The revolving glass doors of the Cross
Logistics corporate headquarters slid open with a quiet, synchronized hiss.
Grant Cross stepped onto the immaculate, white Italian marble floor of the main lobby.
The sharp, clinical scent of high-end chemical floor polish and expensive designer perfume instantly replaced the damp, raw smell of harbor fuel and stagnant river water he had worn like a second skin for five long years.
Dozens of low-level corporate employees, secretaries, and interns rushed across the expansive floor, their eyes glued to digital tablets and flashing smartphones.
Nobody looked up to acknowledge Grant.
To them, a man walking into a multi-billion-dollar enterprise wearing a faded canvas jacket with frayed cuffs and water-stained work boots wasn’t even worth a secondary glance.
Good.
Grant preferred to remain a shadow until the trap was completely sprung.
He locked his golden-tinted pupils on the private executive elevator bank at the far end of the grand hall.
Right above the reinforced steel doors, a polished gold-leaf sign read: Executive Boardroom – Restricted Access.
« SYSTEM TACTICAL SENSORY NETWORK ACTIVE »
• Current Location: Cross Corporate Tower (Sector 1)
• Active Security Threats: 12x Low-Level Guard Sensors (Combat Strength: 15)
• Automated Status: System environmental anomaly scan completely clear.
• Current Wallet Reserve: 1x Sovereign Black Card (Asset Liquidity Value: $500,000,000.00)
Grant stepped into the private elevator cage.
The moment his finger tapped the top-floor button, a security guard stepped forward to intervene, but Grant simply let a microscopic trace of his Primordial Dragon Qi bleed into the air.
The sheer oppressive density of the aura caused the guard’s breath to catch in his throat, his hand freezing over his holster as the elevator doors slid shut.
The elevator climbed rapidly, the digital floor indicator counting up to the 40th floor.
When the steel doors opened, the muffled sound of frantic shouting immediately cut through the luxurious silence of the executive suite.
Bradley Cross was standing at the head of a massive, polished mahogany conference table.
His right hand was wrapped in thick, heavy layers of white medical plaster—a permanent reminder of the broken bones he had sustained at the harbor hours prior.
He was slamming his uninjured left fist violently against the wood, screaming at three terrified bank regulators who were sitting across from him.
“I don’t care about their logistics history or their union contracts!” Bradley roared, his face twisting into a manic, desperate snarl.
“Revoke the northern harbor line’s credit immediately!
If those dock hands can’t pay their terminal fees by noon today, I want the military police clearing the yard and locking down the cargo crates!”
“The terminal fee is exactly four million dollars, Mr.
Cross,” the lead bank regulator sighed, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses nervously as he stared at his laptop screen.
“The legal grace period doesn’t expire for another two hours.
Unless someone settles the outstanding debt in cold cash, our bank cannot legally seize the assets or freeze the harbor line before the deadline.”
“Nobody down at those filthy docks has four pennies, let alone four million dollars!” Bradley laughed hysterically, his voice cracking under the immense stress of his hidden debts.
“The original Vance martial legacy is dead and buried!
I own this city’s supply lines!
I own everything!”
“The debt is already settled,” a calm, low voice vibrated from the boardroom doorway, cutting through Bradley’s frantic shouting like a razor through silk.
Bradley froze mid-breath.
His chest heaved as his head snapped toward the entrance of the boardroom.
His eyes bulged out of their sockets, veins throbbing against his temples as Grant walked casually into the room.
The three bank regulators turned around in absolute confusion, their eyes scanning the rugged dock hand in disbelief.
Grant didn’t hesitate.
He walked straight to the center of the room and tossed a heavy, matte-black titanium corporate card onto the middle of the mahogany table.
The card bore no bank logo, no tracking numbers, and no expiration dates.
It only featured the deeply embossed gold symbol of a coiled primeval dragon.
« SYSTEM VERIFICATION: TRANSACTION ENCRYPTED »
• Target Account: Northern Harbor Terminal Debt Clearing
• Amount Deducted: $4,000,000.00
• Remaining Financial Core Liquidity: $496,000,000.00
• Transaction Status: Debt cleared permanently.
Cross Logistics legal lien has been deleted.
The lead bank regulator’s terminal suddenly let out a sharp, high-pitched digital chime.
The laptop screen flashed a brilliant, bright green alert message: [Account 001-Sovereign: Debt Settled in Full.
Corporate Ownership Restored to Original Founder.]
