94: Chapter 94 Your report determines tonight's story version

Time seemed to stretch into a viscous syrup, each passing second dragging with a heavy, grating friction.

Sorenson could clearly hear the frantic pounding of his own heart within his chest, the sound drowning out the faint, indistinct commotion from the hall below, drowning out everything else.

Fine beads of sweat seeped from his temples, tracing the contour of his skin down to his jawline, bringing with them a cool, itching sensation.

His gaze was fixed on the young man's face outside the window. That gentle, smiling face now seemed more terrifying to him than the snarling visage of an abyssal demon.

Finally, that invisible force gripping his wrist seemed to loosen its hold.

His taut knuckles slowly unclenched, one by one. The Royal Griffon emblem, bearer of the empire's majesty and thunderous wrath, did not shatter with a crisp sound.

With a movement that was almost reverent, agonizingly slow, Sorenson returned it to the hidden inner pocket against his chest.

The action drained him of all strength. Only when the cool mithril emblem left his palm did he realize his hand was already slick with cold sweat.

Almost the instant he put the emblem away, a flash of magical light swept across the previously transparent crystal glass before him, restoring it to that deep, dark hue that blocked all prying eyes.

Levi's figure vanished, as if he had never been there.

This sudden isolation gave Sorenson a space to breathe, a private chamber where he could face the choice he had just made and seek a reasonable explanation for it.

He slumped back into his chair, closed his eyes, and took two deep breaths, trying to calm his still-erratic heartbeat.

The air retained the faint, lingering scent from when the servant delivered the documents—a mixture of the coppery tang of blood and the clean fragrance of lemon from the hall below. The smell churned his stomach.

He knew that from tonight onward, the trajectory of his life—no, perhaps the entire power structure of the empire's northern frontier—would be irrevocably altered by this small action of his.

A few minutes later, Sorenson sat up straight again. The struggle and fear on his face had been replaced by a professional, icy detachment.

He retrieved from his inner coat a black crystal orb, about the size of an egg, its surface smooth as a mirror. This was the Empire's Ministry of Supervision's specialized magical recorder.

Placing the orb on the table, he channeled a wisp of weak mana to activate it. Soft, silvery ripples began to spread across its surface.

He cleared his somewhat dry throat and began to dictate the report that would be entered into the empire's highest archives, his voice steady, almost devoid of emotion, purely official.

"Imperial Year 776, Month of Deepwinter. I, Sorenson, Third-Class Investigator of the Empire's Ministry of Supervision, was dispatched on a routine inspection regarding tax matters in the Blackstone Territory. During the investigation, I incidentally discovered that multiple local nobles, led by Graham Byron, a member of the Byron Family's cadet branch, were secretly colluding with the illegal assassin organization 'Grey Hand,' which has been explicitly banned by imperial decree. This group conspired to launch a rebellion, assassinate the current Lord of Blackstone Territory, Levi Byron, and is suspected of engaging in forbidden trade with abyssal forces, with the intent to undermine the empire's ruling foundation in the Western Territories."

His voice echoed in the quiet private room, each word carefully considered, stating the "facts" while skillfully legitimizing Levi's actions completely.

"Lord Levi Byron of Blackstone Territory, with exceptional vigilance and remarkable courage, foresaw this conspiracy in advance. He took decisive action, apprehending all conspirators during the Deepwinter Victory Banquet and securing complete evidence of their treasonous acts. The operation was... precise and efficient, maximizing control over the situation's escalation and avoiding larger-scale bloodshed. I have personally verified all evidence and confirmed its accuracy. Recommendations for subsequent disposition will be submitted along with the detailed dossier."

As the final word fell, he ceased the mana flow. The ripples on the surface of the black crystal orb gradually stilled.

A perfect report was complete.

In this report, Levi was no longer the butcher who slaughtered nobles, but a hero defending the empire's interests and rooting out traitors.

The door was knocked on again. This time, it was not a servant.

Levi pushed the door open and entered, his face still wearing that inscrutably gentle smile, as if he and Sorenson were meeting for the first time, and the silent confrontation through the glass moments ago had been nothing but an illusion.

"Mr. Sorenson, my apologies for the interruption." He walked to the desk and gently placed a fresh, wax-sealed parchment dossier before Sorenson, right on top of the notebook that recorded Levi's "incriminating evidence."

"I believe this supplementary material might make your report more comprehensive."

Sorenson watched him silently, then broke the seal.

The unfurled parchment no longer contained shocking evidence of crimes, but a clearly organized, logically rigorous proposal.

The title read: 'Preliminary Proposal for the Establishment of the Empire's Western Border Security and Development Foundation.'

The core of the proposal was to pool all assets seized from this "confiscation of rebel faction"—including land, mineral rights, shops, and liquid funds—into a newly established foundation.

The foundation would be managed and operated by Blackstone Territory, but nominal ownership would belong to the Empire.

The foundation's generated revenue would be divided into three parts: fifty percent for military construction and civilian development in Blackstone Territory; twenty percent for management and operational expenses; and the remaining thirty percent would serve as a "special contribution tax," submitted directly to the central treasury in the imperial capital every quarter, to be personally allocated by His Majesty the Emperor.

Sorenson's eyelid twitched.

This was no longer a simple pledge of allegiance; it was nakedly binding their interests together.

Levi was not only legitimizing his own actions; through this proposal, he was pulling the imperial central government, even the Emperor himself, onto his war chariot.

From now on, the more prosperous Blackstone Territory became, the fuller the Emperor's private coffers would be.

