relief, silently mouthing the words'Thank you' toward the hologram of the disgraced scientist.

"So, what do we do now?" Hazel asked smoothly, breaking the tension.

"The plan proceeds as originally designed," Watts commanded, straightening his vest.

"Despite the loss of Tyrian, my digital manipulation of the Council election was an absolute success. Jacques Schnee is in power, and Mantle's heating grid remains firmly under my control. Ironwood's military is fracturing. Cinder, Hazel, you must continue the search for the Lamp. I will devise a contingency regarding Tyrian." Watts shifted his gaze toward the two younger assassins.

"Emerald. Mercury. I want you to locate this bowler hat Huntsman again. Remember, do NOT engage him. Do not alert him to your presence. Just keep an eye on him for now. We need to know exactly what we are dealing with."

"Understood," Mercury grunted, pocketing his hands. With a final nod, Watts severed the connection. The holographic screen blinked out of existence, plunging the warehouse back into freezing gloom. Hazel Rainart remained standing near his pillar. He pulled up his own Scroll, opening the paused image of "Darwin" standing over Tyrian. The massive man stared at the pixelated face of the anomaly. He stared at the flat, dotted eyes, and the smooth, unremarkable jawline beneath the shadow of the bowler hat.

Hazel frowned, a deep, unsettling feeling of deja vu echoing in the back of his mind. He remembered the dark, dingy underground markets of Mistral Below. He remembered a man wearing an incredibly cheap, synthetic brown wig, who had lazily complained about a fruit vendor refusing to accept a crude, hand-drawn coupon for bananas. This man's face... Hazel thought quietly, his grip tightening on his Scroll. It is somehow... familiar.

Miles away from the freezing, abandoned warehouse, the environment was the absolute pinnacle of Atlesian luxury. Arthur Watts was seated comfortably in the opulent, expansive private office of Jacques Schnee, deep within the heavily fortified walls of Schnee Manor. The room smelled of aged leather, expensive bourbon, and burning oak from the grand fireplace. Watts sat alone at the CEO's massive mahogany desk, his fingers dancing elegantly across the keys of a highly advanced terminal.

He was deep-diving into the city's security archives, still frantically researching the mysterious "Darwin."

"This man..." Despite the overwhelming success of his election rigging, a dark, venomous anger boiled in the pit of Watts's stomach.

"My grand masterpiece... Everything is ruined by him..." He had meticulously orchestrated the blackout to frame Penny Polendina for the massacre. It was supposed to be his ultimate revenge against General Ironwood. Decades ago, Ironwood had arrogantly chosen to fund Pietro Polendina's "Penny Project", the creation of an artificial soul, over Watts's own brilliant, superior scientific proposals. The rejection had driven Watts from the light and into Salem's waiting arms.

Last night was supposed to be the moment he proved to the General that Pietro's synthetic puppet was a violent, defective failure. And that flawless revenge had been entirely ruined by a random, hungry Huntsman holding a plate of beef. Click. The heavy office door swung open. Jacques Schnee strode into the room. The newly elected Councilman looked exceptionally pleased with himself. His white mustache was perfectly groomed, his tailcoat immaculate, and he carried two crystal glasses of premium Mistralian whiskey.

"Arthur," Jacques greeted warmly, setting one of the glasses down on the desk near Watts's terminal.

"A masterful performance at the polls yesterday. Truly. I must thank you again for your... invisible hand." Watts ceased his typing. He picked up the glass of whiskey, a cool, calculating smirk stretching across his face.

"Likewise," Watts replied smoothly, taking a slow sip.

"We have the same enemy, after all. The General's reign of paranoia had to be checked."

"Indeed," Jacques took a seat in the plush leather chair opposite the desk, crossing his legs elegantly.

"With my seat on the Council secured, we can finally begin cornering Ironwood legally. We will systematically strip his embargo, demand transparency regarding his secret military projects, and remind him that his precious army is absolutely nothing without the resources of the Schnee Dust Company fueling it."

