System S.E.X. (Seduction, Expansion, eXecution)-Chapter 324: The Silver Invitation

The shimmer in the air finally solidified into a tangible form. A man stood before Ethan, tall and unnervingly slender, possessing a face so symmetrically handsome it felt artificial. He was dressed in a suit of charcoal silk, tailored with a precision that made Ethan’s own high-end attire look like common rags. His presence was cold, and radiating a level of refined power that made the air feel thin.

"I am the Emissary of the Union," the man said, his voice like velvet over gravel.

Ethan’s eyes narrowed, his body remaining in a combat-ready stance. The Union. He had heard the whispers—the nightmare reports filtering through the underground channels. Over the last few weeks, powerful organizations across the globe had simply ceased to exist overnight, leaving behind nothing but scorched earth and blood-soaked ruins.

Ethan knew that by saving the Blackwood Matriarch, he had inadvertently fueled the fires of this global upheaval. He was half-responsible for the current chaos, and because of that, he had ordered his security to monitor every port and air-strip in the city. Yet, here stood an Emissary, directly in front of him, and not a single alarm had been tripped.

"May I ask what the Union wants with me? Sending someone to stalk me in the wasteland is a bit... uncomfortable, don’t you think?" Ethan said.

The Emissary did not answer immediately. Instead, he took a measured step forward and performed a shallow, perfect bow—the kind of gesture an elite butler might give to a king.

"I must apologize for my lack of decorum, Mr. Blake. I am also an Evaluator. I have been observing your movements, waiting for the optimal moment to present myself without the interference of your... delightful companions. Please, forgive the intrusion," the Emissary said.

His movements were impeccable, reminiscent of a seasoned, old-world manservant who had seen empires rise and fall. Ethan felt the tension in his shoulders ease just a fraction, realizing that brute force wouldn’t be the first move here. He forced a dry, sharp smile to his lips, trying to lighten the suffocating pressure of the encounter.

"It’s fine. Let’s just say it’s my paranoia playing tricks on me. It happens when you have a target on your back," Ethan said.

The Emissary reached into his breast pocket and produced a sleek, metallic card. It wasn’t gold or steel; it was a strange, shimmering silver that seemed to absorb the desert sunlight. He extended it toward Ethan with two fingers.

"You have been officially invited to join the Union, Mr. Blake. We have analyzed your territory, your military assets, and your personal combat capacity. Normally, by our standards, you would only qualify as a low-rank Bronze member," the Emissary said.

Ethan kept his face neutral, though a flicker of annoyance crossed his mind at being called "low-rank."

"However," the Emissary continued, "because you are the sole provider of that Level 4 healing potion—a feat deemed impossible by our alchemical labs—you have been granted an immediate promotion. You are invited as a Silver-rank member," the Emissary said.

A heavy silence followed. The Emissary stood there, a slight, expectant flush appearing on his pale cheeks. He was clearly waiting for Ethan to gasp in shock, to show gratitude, or perhaps to tremble at the prestige of such a high starting rank.

But Ethan just stared at him, his expression blank. He didn’t know the hierarchy, he didn’t know the benefits, and frankly, he didn’t know why a piece of silver plastic was supposed to change his life.

"And? Am I supposed to be impressed? Or do I just get a discount at the Union gift shop?" Ethan said.

A vein throbbed in the Emissary’s temple as he clenched his jaw so hard it made an audible click.

The Union controlled the entire globe; it was the apex of the underworld, the hidden hand behind every throne. Yet, here was this young man, treating them with a disdain he didn’t even bother to hide. It seemed Zwager’s reports hadn’t been exaggerated—the brat didn’t just lack fear; he lacked even a shred of respect.

"I see your knowledge is... lacking. Allow me to explain. Members of the Union are divided into Gold, Silver, and Bronze. Each tier carries specific incentives and, more importantly, permissions. For instance, a Bronze-level organization is restricted to a single city. You currently dominate an entire state, a feat only permitted for Silver-rank factions. A Gold-level faction, however, has the authority to rule an entire country without infringing upon our laws," the Emissary said.

Ethan caught the subtle threat immediately. The man was telling him that if he weren’t Silver, they would already be trying to dismantle his territory. He cut the Emissary off with a sharp, cold look.

"And if I decide I don’t care about your limits? What happens then?" Ethan said.

