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The battle's aftermath wasn't fading—it was spreading.
Russell could feel it everywhere he went. The stares on the street that lingered too long. The whispered conversations that died the moment he got within earshot. The reporters who'd somehow tracked down his address and camped outside like vultures until his Shadowkhan made it very clear they weren't welcome.
The entire province had watched him humiliate Wade. Watched the Wu family's dirty secrets get dragged into the light in front of millions of viewers.
But here was the beautiful part: all the negative attention had laser-focused on the Wu family like a spotlight. Russell had become background noise in his own drama. Collateral. Dispensable.
And honestly? He was fucking thrilled about it.
He was actually meditating this time—not just sitting still and zoning out, but meditating, feeling his mental energy slowly regenerate like water filling a depleted well—when his phone buzzed against the table. The vibration was loud in the quiet room, breaking his concentration.
A Shadowkhan materialized from the corner shadows without being summoned, gliding across the floor with that eerie, silent grace they all had. It retrieved the device, then dropped to one knee like a knight presenting a sword to its king, offering the phone with both hands.
Russell cracked one eye open and took it.
[Misty]: Hey there, handsome. Are you free today? A girl could really use a visit.
His eye twitched. What the hell is this woman doing? He stared at the message, his lip curling slightly. The tone was sickeningly sweet, dripping with manufactured flirtation that immediately set off alarm bells. Is she going to send me materials again?
It was the only explanation that made sense. Since arriving in Northgate, Misty was his only real contact in the Society—his handler, his connection to Regent Jin and whatever the organization actually wanted from him.
He sat there for a long moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard, considering his options. Then he typed out a simple reply.
[Russell]: On my way.
Across the city, in an office that looked more like a high-end boutique than a terrorist organization's headquarters, Misty stared at her phone screen. Her carefully applied makeup couldn't quite hide the exhaustion pulling at her features—dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her shoulders sagged when she thought no one was looking.
The news from two days ago had hit her like a truck.
Regent Jin himself—the Regent Jin, the man whose name made master-level cardmakers go pale—had issued a direct order: Raise Russell's authority to the highest level.
Not promoted. Not elevated. Raised to the highest level.
Which meant that boy was now second in command of the entire Spirit Begging Society. Answering only to Regent Jin himself. Above Misty. Above Five. Above everyone except the President.
And Russell was still just a silver-level cardmaker.
The implications made her head spin and her stomach twist into knots. What kind of monster had they recruited?
She'd barely put her phone down when the shadows in the corner of her office began to move. They stretched and deepened unnaturally, pooling like spilled ink, then simply opened—and Russell stepped through as casually as someone walking through a doorway.
He settled into the ornate chair across from her desk, already scrolling through his phone. His thumb flicked across the screen, barely glancing at her. "You wanted to see me?"
His tone was distracted, almost bored. Misty could see the flood of notifications lighting up his screen—messages from old classmates, apparently. Congratulations pouring in from New Metro. His battle performance had made waves far beyond Northgate.
She'd prepared for this meeting. Chosen her outfit carefully—professional but with just enough suggestion. Applied her makeup with precision. Practiced her pose to be both respectful and... inviting. Playing all her cards because she wasn't sure what else to do when facing someone who now technically outranked her by miles.
"My lord," she said, her voice dripping with honey-sweet deference that felt wrong in her mouth. "I'm looking for you this time because of something very important."
Russell's thumb stopped mid-scroll. His eyes lifted from the phone to study her, and something in his expression went flat and suspicious. His gaze swept over her—the careful outfit, the deliberate pose, the manufactured sweetness—and his lip curled slightly.
"If you have something to say, just say it." His voice carried an edge now, sharp and impatient. "Is it fun to keep playing these games?"
Misty's carefully held pose froze. Her brain stuttered for a moment, thrown completely off-script. Then her face crumpled into a tearful, wounded expression that she pulled from some acting reserve she didn't know she had.
"My lord, do you hate me so much?"
Russell's expression didn't change. He just looked at her like she was a particularly annoying puzzle he had no interest in solving. "I'm leaving."
He stood, pocketing his phone. The shadows around him began to writhe in response to his intent, preparing to open a path back home.
Panic shot through Misty's chest like ice water. "No, no, no, my lord, I'll tell you right away!" The words tumbled out in a rush, all pretense abandoned. "The President... he's raised your authority to the highest level."
Russell went still. His hand was halfway to his pocket, his body halfway turned toward the shadows. Slowly, he turned back to face her fully.
"What does that mean?"
Misty let out a shaky breath, relief and fear mixing in her gut. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart hammering. "My lord, you... you should have met Lord Five, or the other Masters, right?"
"Five." Russell's voice was flat as he said the name. His mind flashed back to the man in the suit, the contract signing, the feeling of supernatural compulsion settling over him like chains. "I've seen him. What about it?"
"It means..." Misty swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. "You've become just like him. You are the new Lord Six."
Silence.
Russell just stared at her, his expression completely blank. His mind was racing, tripping over itself.
Wait. What?
No, hold on. I was originally just planning to get some benefits. Free materials, maybe some protection. How the hell did I become a high-ranking executive of a terrorist organization?
Because that's what the Spirit Begging Society was. Not some vague criminal group. Not morally gray mercenaries. They were traitors. Enemies of the state. The kind of organization that made governments send kill squads.
And he was now second in command.
Fuck.
But his face showed none of this internal chaos. Years of hiding his thoughts, of surviving in a world that could crush him, had taught him perfect control. His expression remained bored, almost dismissive.
