The private jet, a Gulfstream G700 emblazoned with a discreet silver phoenix on the tail, cut through the Atlantic clouds like a blade of polished chrome. Inside, the cabin was a sanctuary of hushed luxury—cream leather, brushed gold accents, and a quietness that felt almost unnatural after the thunderous destruction of the Grand Horizon Ballroom.
Einstein sat by the window, his gaze fixed on the endless expanse of blue below. He had changed into a simple black cashmere sweater, but even the soft fabric couldn't hide the restless energy vibrating beneath his skin. His knuckles were wrapped in medical tape, and a faint bruise marked his jaw—the only physical evidence that he had just fought a 13th-level Sovereign.
Across the aisle, Felicity was curled in an oversized chair, a silk blanket pulled to her chin. She wasn't sleeping. Her eyes were wide, staring at the digital display on the bulkhead that tracked their progress toward Heathrow.
"We're halfway there," Einstein said, his voice low.
Felicity turned to him. The shock of the gala had begun to settle, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity. "Einstein... the number on your phone. Five hundred billion. That's not 'business' money. That's 'government' money. That's enough to buy a small country."
"It's a war chest, Felicity," Einstein replied. "The Council has been stagnant for decades because they lacked the liquid capital to move their armies. My mother has been siphoning their assets through shell companies and high-frequency trading for twenty years. That money isn't just a gift—it's the stolen blood of the Council, returned to its rightful heir."
The Shadow of the Mother
As the plane began its descent over the jagged coastline of England, the "Vanguard" security team moved into high gear. Rhea, who had been reviewing tactical data on a holographic terminal, approached Einstein.
"London is the Council's ancestral home, sir," Rhea said. "The High Lord we defeated at the gala was just a regional governor. The 'Great Elders' reside in the shadows of the City of London's financial district. Our landing is unauthorized by the British Ministry of Defense, but your mother has... cleared a path."
"What does that mean?" Felicity asked, sitting up.
"It means," Rhea said with a grim smile, "that the Royal Air Force has been ordered to look the other way for the next thirty minutes. Your mother doesn't just have money, ma'am. She has leverage."
When the wheels touched the tarmac at a private airfield in Farnborough, the fog was so thick it felt like a physical weight. Four armored Range Rovers, blacker than the night, were idling on the runway.
Einstein stepped off the plane and was immediately hit by the scent of damp earth and ancient stone. Standing by the lead car was a woman who looked like a more refined, lethal version of Felicity. She was dressed in a charcoal trench coat, her hair a sharp silver bob, her eyes the same piercing gold as Einstein's.
"Mother," Einstein said, his voice catching for the first time in years.
Yvette Jacob didn't run to him. She didn't cry. She stood her ground, her gaze sweeping over him with the clinical precision of a master inspecting a blade.
"You're late, Einstein," she said, her British accent crisp and aristocratic. "And you're bleeding. A Sovereign shouldn't be touched by a common governor like Kael."
"He was a 13th-level, Mother. I was protecting my wife."
Yvette's gaze shifted to Felicity, who had just stepped onto the tarmac. The two women locked eyes—the businesswoman who had clawed her way up from nothing, and the shadow queen who had manipulated the world from a bunker.
"So, this is the woman who called my son 'unproductive' for five years," Yvette said, her voice like a velvet razor. "I should have had you removed the moment you made him sleep on the floor, Felicity. But Einstein insisted you were part of his 'training' in humility."
Felicity flinched, but she didn't look away. "I didn't know who he was. No one did."
"That was the point," Yvette said, turning toward the car. "Get in. The Great Elders have called an emergency session at the Temple. They know you're here for the Throne. If we don't reach the Vault by dawn, they will execute the 'Scorched Earth' protocol and wipe the Jacob name from every bank in the world."
The Vault of the North
The convoy moved through the twisting, fog-choked streets of London, bypassing the tourist landmarks for the brutalist architecture of the financial district. They stopped in front of an unmarked stone building that looked like a fortress.
"This is the Old Exchange," Yvette explained as they descended in a high-speed elevator that seemed to drop for miles. "Beneath it lies the 'Nerve Center.' It's where your father stored the physical assets—the gold, the titles, and the true Sun-God Seal."
