Chapter 475: Episode 473: I feel like a pauper

Roxy stood in front of the full-length mirror in the opulent hospital suite, completely shedding the last remnants of the frail, broken ghost she had been.

She slipped into a pair of perfectly tailored, high-waisted linen trousers and a soft, emerald-green silk blouse that Kaelen had procured for her.

The rich color made her green eyes pop and highlighted the healthy, vibrant flush that had finally returned to her cheeks.

She looked healthy. She looked whole. She looked exactly like the reigning Matriarch of the Vanguard empire.

The door of the suite opened, and Zarek stepped inside. The Dragon King paused, his golden eyes sweeping over her restored, magnificent form. A low, appreciative rumble vibrated in the depths of his chest, a sound completely devoid of the crushing panic that had haunted him for months.

"You are ready," Zarek murmured, stepping behind her to gently place his calloused hands on her shoulders.

"I am more than ready," Roxy replied, turning around to face him. "Get me out of this building, Zarek. If I hear that heart monitor beep one more time, I am going to throw it out the window."

Zarek’s lips twitched into a rare, devastatingly handsome smile. He offered her his arm.

They walked out of Room 412 together. The entirely deserted fourth-floor recovery wing felt like a tomb as they passed the empty nurses’ stations. Kaelen, Torian, Syris, Caspian, and Ren were already waiting in the main lobby downstairs, having meticulously cleared the exit route of any unnecessary terrestrial crowds.

The automatic glass doors of the hospital lobby hissed open.

Roxy stepped over the threshold, and for the first time in over four agonizing months, the natural light of the terrestrial sun hit her face.

She stopped right there on the concrete sidewalk, closing her eyes as the warm, golden rays washed over her skin. The ambient noise of the city—the distant sirens, the hum of traffic, the chatter of pedestrians—rushed into her ears. It was chaotic and loud, lacking the deep, ancient serenity of the Iron-Wood forest, but she was alive to hear it.

"Step this way, Matriarch," Syris’s smooth, velvet voice guided her.

Roxy opened her eyes, blinking against the bright sunlight, and completely froze.

Idling silently at the curb, completely blocking the hospital’s main drop-off zone, was not just a single luxury car. It was a massive, intimidating fleet of six custom, armored, midnight-black Maybach SUVs.

A dozen broad-shouldered men in immaculate dark suits and earpieces stood at absolute, terrifying attention around the vehicles. They were top-tier private military contractors, yet they completely lowered their eyes in absolute deference the second Zarek and the other Kings stepped onto the pavement.

Zarek casually escorted Roxy to the center SUV, the largest and most heavily fortified of the fleet. The heavily tinted rear door was pulled open by a guard.

Roxy slid into the cavernous back seat, the smell of pristine, untouched leather filling her senses. The interior was a masterpiece of modern luxury, equipped with privacy glass, a chilled champagne console, and plush, reclining seats. Zarek slid in beside her, his massive frame easily dwarfing the spacious interior, while the other five Kings dispersed into the escort vehicles.

The heavy doors shut with a solid, vault-like thud, cutting off the city noise entirely.

The fleet pulled away from the curb, merging flawlessly into the heavy midday traffic like a massive, untouchable shadow.

Roxy sank back into the leather, turning her head to stare at Zarek. The explosive question she had dropped the night before—Where is all this money coming from?—was still hanging entirely unanswered in the air.

"Alright," Roxy demanded, crossing her arms over her silk blouse. "You promised me an explanation once we left the hospital. Start talking. How did six dimension-hopping Warlords without a single terrestrial social security number afford a private military fleet and buy out an entire medical wing?"

Zarek casually rested his arm across the back of the seats, his golden eyes completely unbothered.

"Earth is a painfully simple realm, Roxy," Zarek rumbled smoothly, watching the city skyline roll past the tinted windows. "It lacks elemental magic, but it operates on a very predictable system of predatory dominance. The humans call it capitalism."