The regulator dropped his expensive fountain pen, his fingers shaking uncontrollably as he stared at the financial data on the wall monitor.
He looked up from the computer screen to Grant, his voice trembling with sheer awe.
“This…
this is an unrestricted Master-Level Sovereign clearance account.
The entire northern harbor asset loop has just been completely detached from Cross Logistics’ portfolio.
Sir, who are you?”
“What?!
No!
That’s mathematically impossible!” Bradley shrieked, his voice rising to an effeminate scream as he stared at the glowing green data block reflecting on the glass walls.
He pointed his plastered, broken hand at Grant, his knees visibly shaking as his mind flashed back to the terrifying, mountain-like weight that had crushed his elite bodyguards into the mud the night before.
“He’s just a dock worker!
He’s a penniless stray!
He’s a ghost from the slums!
Where could a broken piece of trash get that kind of liquid capital?!”
Grant didn’t offer a long, traditional novel explanation.
He didn’t waste time recounting his five years of suffering.
He walked straight past the trembling regulators, his physical frame casting a long, imposing shadow over his terrified cousin.
He reached out his hand, and the black titanium card automatically flew from the mahogany table back into his palm, guided by an invisible thread of Dragon Qi.
“Five years ago, you drove an obsidian spike into my spine and thought you buried my family’s legacy,” Grant said, his voice entirely soft, yet dropping the atmospheric room pressure by several heavy degrees.
The temperature in the boardroom plummeted, frost visibly forming over the edges of the water glasses on the table.
Grant leaned in close, his golden pupils flashing with a predatory light.
“The terminal fees are paid, Bradley.
And according to the original corporate bylaws of this very company, the man who holds the Master Code holds the majority share seat.
As of right now, your executive access to this building is officially revoked.”
Bradley staggered backward, his breath catching in his chest as the sheer weight of Grant’s baseline 1,800 Combat Strength began to passively leak into the room.
He felt as if a physical concrete wall was pressing against his sternum.
“Security!” Bradley screamed frantically, hitting the emergency panic button beneath the lip of the table.
“Get in here!
Kill him!
Shoot this trespasser!”
The reinforced doors of the boardroom burst open, and four elite security guards clad in tactical body armor rushed inside, their automatic pistols raised.
Over their heads, Grant’s system immediately generated localized threat windows.
« SYSTEM TARGET ASSESSMENT »
• Threat Group: Cross Logistics Elite Guard Team
• Individual Combat Strength: 45 (Enhanced Humans)
• Aggregate Hostility: 100%
• Tactical Recommendation: Execute newly unlocked active skill: [Dragon’s Claw]
Grant didn’t pull the Basic Mortal Sword from his coat.
Against insects like these, using a weapon was a waste of durability.
Instead, he extended his right hand, curling his fingers into a claw-like shape.
Deep, golden draconic energy erupted from his pores, wrapping around his forearm and condensing into the distinct, terrifying visage of a scaled dragon’s claw.
The raw energy tore the fabric of his sleeve to shreds, releasing a low, resonant roar that shattered the surrounding double-pane glass windows of the skyscraper.
BOOM!
Before the guards could even pull their triggers, Grant swept his golden clawed hand through the empty air in a wide, horizontal arc.
The physical force of his 160 Strength combined with the 50% armor penetration of the active skill created a massive shockwave of solid kinetic energy.
The shockwave slammed into the four tactical guards like an invisible freight train, instantly shattering their ceramic chest plates and launching them backward out into the hallway.
They crashed against the opposite wall, unconscious before they even hit the floor.
« SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: ACTION COMPLIANCE »
• Skill Executed: Dragon’s Claw (Duration Remaining: 8 seconds)
• Targets Neutralized: 4x Enhanced Guards
• Experience Gained: +200 EXP (Current Progress: 200 / 2,000 to Stage 3)
Grant retracted his hand, the golden scales fading back into his skin as he looked back at Bradley, who was now kneeling on the floor in his custom suit, hyperventilating in a puddle of spilled water.
“This is just the first installment of the debt, cousin,” Grant said calmly, turning his back on the ruined boardroom.
“By tomorrow night, I will own the air you breathe.”
The corporate face-slap is officially complete!
Grant just reclaimed the northern harbor and shattered Bradley’s elite security team with a single use of his new skill, Dragon’s Claw!
Bradley has lost his company, but he still has the backing of the main Cross Clan.
Can Grant survive when the true hidden masters of the city arrive?