Chapter 121: Four Hours

"That’s right, fifty million," Morton sneered, barking out a harsh laugh. "What, did you think it was fifty copper coins, brat?"

He looked Evren up and down with utter contempt.

"You think wearing a clean jacket makes you a big shot?" Morton mocked. "Fifty million certified credits is enough to buy a city district. You couldn’t scrape together five hundred credits if you sold both your kidneys."

Morton turned to his thugs with a dismissive wave.

"Shove this kid out of the way," Morton ordered. "Start stripping their rooms."

Before the enforcers could take a step, Amber stepped forward from behind Evren. Her brown eyes were cold as ice, and her hand rested lightly against the hilt of her crimson saber.

"Do you want your money or not?" Amber asked coldly.

Morton blinked, then burst into loud, mocking laughter along with his four thugs.

"Hear that, boys?" Morton jeered, clutching his stomach.

"The little lady wants to settle an imperial corporate debt!" he cackled. "With what, sweet cheeks? Loose change from your purse?"

With a cruel sneer, Morton unclipped the payment terminal from his belt. "Fine! Let’s see you play big spender!"

He keyed in the active default warrant with a rapid clatter, flaring the terminal screen amber with the live balance of 50,000,000.00 credits.

Morton shoved the terminal screen forward, practically laughing in their faces.

"The warrant is live on the Imperial banking network," Morton gloated. "Tap fifty million certified funds right now, or get on your knees and beg!"

Evren didn’t even blink.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his matte-black metal card, completely unadorned except for a faint logo etched into the bottom corner.

He casually tapped the card against the glowing reader on Morton’s terminal.

BEEP.

The terminal chimed with a clear, resonant tone.

A glowing green light flashed across the display screen, followed by a flurry of rapid automated confirmations.

[TRANSACTION COMPLETE.]

[AMOUNT DEDUCTED: 50,000,000.00 CREDITS.]

[SOURCE: APEX NATIONAL BANK — SOVEREIGN LEVEL-ZERO ACCOUNT.]

[OUTSTANDING BALANCE: ZERO.]

The printer on the terminal sputtered, spitting out a yard-long receipt confirming the complete settlement of the debt.

Morton froze.

The arrogant smirk on his face shattered instantly. He looked from the green terminal screen down to the matte-black card in Evren’s fingers, his eyes widening in sheer disbelief.

"F-Fifty million..." Morton stammered, his voice turning into a high-pitched squeak. "Instant authorization... no credit limit?"

The four armored enforcers behind him lowered their stun batons, their faces turning chalk-white. Anyone who carried an unrestricted Level-Zero Sovereign card had enough financial power to buy their entire pharmaceutical branch.

Evren took the parchment contract from Morton’s numb fingers.

With two calm motions, Evren tore the contract in half, then tore it into quarters, letting the shredded pieces flutter down onto Morton’s polished shoes.

"The debt is cleared," Evren said in a quiet and dangerously cold voice.

He stepped half an inch closer to Morton, looking down at the shaking collection officer.

"Now take your men and get out of my sight," Evren murmured. "If I see another of your cartel dogs near this sanatorium, I will personally test the durability of your ribs."

Morton swallowed hard, his throat completely dry.

"Y-Yes, sir! Right away, sir!" Morton squeaked, nearly tripping over his own cane as he stumbled backward.

"Move! Move, you idiots!" he hissed at his thugs.

The five men scrambled frantically down the corridor, piling into the elevator as if the devil himself were chasing them.

The elevator doors closed, leaving the hallway in complete silence.

Walter stood on his crutches, staring at the shredded contract on the floor. Tears spilled down his weathered cheeks as he fell to his knees, burying his face in his hands. "Fifty million..." he wept, his body shaking with overwhelming relief. "Ten years of torment... gone in a single second..."

In the doorways of the private rooms, several wounded hunters sat on their beds, crying openly as they looked toward Evren.

For the first time in a decade, the suffocating shadow of the cartel had been lifted from their necks.

Evren walked over to Walter, placing a steady hand on the old guild master’s shoulder.

"Stand up, Walter," Evren said softly. "Apex took you in as our partner. Your debts are our business now."

"My lord... how can we ever repay you?" Walter choked out, looking up with profound gratitude.

"You don’t need to repay me," Evren replied calmly. "Money solves the debt, but it doesn’t heal your men’s legs. Without pure celestial elixirs, that necrotic rot will still take their limbs."

Dr. Orson walked out of the examination room, wiping his hands on a clean towel.

"Lord Evren is correct," the physician said gravely. "The poison in their marrow is spreading by the hour. If they do not receive celestial-grade neutralizing elixirs within forty hours, their legs must be amputated to prevent organ failure."

