Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!-Chapter 343: Existence Unknown Secret, a Daughter.

Moments ago…

Parker stood still in his bedroom, one hand tucked into the pocket of his coat, the other resting lightly against the glass as he looked out over the estate. The Earth's chaos felt lightyears away. Below, through the spreading dusk, the front gates of the estate had opened wide—and the Origin Families had begun to arrive.

Their presence was thunder without sound.

But Parker's mind wasn't on them.

"How's it?" he asked, his voice calm—transmitted in a quiet mental ripple that only one could hear.

A voice answered instantly, smooth as silk and impossibly sweet.

"It's as you planned, honey," she whispered back, warm and teasing, but grounded. "When you killed his son, the entire divine plane went into panic. The Big Three vanished—probably into hiding or planning something deeper. Most of the Olympians split off to hunt for leads. Even the Champions have been put on pause."

Parker nodded slightly, his expression unreadable.

"Hera and Apollo?"

"Oh, a mess," the voice giggled softly in his mind. "Hera panicked. Probably tried to contact the old reliables. Night told me Hera even sent some of her 'favorites' to go look for that treasure you heard whispers about. Apollo? Probably ran off to look for THEY—if they didn't go together. Both are too busy not watching you."

Exactly as planned.

Parker hadn't killed Theseus out of spite.

That fool had simply stepped in front of the storm at the perfect moment—and Parker, cold and calculating, had used him to broadcast a message.

Let the gods feel fear that Parker went deeper than they'd expected and he gave them a hint of what he was on purpose to confirm their guess — especially the Big Three.

Let them scatter.

So they wouldn't be watching when the real moment happened.

"No one's watching?" he asked again, eyes still locked on the curve of the driveway.

"No one," she confirmed. "Only me inside. And Night is at the entrance, covering the veil. The God Hall is empty. Even their stream's paused."

He exhaled slowly.

He'd accepted the system's offer—let the gods watch. Let them spy. Let them see what they thought was everything but it was a miscalculation on his side 'cause he had felt something but he didn't show it on his face as he was being watched.

But what he gave them was theater.

He used it like a smokescreen.

He used Theseus' death to send the pantheon scrambling, so they wouldn't see what truly mattered. Because there was one thing Parker Black valued more than Concept Cards, more than divine status, more than any throne in any realm.

His own blood.

His daughter.

The next day Helena told him 'she' was here, he activated every part of the plan. And when the voice confirmed the Hall was truly empty…

He asked again. Because this wasn't something he would ever risk.

"She's safe?"

"Yes," the voice whispered back. "Cuteball is completely safe from their sight."

If the system had offered the Concept Card a moment later after he felt her presence—after he knew she was near—Parker wouldn't have taken it. He'd never risk her.

Not for any power. Not for anything.

Because what he saw next…?

The car door opened. A foot touched the ground.

And then Parker vanished.

Not ran.

Not blurred.

Just—gone.

And when he reappeared, standing in front of her, the stillness in the air changed. His voice—lower than anyone had ever heard it, shaken with something sacred—escaped his lips like a promise spoken under breath:

"Nyxavere…"

And her reply broke whatever remained of him:

"Daddy~"

Because this?

This wasn't strategy.

This wasn't war.

This was blood.

And it was the only treasure Parker would ever kneel for.

They vanished.

****

On their knees just moments ago, they now stood in stunned silence—still staring at the fading afterimage of the place where the Prince had appeared like a divine whisper, only to vanish again with the one thing all of them knew he loved the most to beg for: his daughter.

He had descended and disappeared so quickly it felt like a dream—no greetings, no ceremony, no divine aura flexed, just a father reclaiming what was his. A moment of warmth… cloaked in fear.

And now, in the space that remained, stood the titans of legacy.

At the front, stoic and towering in presence, stood Salem Ravencroft, also known in the mundane world as Winslow. He was draped in a rich onyx coat with silver vine-like embroidery climbing down the sleeves like restrained magic.

Beside him stood his wife, elegant and sharp-eyed, wearing a crystalline corset beneath a charcoal cloak that shimmered like raven feathers under starlight.

On her other side stood their eldest daughter, graceful but cold, her posture betraying a blade hidden beneath her skin. The eldest son, broader, stone-faced, bore the distinct Ravencroft intensity in his eyes. Behind them, twelve other family members stood in quiet reverence—each chosen, each bearing the unmistakable dark regality of their bloodline.

Further ahead, already in motion and breaking formation, was Maya—their youngest and most unruly daughter—striding forward with Helena, Vivian, Evelyn, and Annabelle, her steps full of fire and intent.

Then came the Shadowmires.

Their presence was a shadow draped in gold.

The man who led them wore a tailored black coat that flowed like liquid night, trimmed in cold gold that caught no light. His expression was unreadable—calm, yet impossibly sharp, like a mind that had already calculated every possible outcome and planned three massacres ahead.

Flanking him was his wife.

She moved like she wasn't walking—but waiting to strike. Dressed in obsidian silk shaped like it had been poured onto her skin, there was no softness to her frame. Only sharpness. Every line of her body screamed assassin. Every breath she took sliced the air around her. She was elegance weaponized.

Their daughter, trailing just behind, looked visibly on edge—restless, wild under the surface. She wore a long blue dress that clung at the shoulders and opened like mist at the hem, her long hell-night black hair cascading down her back like poisoned ivy. Her crimson eyes flicked left and right, calculating everyone as a potential threat. The whole Shadowmire entourage exuded pressure—the kind that made the weak feel like they were suffocating.

And yet... not everyone in attendance flinched.

Because they were all as powerful.

Standing across from them was the Kingswell family—known as the Harpers in the mundane world.

They were the lightest of the Origin Families—visually, at least. Dressed in refined silvers, whites, and pastels, they smiled like ambassadors at a gala, yet something about their eyes hinted at centuries of quiet manipulation. Bella stood front and center smiling, she's Evelyn's older sister, carrying a small girl with glistening white hair just like the whole family, their younger sibling clinging sleepily to her shoulder. Her expression was cheerful, soft… but her aura was still dangerous. She was the kind of woman who would cradle a child in one hand and command a planetary siege with the other.

The Kingswell patriarch, with his graceful wife beside him, led a formation of twelve as well—all of them were all smiles. Their ears were longer—far longer than even the Shadowmires—and tonight, none of them chose to conceal their features. They stood in moonlight and let the world remember what ancient blood looked like.

Their power didn't explode outward. It glided. Like music sharpened into a blade.

But none of that was what made the air truly uneasy.

No.

That feeling came from the last to arrive.

The Voidhowls. (Blackwoods)

Their name alone summoned silence. Even the wind seemed unsure how to behave when they approached. They didn't arrive loudly. They didn't show force..But the moment they were into view, the temperature changed.

And for many of lesser bloodlines… breathing would become a little more difficult.