The elevator doors opened to reveal a chamber that defied logic. It was a cathedral of technology and ancient stone. Massive servers hummed in the background, while the walls were lined with rows of physical gold bars stacked thirty feet high.
In the center of the room sat a throne made of cold, blue steel. Above it, a holographic display showed a map of the world, dotted with thousands of pulsing gold lights.
"Those lights are the Jacob assets," Yvette said. "The five hundred billion you have now is just the liquid cash. The total value of the 'Throne' is closer to ten trillion dollars. But it's locked."
"Locked how?" Einstein asked, walking toward the throne.
"It requires the 15th-level 'King's Breath' technique," a deep, booming voice echoed from the shadows of the vault.
Three old men stepped into the light. They were dressed in robes of pure white, their auras so powerful that the air in the vault began to crackle with static electricity. These were the Great Elders—the true masters of the War God Council.
"Einstein Jacob," the lead Elder said. "You have defeated our governor and claimed the minor seal. But to sit on that throne and claim the global inheritance, you must prove you are the True Heir. If you fail to unlock the vault with your internal force, you will be executed for trespassing on Sovereign ground."
The Trial of the King
Einstein looked at the throne. He felt the weight of the $500 billion, the $10 million villa, and the five years of humiliation. He looked at Felicity, who was being held back by two Vanguard guards, and at his mother, who was watching him with a cold, expectant intensity.
"Einstein, don't!" Felicity shouted. "It's a trap! No one can hit the 15th level!"
Einstein didn't listen. He sat on the cold steel throne. The moment his skin touched the metal, a series of needles extended from the armrests, piercing his veins. The throne wasn't just a seat; it was a biometric interface that began to drain his Qi.
The vault began to shake. The holographic map turned red.
"The boy is being consumed!" one of the Elders laughed. "He is but a 13th-level. The throne will drain him dry in seconds!"
Einstein felt his heart slowing. His vision blurred. He saw his grandfather's face, then his father's. He felt the "Second Gift"—the energy he had tapped into at the gala—begin to waver.
"The money is the fuel," his father's voice whispered in his mind. "But the throne is the furnace. To lead, you must burn everything you were."
Einstein closed his eyes. He stopped fighting the throne. Instead of resisting the drainage, he opened his meridians and pushed everything into the seat. His $500 billion, his pride, his anger, his love for Felicity—he turned it all into raw, unrefined internal force.
Suddenly, the golden light in his eyes changed. It turned into a brilliant, blinding white.
The 14th level... The 15th level...
A shockwave of pure energy erupted from the throne, throwing the Great Elders back against the gold stacks. The holographic map turned from red to a brilliant, steady gold. The massive steel doors at the back of the vault—the 'Final Vault'—began to grind open.
Einstein stood up from the throne. He didn't look tired. He looked like he was made of light.
"The inheritance is unlocked," Einstein said, his voice echoing like thunder.
The Great Elders scrambled to their knees, their faces pale with terror. "The... the 15th-level... The King of the North has returned!"
The Final Revelation
Einstein walked toward the Final Vault. Inside, there were no gold bars. There were no servers. There was only a single, small wooden cradle and a dusty portrait.
Einstein picked up the portrait. It was a picture of his father, his mother, and a second child—a girl.
"Mother," Einstein said, his voice trembling. "Who is she?"
Yvette stepped into the vault, her eyes softening for the first time. "That is your sister, Einstein. The Council didn't just want the money. They kidnapped her twenty years ago to use her as the ultimate 'Human Seal.' She is currently being held in the heart of the Council's main fortress in the Himalayas."
Einstein gripped the portrait so hard the frame cracked. The $500 billion, the global empire, the 15th-level power—it all finally had a purpose.
"Rhea!" Einstein roared.
"Sir!"
"Fuel the jet. Call the Vanguard. We aren't staying in London."
He turned to Felicity, who was staring at him in awe. He reached out and took her hand.
"I told you I was going to buy the rest of the world, Felicity," Einstein said, his eyes glowing with the fire of a King. "But first, I'm going to burn down the people who stole my family."
As they left the vault, Einstein's phone buzzed with a final notification.
Current Balance: $10,400,000,000,000.50
The world was no longer just his board. It was his weapon.