Walter gripped his crutches tightly, his expression turning bitter.

"The Aethelgard Cartel controls every drop of celestial medicine in the Capital," Walter said in a hushed tone. "They lock their stockpiles in the subterranean vaults beneath Aethelgard Tower."

"Subterranean vaults?" Evren asked, his interest piqued.

"Sub-Level 4," Walter nodded grimly. "That is where their primary refinery operates. It is also where they keep Lady Calista Vesper imprisoned."

Amber stepped closer, her brows furrowing. "The star alchemist?"

"Yes," Walter sighed. "Three years ago, Calista refused to dilute her healing tinctures for corporate profit."

"The cartel framed her, crushed her mana channels, and forced her into servitude beneath the tower," Walter explained grimly. "She is chained by suppression shackles, forced to brew their most valuable elixirs while they take all the credit."

"Does the cartel keep high security on Sub-Level 4?" Evren inquired.

"Extremely tight," Walter replied. "The surface tower is swarming with armed guards. But the refinery below produces massive heat, which vents through the municipal storm drainage system into the western canal."

Walter looked down with regret.

"Iron-Thistle used to haul raw reagents to the surface docks," he added. "We know the general layout, but we don’t have the updated schematics or security schedules."

Evren glanced toward the wall clock in the hallway. It was just past seven in the evening.

"When does their security rotate?" Evren asked.

"Midnight," Walter said immediately. "Every night at twelve, the guard detachment changes shifts. For fifteen minutes during the exchange, the runic barriers on the drainage floodgates drop to low-power diagnostic mode."

Evren turned his gaze toward Zephyra, who stood silently beside Amber.

"Zephyra," Evren said calmly.

"Yes, my lord?" Zephyra responded, her silver-pale eyes sharp and focused.

"It is seven o’clock," Evren said. "You have four hours until the midnight rotation. Slip into the municipal public works archives, retrieve the updated subterranean schematics for the western canal, and scout the tower’s drainage perimeter."

A faint, confident smile touched Zephyra’s lips.

"Four hours is plenty of time," Zephyra replied in a quiet murmur. "I will have their layouts and patrol routes mapped before eleven."

Without another sound, Zephyra stepped into the shadows of the emergency stairwell and vanished into the rainy Capital evening.

Over the next four hours, the fourth floor of the Imperial Sanatorium remained a hive of preparation.

Dr. Orson and his surgical team prepared fourteen sterile recovery tanks, stocking them with nutrient fluids and stabilization crystals.

Evren walked through each of the private suites, speaking with the injured hunters.

Though pale and bandaged, every man pressed their fist against their chest, bowing their heads in solemn reverence to the young guild master who had freed them from debt.

In a quiet consultation room, Amber sat beside Evren, carefully inspecting the edge of her crimson blades.

"If the cartel discovers a break-in, they will sound the city-wide alarm," Amber pointed out softly.

"They won’t know we were there until morning," Evren replied with a cool smile. "We go in through the water, free Calista, take the reagents, and leave through the dark."

The hours ticked by steadily.

At exactly eleven o’clock, the handle of the emergency stairwell turned without a creak.

Zephyra slipped back onto the floor, rain droplets glistening on her dark leather coat. In her hands, she carried a sealed brass cylinder.

"Mission complete, my lord," Zephyra reported in a crisp, quiet tone.

She unrolled a heavy sheet of municipal architectural blueprints across the table.

"The public works registry had full surveys of the drainage network," Zephyra explained, pointing with a slender finger. "The western storm canal connects directly to Aethelgard Tower’s Sub-Level 4 waste outlet."

"How are the floodgates protected?" Amber asked, leaning over the blueprint.

"Three iron grates," Zephyra answered. "Two have rotted open from chemical exhaust. The third is secured by a mag-rune lock, which cycles down for maintenance at eleven-fifty."

She tapped a large square chamber marked in the center of the subterranean level. "This is the crucible laboratory," Zephyra said. "I confirmed through the exhaust vents that Calista Vesper is inside, guarded by six private enforcers. The vault containing the celestial neutralizing elixirs is adjacent to her workbench."

Evren studied the schematic, committing every corridor and intersection to memory within seconds.

He stood up and pulled on his dark combat gloves.

"Fourteen hunters are waiting on those beds, and an alchemist is waiting in chains," Evren said calmly, his eyes gleaming with steady determination.

Amber sheathed her sabers, while Zephyra adjusted her shadow whip-blade. "Let’s move," Evren ordered. "Tonight, we take what we came for."