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Gilbreth walked slowly down the street with his head lowered.
He looked at the bloodstains still lodged in the cracks of the road, stains that remained even after being washed away. He listened to the conversations of passersby and couldn't suppress the relieved smile on his face.
He didn't even bother hiding it.
His enemies were still out there, but the High Table was the root of everything.
And now-
The High Table had suffered a major setback.
How long had it been since something like this last happened?
Gilbreth tried to recall it.
He couldn't.
But...
His hand tightened around the cross in his pocket.
What did this mean?
Why did the people opposing the High Table always leave behind a small cross after killing its agents?
Was it a special organization?
And could the New York Continental Hotel really stand up to the High Table?
"Careful! Slow down!"
A voice snapped Gilbreth out of his thoughts.
He looked toward it and saw it came from the New York Continental Hotel.
No-more accurately, the former New York Continental Hotel.
The old sign had been taken down.
A new one was being installed.
Curious, Gilbreth stopped.
The first thing they raised was a massive cross.
His eyes widened.
He pulled the cross from his pocket and compared it to the one on the sign.
At that moment, a nearby television suddenly switched channels.
Not just one.
Across all fifty states-every channel, normal or otherwise-cut to the same image.
Eric's face.
Some people screamed things like "What the hell?" or "Holy shit," but that wasn't something Morin's team had planned for.
Under shocked, furious, confused stares-and a flood of expletives-Eric began speaking.
"First, let me introduce myself. I am the chairman of the Eric Group."
"I believe many of you already know that yesterday, my business rival placed an eight-million-dollar bounty on my head."
"It attracted nearly every High Table assassin stationed at the Continental Hotel in New York."
"They wanted me dead."
"I am not dead."
"And it wasn't luck."
"It wasn't skill."
"It was because when assassins were openly walking the streets and no one stopped them, an organization found me."
"They are the Templar Knights."
"The Knights of the Templar Knights."
In the studio, Morin watched calmly, nodding to himself.
He raised his hand.
A longsword appeared.
Golden light flowed along its patterns, sparks dancing, arcs of electricity snapping into existence.
The blade was a perfect fusion of ancient design and sci-fi aesthetics.
Flawless.
(Attached: a high-definition, low-quality image.)
As for practicality-
So far, Morin confirmed it could generate electricity under his control.
The other functions were still under development.
That alone made it his go-to weapon.
A wrench could deflect bullets.
But between a wrench and the Sword of Eden that could fire lightning-
The choice was obvious.
Last night's "lightning" that slaughtered over five hundred men had been Morin wielding the Sword of Eden.
He didn't have any dramatic beliefs about electricity being his lifelong faith.
He just liked showing off.
And if he could show off, why wouldn't he?
Besides establishing the Templar Knights' authority, it was also a stress test for his upgraded abilities.
The conclusion was simple.
A single Advanced Backstab was enough to instantly kill the pre-upgrade version of himself.
Instant kill.
The downside was mana.
With over two thousand points in Constitution and Intelligence, but only a hundred in Mana, Morin's build was unmistakably mage-style.
The good news was that he could now control mana consumption.
His movements were fluid, no longer mechanical.
His reaction speed also increased. Otherwise, with that charging speed, he wouldn't even be able to react himself.
The upgraded Advanced Knight Bloodline also granted a stronger overall boost.
The only odd side effect-
When activated, Morin felt an intense urge to climb a tall building and jump off.
A Leap of Faith instinct?
Did he need a haystack?
Or throw down a blade of grass first?
While Eric continued speaking, Morin sorted through his thoughts and adjusted his future plans.
He was now officially on the High Table's global bounty list.
One hundred million U.S. dollars.
For the High Table, that amount was trivial.
The list also included Winston, loyalists of the New York Continental Hotel, Wick, Wesley, Fox, and others.
But after last night, no ordinary assassins would get involved.
Money was tempting.
But when the number got that big, people also learned their limits.
Millions drove people mad.
A hundred million made them sober.
While Morin was thinking, Eric wrapped up his speech, framing everything as a struggle between order and chaos, light and darkness, and the Templar Knights' direct opposition to the High Table.
Then-
It was Morin's turn.
After all the planning.
All the preparation.
Even though he could already leave this world-
Morin stayed for this moment.
Not for a speech.
But for what he was about to do during it.
He was going to-
Display his bank account number to the entire world.
And get them to willingly transfer money into it.
I, Morin.
Bank account.
Send money.
Understood?