The Emissary’s professional mask shattered, replaced by a flare of genuine rage. "Insolent...! You dare to insult the Union?" the Emissary said.

The Emissary’s eyes ignited with a piercing green light. A sudden gale erupted around him, swirling with the destructive force of a localized tornado. His arms began to glow with the same emerald hue, the very air bending and twisting to follow the rhythm of his limbs.

"It seems I must teach you your place... the young are always so stupid... I mean, reckless," the Emissary said.

He launched himself at Ethan like a projectile. Ethan felt the pressure of the attack as if a giant monster were descending upon him, but instead of flinching, he smiled. Since his retirement, he had come to understand a new level of his own power that he had been itching to test—and this man had just delivered himself to his doorstep.

Ethan’s eyes flared with a deep, royal purple, and arcs of jagged lightning began to dance across his arms. The Emissary’s fist whistled through the air, but Ethan didn’t dodge. He threw a counter-punch, meeting the Emissary head-on. The collision produced a shockwave that sounded like a mountain splitting apart, an explosion of pure energy that would have leveled a city block if they weren’t in the middle of a wasteland.

The Emissary was forced back, his feet skidding across the dirt. He looked at his hand, stunned by the raw force. This power hadn’t been mentioned in the files. Ethan’s strength should have been comparable to a branch emissary of a Gold-level organization like Celestial—not someone who could stop a direct hit from a Union official without giving an inch.

"Come on, Emissary. Don’t pull that face. I haven’t even started yet," Ethan said.

"Searing Bolt...!!" Ethan shouted.

Lightning erupted from Ethan’s body like a barrage of spears, lashing out at the Emissary. The man smiled with disdain, twisting his body in mid-air to dodge the bolts with effortless grace. But before he could even land, he felt a sudden, devastating impact directly in his stomach.

Taken completely off-guard by Ethan’s speed, the Emissary was sent flying through the air. He slammed into the earth with the force of a falling meteor, creating a crater over a hundred meters wide. Dust and debris choked the air as the ground groaned under the impact.

Ethan stood at the edge of the pit, his body crackling with purple electricity, looking down at the fallen messenger.

"Haha... come now, Emissary. You can’t be this weak. Not when you represent the great Union," Ethan said.

The Emissary lay broken in the center of the smoking crater, blood staining his charcoal suit as he slipped into unconsciousness. Ethan didn’t even look down to confirm the kill. Instead, he tilted his head back, his gaze piercing the empty sky above.

"Shouldn’t you come out now? I hate it when people look down their noses at me... You sent a dog to do a person’s job. Such a disrespectful attitude toward me will not be tolerated," Ethan said.

The air shifted, not with a gale, but with a heavy, oppressive stillness. From the shimmering heat haze at the edge of the crater, a second figure materialized. He was an older man, his hair a stark, wintry white, wearing a long coat.

Without a word, the newcomer blurred into motion, appearing instantly beside the fallen Emissary. He grabbed the younger man by the collar, hauled him out of the pit, and tossed him onto the dirt like a sack of grain. He knelt down, producing a vial of thick, opaque green liquid, and forced it down the recruit’s throat. The Emissary’s ragged breathing immediately began to stabilize.

The old man stood up slowly, dusting off his sleeves before turning to face Ethan with a calm, practiced expression.

"I am a Veteran Auditor of the Union and a formal member of the Council. My companion is a rising recruit—young, talented, but clearly lacking in perspective. I apologize for his manners. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive his... youthful indiscretion," the Auditor said.

Ethan crossed his arms, the purple lightning still humming under his skin, making the air smell of ozone.

"Is that so? Then to what do I owe the honor of your presence in my humble territory? It’s quite a long way to travel just to pick up your trash," Ethan said.

Ethan’s voice sounded pleasant, almost polite, but the Auditor was no fool. He could feel the stinging disdain and the absolute lack of reverence in Ethan’s words. It was like a king speaking to a beggar who had accidentally wandered into his court.

"Your territory is far from humble, Mr. Blake. And your power... is far from what we were led to believe. We did not come here to threaten you, though my colleague clearly forgot his script. We came because the balance of power in this world is shifting, and a man of your caliber cannot remain a ’wild card’ for long," the Auditor said.

Ethan stepped closer, his shadow falling over the Auditor. "The Union wants to ’balance’ me? Or do you just want to make sure I’m a pawn on your side of the board?" Ethan said.