"A beautiful strategy," Watts praised, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. Jacques, however, sighed softly, his expression turning slightly troubled as he took a sip of his drink.

"There is one complication that worries me, Arthur. The incident at Robyn Hill's victory party," Jacques admitted, tapping his manicured finger against the crystal.

"I watched the news. The blackout, the massacre, the capture of that serial killer... The timing was incredibly volatile. I am somewhat concerned that the rabble in Mantle will eventually compare the timing of the blackout to the sudden, miraculous shift in the election polls. If they become suspicious of foul play..." Watts let out a soft, highly arrogant chuckle.

"You worry too much, Jacques," Watts assured him, his voice radiating absolute, untouchable confidence.

"My digital footprint is nonexistent. I am a ghost in their machines. As long as there is no physical proof connecting the SDC to the cyber-incursions, Ironwood and his military lapdogs can suspect all they want. They will find absolutely nothing." Jacques's shoulders relaxed. He let out a profound breath of relief, the smug, aristocratic superiority returning in full force.

"Excellent," Jacques smiled.

"I needed to be absolutely certain. Because I am planning a celebration. An elite, highly exclusive gala here at the manor to officially celebrate my ascension to the Council. The finest minds, the wealthiest investors, and the highest-ranking officials in Atlas will be in attendance." As Jacques began rattling off a list of influential aristocratic names and wealthy socialites, Watts's eyes slowly widened. The disgraced scientist stared at the CEO.

The gears in his brilliant, malicious mind locked together, forming a sudden, devastatingly perfect strategy.

"Jacques," Watts interrupted smoothly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the mahogany desk.

"If you are hosting the elite of Atlas to solidify your political standing... you must send a formal invitation to the man of the hour." Jacques blinked, pausing mid-sentence.

"Who?"

"The bowler hat Huntsman," Watts smirked, his eyes glinting with dark intent.

"Mr. Darwin. The 'Savior of Mantle'." Jacques's eyebrows rose. He fell silent, his keen political instincts immediately analyzing the proposal. A slow, brilliant smile spread across the CEO's face.

"Arthur... that is a stroke of absolute political genius," Jacques praised, his eyes practically lighting up with the possibilities.

"The media is obsessed with him. The people of Mantle worship him. If the 'Savior of Mantle' is seen attending my victory gala, smiling and drinking my champagne... it will entirely legitimize my victory. It will clear my name of any lingering hostility in the lower city, and it will publicly humiliate Ironwood to know the hero prefers my company to his military barracks!"

"Exactly," Watts agreed, taking another sip of his whiskey to hide his sinister grin.

"And, he certainly looks the part of a proper, dignified elite," Jacques added thoughtfully, tapping his chin.

"That tailored black suit, the pristine white coat... he dresses with impeccable class. Not to mention, I read in the morning briefings that he is currently residing in one of our Schnee-sponsored luxury penthouses. He is already enjoying the fruits of my company. He is a perfect guest."

"I could not agree more," Watts nodded, raising his glass in a mock toast.

"I will have Whitley draft the gold-embossed invitation immediately and have it hand-delivered to his penthouse," Jacques declared, standing up with a newfound, energized political vigor.

"Thank you again, Arthur." Jacques exited the office, the heavy door clicking shut behind him as he went to prepare for his grand gala. Left alone in the quiet, opulent office, Arthur Watts slowly lowered his glass. His aristocratic smile vanished, replaced by a cold, predatory stare as he looked back at the frozen image of "Darwin" on his terminal screen. Jacques Schnee thought he was securing a political mascot.

But unbeknownst to the greedy CEO, Arthur Watts had just successfully orchestrated a flawless, high-society trap. He was going to lure the mysterious Savior of Mantle directly into his web, and he was going to personally pry the secrets of his impossible strength from him over a glass of expensive champagne.