"You conquered capitalism?" Roxy asked, her tone entirely deadpan.

"Syris conquered capitalism," Zarek corrected with a faint smirk. "The Swamp King spent five thousand years navigating the most treacherous, backstabbing political courts in the Beastworld. When we arrived on Earth, he realized the human stock market was essentially the exact same game, just played with numbers instead of venom."

Roxy’s jaw dropped slightly. "Syris is playing the stock market?"

"Syris owns the stock market," Zarek stated matter-of-factly. "He hacked the foundational algorithms within a week. He executed hostile takeovers of three major international banks before the end of the month. Kaelen applied his cold, logistical mind to the global shipping and resource chains, establishing an absolute monopoly on raw materials. Caspian and Ren utilized their ancient healing knowledge to completely upend the terrestrial pharmaceutical and bio-tech industries."

Roxy stared at him, her brain completely stalling out.

"You are telling me," Roxy breathed, gripping the leather armrest, "that while I was asleep in a hospital bed, my husbands became global corporate overlords?"

"We needed terrestrial capital to ensure your safety and comfort," Zarek reasoned, as if taking over the global economy was no more difficult than running an errand. "We consolidated our assets into a single, untouchable corporate umbrella. Technically speaking, Kaelen, Syris, Ren, and Caspian hold massive, incomprehensible corporate assets. By human standards, they are practical trillionaires."

"Trillionaires," Roxy repeated, the word sounding completely absurd on her tongue.

She turned her head to look out the window. They were driving through the most expensive, glittering commercial district of the city. She saw massive, glass-paneled skyscrapers bearing subtle, sleek corporate logos that she now terrifyingly suspected belonged to her mates. They hadn’t just survived their transition to Earth; they had violently, flawlessly conquered it.

"And Torian?" Roxy asked, suddenly remembering the White Tiger Alpha. "Please don’t tell me Torian is a Wall Street banker. I don’t think my brain can handle the image of him in a cubicle."

Zarek actually chuckled, a deep, rich sound. "No. Torian found the corporate world incredibly boring. He channeled his feral energy in a different direction."

Zarek reached forward and tapped a small touchscreen on the console. A hidden compartment slid open, revealing a sleek, high-end tablet. He handed it to Roxy.

She looked at the screen. It was an article from the digital front page of Vogue and Architectural Digest. The headline read: The Ghost Genius: How the Elusive ’T.V.’ is Redefining the Modern Creative World.

Below the headline were breathtaking, high-definition photographs of avant-garde fashion designs, aggressively beautiful interior architecture, and raw, visceral digital art that perfectly captured the terrifying, feral beauty of apex predators. It was heavily inspired by the Beastworld, translated flawlessly into aesthetics.

"Torian?" Roxy gasped, her eyes wide as she scrolled through the staggering portfolio. She knew the creative and design world intimately from her own career, and the sheer, raw talent displayed on the screen was nothing short of revolutionary.

"He is a wildly popular, completely elusive, and ultra-rich figure in the human creative sphere," Zarek explained, looking incredibly proud of his brother. "The humans are obsessed with him because he refuses to attend their galas or do interviews. They call him a visionary. He just draws what he remembers of the Beastworld."

Roxy slowly set the tablet down on her lap.

She looked out the tinted window again as the massive fleet of Maybachs smoothly navigated the terrestrial streets, parting the sea of civilian traffic like royalty. She thought about her own terrestrial life before the Beastworld—budgeting her freelance design money, calculating profit margins on wholesale gadgets just to save up twenty thousand dollars for the year.

She was riding in a multi-million-dollar armored vehicle, guarded by mercenaries, escorted by men who literally owned the skyline she was looking at.

The sheer, apocalyptic scale of their human wealth was entirely incomprehensible. She had married gods, and they had simply decided to become gods of this world, too.

Roxy sat back against the pristine leather, completely and utterly speechless. She looked at Zarek’s heavy, platinum watch, and then down at her own empty wrists.

"At this point, I feel like a pauper."