Although Abigail had been standing near the side exit of the press room, Charles Cavendish's sudden capture didn't go unnoticed by several attendees.
Fortunately, the four royal guards who subdued him were highly skilled.
They took advantage of Charles's momentary shock when the guns were drawn—
Two guards seized his arms and swiftly dragged him toward the side exit,
while another pair of guards followed closely behind.
Meanwhile, seven or eight additional guards positioned themselves strategically to block the journalists' line of sight.
Once Charles was out of view, the guards carefully scanned the room to ensure that no one had managed to snap a photo.
Only after confirming that the situation was under control did they leave two men at the door to stand guard.
As a result, even those who suspected something unusual had no way of following up.
—
"Who authorized the use of firearms?"
Inside the side corridor, an elderly man with neatly combed white hair, dressed in a meticulously tailored butler's uniform,
fixed his gaze on the captured Charles Cavendish, who now had tape over his mouth. His expression was dark.
"You didn't attract any unwanted attention, did you?"
"No, sir. We acted quickly. Even if anyone noticed, they wouldn't have been able to take a photo."
The lead guard responded promptly but immediately noticed the butler's expression darkening further.
Realizing he had made a mistake, the guard hurriedly shifted the blame.
"Initially, we intended to discreetly escort Viscount Cavendish out under the pretense of an audience with His Majesty.
However, the viscount seemed to notice us and positioned himself near Miss Abigail Chase."
"Devonshire Grand Duke's woman?"
"Yes, sir. The same Miss Chase who made quite the impression today."
"Continue."
"Yes, sir," the guard replied.
"When we were at an impasse, Prince Wilson unexpectedly approached us and ordered us—at any cost—to seize Viscount Cavendish."
As soon as he finished speaking, the butler's gaze grew noticeably colder.
Realizing his mistake, the guard quickly added,
"Prince Wilson specifically stated that the order came directly from Grand Duke Devonshire.
Under those circumstances, we had no choice but to use force."
"Grand Duke Devonshire's order?"
Upon hearing those words, the elderly butler—despite his full head of white hair—instantly took five or six steps backward.
Meanwhile, Charles Cavendish, who had been relatively calm, suddenly showed an expression of confusion and terror.
Tilting his head back slightly, he abruptly lunged to the left, slamming into the guard restraining him.
Crack!
A sharp sound rang out as the left-side guard's nose was broken.
Without hesitation, Charles drove his elbow into the jaw of the guard on his right.
Just as he was about to turn and take down the other two guards, he suddenly froze.
The elderly butler had drawn a CZ83 pistol and was pointing it steadily at his forehead from less than three meters away.
Charles locked eyes with the old man, his instincts screaming that if he made one more move,
the butler wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger.
Damn it! I should have been more cautious when he stepped back earlier!
But it was too late for regrets.
Two more guards swiftly drew their weapons and aimed at Charles.
Meanwhile, five or six additional guards entered the corridor, immediately moving in to secure him.
"Hands against the wall. Now!" one of the newcomers barked.
With seven or eight guns pointed at him, Charles had no choice but to comply.
He raised his hands and pressed them against the wall.
A moment later, he felt the cold muzzle of a gun against the back of his head.
His wrists were pulled behind his back and secured with handcuffs.
Just as he thought it was over, he was suddenly yanked backward and thrown onto the floor.
Within seconds, his ankles were also cuffed.
Four guards grabbed his limbs and lifted him off the ground, forcing him to face downward.
It was then that Charles realized these royal guards had no intention of giving him even the slightest opportunity to resist.
—
The butler's voice rang out.
"Take him to Interrogation Room One and assign additional guards.
No one except His Majesty and Grand Duke Devonshire is allowed near him.
If anyone disregards the warnings, you are authorized to wound or kill them on the spot.
Is that understood?"
Kill?! Are you insane, old man?
Do we even have the authority to do that?
The lead guard's forehead broke into a cold sweat.
But under the butler's icy stare, he instinctively straightened his posture.
"I will personally oversee the security."
Though he agreed, the guard couldn't help but notice that several of his men were hesitant,
clearly worried about the consequences of killing someone.
Sensing their concerns, the butler holstered his CZ83 and smiled slightly.
"Don't worry about facing repercussions for eliminating a potential threat.
You all have the authority to neutralize palace intruders.
Furthermore, this arrest order came from Grand Duke Devonshire himself.
If you're concerned about legitimacy, know that His Grace holds the absolute authority to grant you such discretion.
Any more questions?"
Mentioning William's name silenced any doubts.
None of the guards fully understood where William's authority came from,
but not a single one doubted that he had it.
"Understood! Apart from King Philip and Grand Duke Devonshire, no one is permitted near Interrogation Room One.
If anyone ignores multiple warnings, lethal force is authorized."
"Good."
Watching as the guards carried Charles away, the butler turned and headed back toward the palace.
He needed to report this matter to Philip immediately.
After a few steps, however, he hesitated.
Thinking for a moment, he changed direction and made his way toward the press conference instead.
Upon arriving, he approached Wilson and discreetly informed him that Charles Cavendish had been secured in Interrogation Room One.
Only then did he return to the palace.
—
William, who had been keeping track of everything with his psychic senses, didn't need the butler's report to know where Charles had been taken.
Since the situation was under control, he focused on finishing the press conference.
During the event, he publicly pledged—before the entire nation—that barring any unforeseen circumstances,
two spacecraft would depart for Mars every ten days, each carrying 100 tons of materials to support the construction of a settlement.
On the return trip, the spacecraft would bring back 100 tons of gold.
Forty percent would be handed over to the English government,
while the rest would be minted into Devonshire gold coins or kept in reserve.
For the time being, William had no intention of selling the gold on the open market.
However, he made it clear that this decision was temporary—Devonshire had not renounced its right to sell in the future.
The implication of this statement was evident to most people in the room and those watching on television.
Yet, despite the strategic ambiguity, global investors felt reassured.
With William's position clarified, financial institutions could now focus on managing the predictable influx of gold from the English government,
instead of worrying about unexpected market disruptions from him.
Hearing William's firm stance, Prime Minister Richard felt this was the most relieved he had been in two years.
—
As for the first batch of Martian gold being minted into commemorative coins,
though it caught many by surprise, once William explained the concept,
even fools could see that these coins would appreciate in value.
Yet, contrary to expectations, neither Richard nor his cabinet members showed any regret over their earlier agreement.
Before long, several sharp-minded individuals understood why—
and quietly gave Richard and his ministers a mental nod of approval.
(End of Chapter)
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