Any political opponent attempting to attack Blackstone Territory would inevitably face pressure from the highest echelons of the Empire.

"These funds can bypass the layers of skimming by the Noble Council, becoming the most flexible force in His Majesty's hands," Levi's voice was soft, yet carried a deadly allure. "And you, Mr. Sorenson, as the primary contributor to cracking this major case and the presenter of this grand proposal... your future, I need not elaborate, I presume?"

Sorenson slowly rolled up the proposal, clutching it tightly in his hand.

The edge of the parchment dug painfully into his palm, but the pain brought with it an unprecedented clarity.

He knew he was now irrevocably bound to Levi's ship—a mighty vessel that seemed to promise a boundless future, yet also sailed towards an unknown abyss.

Seeing that Sorenson had accepted the proposal, Levi said no more. He gave a polite bow, turned, and left the private room.

He descended the stairs. Order had largely been restored in the main hall.

The floor was spotless, the air fresh, as if nothing had happened.

Those members of the Byron Family cadet branch who had been stripped of their family assets sat dazed in their places. Under the "guidance" of the guards, they trembled as they signed their names on the 'Blackstone Territory United Merchant Guild Employment Contract.'

Overnight, they had fallen from lofty shareholders to "senior employees" living on salaries.

Caroline stood in the shadows beneath the high platform, her moon-white gown making her look like a cold statue.

Seeing Levi approach, she gave a slight bow, lowered her voice, and began her report in a purely professional tone, devoid of any personal emotion.

"Lord, the communication has concluded." Her speech was steady and efficient. "Based on the 'Vintner' plan cipher key and real-time intelligence I provided, Director Evelyn's external action teams have successfully raided and neutralized seven core strongholds of the 'Grey Hand' organization in Silvermoon Province, the Crimson Ridge Mountains, and the Windwhisper Grasslands within the past hour. All stronghold leaders and core members have been eliminated. Their internal command and communication systems are completely paralyzed. The organization's remaining forces are no longer a significant threat."

Her report was precise, efficient, without a single wasted word, as if she were reading a data report.

She had swiftly adapted to her new role, proving her worth through action.

"Good," Levi nodded, satisfied with her performance.

He retrieved a folded list from his coat and handed it over. "This is your next assignment."

Caroline took the list and unfolded it. On it were three names she knew very well—all lords of considerable influence around Blackstone Territory.

"All three have, through various covert channels, provided funds to the 'Grey Hand' to handle some... 'inconvenient' matters," Levi's tone was flat, as if arranging a routine financial audit. "I need you, within twenty-four hours, using your knowledge of the 'Grey Hand's' internal accounting flow rules, to fabricate a complete set of false accounts. This set of accounts must 'prove' that these three were the true masterminds behind this assassination plot, and that Graham Byron and the others were merely pawns they pushed to the forefront."

Caroline's pupils contracted slightly.

This wasn't just fabricating evidence; this was condemning three powerful nobles to death.

This method was more insidious and thorough than simple assassination.

"Do not deliver the completed evidence directly to me," Levi added. "Find a suitable opportunity and 'inadvertently' leak it to an informant of the Empire's Tax Department. I believe they would be very interested in such 'leads' that could bring substantial fines and confiscation revenues."

One move, three gains.

It would eliminate potential rivals, completely divert the blame, secure official imperial backing, and even net an extra profit.

Looking at this lord many years her junior, Caroline felt a genuine chill for the first time.

This man's calculation of human hearts had reached a terrifying level.

"As you command, my lord." Without the slightest hesitation, she stored the list, bowed, and retreated into the shadows.

At that moment, a concealed door on the side of the hall, leading underground, swung open.

Evelyn emerged with two of her personal guards. She had changed back into her signature purple gown, but a sharp, lingering aura of killing intent still emanated from her.

Her gait remained elegant, but her amethyst eyes held an unprecedented gravity.

She walked directly to Levi and presented a foot-long square box made entirely of lead-grey metal.

Complex, twisted runes were inscribed on the box. A cold, oppressive aura seeped from the crevices between the runes, dropping the surrounding air temperature by several degrees.

"Master," Evelyn's voice was very low. "This was found while clearing the main vault beneath the 'Rusty Axe Tavern.' It was placed in the innermost secret chamber, guarded by three layers of demonic rune arrays."

Levi's gaze fell upon the leaden box.

He could feel it—even a slight approach of his mental energy felt pricked by countless icy needles, causing waves of discomfort.

Evelyn raised her hand, a wisp of dark purple mana swirling around her fingertip. She carefully touched a specific node on the box's lid runes.

A soft *click* sounded, and the lid sprang open automatically.

An even thicker, colder wave of dark energy instantly permeated the air.

Inside the box lay not the expected gold, silver, or jewels, but a fist-sized crystal formed of pure shadow energy.

The crystal was heart-shaped, its surface covered in black, vein-like patterns. It pulsed with an extremely slow, weak rhythm. With each beat, the surrounding light distorted.

Evelyn's expression was extremely serious. She enunciated each word clearly: "Master, this is a 'Deep Abyss Pact Core.' Its presence means that behind the 'Grey Hand' is not the ordinary cultists or some profit-seeking devil worshippers you previously surmised."

She paused, raised her eyes. Her purple pupils reflected the pulsating dark heart. Her voice carried a trace of trepidation she herself hadn't fully registered.

"But a... Deep Abyss Lord... one who holds genuine nobility and territory within the Abyss."