"Is that all?" He waved a hand like she'd just told him about a weather report. "I thought it was something important."
Misty blinked, thrown again. He didn't seem to understand the weight of what she'd just said. Or he understood perfectly and just didn't care, which was somehow more terrifying.
She leaned forward, speaking quickly. "My lord, because of the President's contract, you can now sense the existence of the contract in other members. And..." She paused, licking her lips nervously. "You can also command any member whose authority is lower than yours."
A flicker of genuine curiosity crossed Russell's face. "Including you?"
"...Including me."
The words came out small, resigned. Misty's hands clenched in her lap, her knuckles going white.
Russell tilted his head, studying her like a scientist examining an interesting specimen. Then his lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Then bark like a dog and let me hear it."
The words were barely out of his mouth when Misty's jaw opened against her will.
"Woof!"
The sound burst from her throat—loud, clear, utterly humiliating. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth immediately, her face flushing crimson from her neck to her hairline. Her eyes went wide with shock and shame.
Russell's eyebrows shot up. He'd expected... something. Resistance, maybe. A delay. Proof that the command had limits.
Not instant, perfect obedience.
Holy shit, he thought, a chill running down his spine. Regent Jin's contract is actually terrifying.
Of course, he didn't think the power was unlimited. If he ordered someone to commit suicide, he was pretty sure Regent Jin would show up at his door within minutes to have a very unpleasant conversation. There had to be safeguards, restrictions, lines you couldn't cross.
But still. The casual ease of it. The complete override of someone's will with just words.
It was a power he'd gotten for free, so he'd accept it. But the implications made something cold settle in his chest.
That also means there contracts got updated meanwhile he , well he was not in any contract.
Misty cleared her throat, her face still burning red. She forced herself to sit up straighter, to push past the humiliation and get back to business. "My lord, I asked you to come here because I needed to tell you that you still have to carry out your undercover mission." Her voice was steadier now, professional. "For that reason, your new identity will not be announced for the time being."
Russell nodded slightly. Made sense. The contract was powerful, sure, but who knew what strange cards existed out there? Some ability that could detect magical compulsions, trace contract markers, expose hidden affiliations. The fewer people who knew about his connection to the Society, the better.
"Is there anything else?"
Misty's hands moved quickly, pulling an envelope from her desk drawer with visible relief at having something concrete to do. "My lord, this is the subsidy the President has granted you."
Russell took the envelope, his fingers detecting the familiar weight and texture of card materials inside. He opened it and pulled out three items, his eyebrows rising slightly.
Silver-level [Demon Hunter] (Purple). Silver-level [Blood of Resurrection] (Gold). Silver-level [Power Demon] (Gold).
He looked at the materials, then at Misty, then back at the materials. His expression was somewhere between amused and exasperated.
"I seem to have seen these materials before."
An awkward smile crept across Misty's face. "Our resources here are not as abundant as the Association's. Please forgive us, my lord."
Russell shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping despite himself. He knew the Society wasn't swimming in wealth like the official state powers. Underground organizations didn't exactly have access to government funding and established supply chains. He just hadn't expected this "new" reward to be a literal copy-paste of a previous one.
Still, it wasn't useless. He didn't have the mental energy to create and maintain another card right now anyway—his reserves were still recovering from Neliel's transformation. But these materials could upgrade Kiss-Shot's level. The generic vampire cards the Society had been providing couldn't keep up with his pace anymore.
He'd originally planned to make a weapon prop card for Artoria. After all, she was basically useless after firing her light cannon once, left standing there with empty hands. But with these free materials, he could push that project back a bit.
He handed the envelope to one of his Shadowkhan, who took it with both hands and bowed. "Then I'll leave first. Contact me if you have anything."
Misty—who'd been so confident and untouchable in front of outsiders, who'd cultivated an image of dangerous seductiveness—now lowered her proud head respectfully. Her voice was soft, almost meek. "My lord, please take care."
Russell just waved his hand dismissively and walked toward the shadows. They opened for him like a curtain being pulled back, and he stepped through, disappearing from her office as completely as if he'd never been there.
The moment he was gone, Misty collapsed into her chair. The tension drained from her body all at once, leaving her feeling hollow and shaky. A wave of fear washed over her, cold and nauseating.
Because of the contract's authority, she would have been powerless to resist whatever he'd wanted to do just now. If he'd given orders beyond making her bark. If he'd commanded something worse. She wouldn't have been able to stop him, wouldn't have been able to fight back.
But the new Lord Six hadn't even seemed interested. Had treated her like she was barely worth his attention.
She didn't know if that made it better or worse.
Russell, for his part, had no idea what was going through Misty's head as he stepped back into his own house through the shadow portal.
He wasn't a "friend to all women." Wasn't going to be swayed by a pretty face putting on an act.
He'd heard too many sob stories in his past life. A gambling father, a sick mother, a younger brother who needs school tuition, a broken self trying to hold it all together. Every variation, every excuse, every manipulation tactic wrapped in tears and desperation.
Some of them had been real. Most hadn't.
And he'd learned the hard way that sympathy without verification was just another word for being a sucker.
So no, he wasn't interested in whatever game Misty thought she was playing. He had materials to use, cards to upgrade, and a position in a terrorist organization that he needed to figure out how to navigate without getting killed by either side.
Just another day in his new life as a cardmaker.
He pulled out the materials, studying them in the light, already running calculations in his head.
Time to get to work.
PLZ THROW POWERSTONES.