Chapter 31: Mobilizing Troops and the Godfather

Among the one hundred and thirty-two suspects, twelve were Legendary-tier superhumans, thirty-eight were at the Transcendent tier, and eighty-two were at the Control tier. Of these, the specific abilities of only sixty-three were known to imperial intelligence, with the rest remaining matters of speculation.

Drawing upon this limited intelligence, the legion commanders debated back and forth, gradually finalizing an operational framework. The primary principle was to flush the targets out, avoiding combat in densely populated urban areas. The plan involved leveraging telecommunications companies to have the targets "receive" calls from friends or family, then using AI-generated, hyper-realistic voices to lure them away from crowds. For those without close associates, the scheme involved fabricating work-related emergencies to lead them into pre-designated, desolate areas, setting the stage for total fire coverage.

The Empire’s six currently orbiting laser combat satellites would each lock onto a Legendary-tier target, serving as the "sharp swords" for precision strikes. The remaining targets would be handled by missile units providing saturation fire support, coordinated with encirclement by elite superhuman forces to ensure capture or annihilation.

The commanders quickly divided the target areas and personnel among their respective legions, drafted specific tactical maneuvers, and submitted detailed requests for troop deployment to Bai Yu Jing. In an era before technology reached such heights, legion commanders held the privilege of mobilizing troops under emergency conditions. However, as technological power grew, the civil bureaucracy, led by the Prime Minister, gradually reclaimed this authority. Today, any military movement must be personally approved by Bai Yu Jing.

Gao Jinzhong walked toward Bai Yu Jing, respectfully holding a black sandalwood box inlaid with gold filigree. As the lid opened, the bright light of the hall poured down, reflecting off the jade seal inside—a symbol of supreme power. The seal was warm and lustrous, its top carved with nine divine dragons coiled in a majestic display, with a sturdy, square base beneath.

Wang Hu’s breath hitched. This was the Imperial Jade Seal! He had only ever seen images and descriptions in history textbooks; this was the first time in his life he had beheld the real thing. In the Great Han Empire, the use of jade for stamps was strictly forbidden for any official or agency, with the exception of the Emperor. Forging a jade seal was a grave crime punishable by thirty years in prison or even death.

Bai Yu Jing picked up the seal and pressed it heavily onto the deployment request. When he lifted it, eight solemn characters remained on the pristine paper: "Having received the mandate from Heaven, may one live forever and prosper." Since it was the Imperial Jade Seal, Bai Yu Jing felt it would lack soul if it did not bear those eight words.

...

Vina City, a renowned tourist destination in the 15th Administrative District, was famous for its high-quality wine. The city lacked the skyscrapers of the modern era; everywhere one looked, there were rows of low-rise buildings, three or four stories tall. These buildings, with their bright colors and unique designs, made one feel as if they had stepped into a fairy tale. Vina City’s time was six hours behind the Imperial Capital. When the hands of the clock in the capital pointed to 3:00 PM, the morning light of 9:00 AM had only just arrived here.

Caesar sat at the head of the long dining table in his home. He meticulously combed his dazzling, long golden hair, and his well-tailored black suit gave him a tall, upright silhouette. In front of him sat a traditional pizza with a hearty, authentic crust. In recent years, a "heretical" trend had emerged in the 15th Administrative District, advocating for "blasphemous" toppings like watermelon or pineapple on pizza. But Caesar was a staunch defender of tradition. Anyone who dared mention pineapple pizza in his presence would have their head shoved into a bucket of water for three minutes, just to help clear their "wooden head."

He used to love pizza. However, since evolving into an immortal being, his taste buds seemed to be covered by a veil, and he could no longer savor the pure satisfaction he once felt. Yet, to maintain the facade of a "human," he strictly adhered to a fixed routine. At fixed times, he ate fixed foods and did fixed things. For instance, during breakfast, he would receive those who came seeking his help. The supplicants were a diverse lot—workers, merchants, government officials... Caesar turned no one away. But he had a rule known to everyone in Vina City: accepting his help meant that a debt must be repaid in the future. It was an intangible obligation.

Milo knew the weight of this rule well, yet he still stepped into Caesar’s luxuriously decorated living room. He loved the Great Han Empire, held the Sage in high respect and trust, and firmly believed that the Sage would eventually lead the nation toward a better future. However, he also realized with painful clarity that some changes required a long time to brew, and he could no longer wait.

"I have only one daughter; she was the apple of my eye," Milo’s voice trembled with agony. "A girl as lively, warm, and kind-hearted as sunshine... but I lost her. That damn punk was speeding with her, and they had an accident." Thinking of his daughter’s cold body in the morgue, Milo’s eyes turned bloodshot. "The lawyer told me the bastard would get three years at most and pay me some money to settle it. Is that all my daughter’s life is worth?!"

Caesar chewed and swallowed his pizza deliberately before raising his eyes to look at the grieving father. "So, Milo, what would you have me do?"

Milo stood up, walked slowly to Caesar’s side, and knelt on one knee. Caesar raised his right hand at the perfect moment. Milo cradled that hand in his own, and with desperate piety, bowed his head to kiss the back of it. "Godfather," Milo said, his voice low and firm, "my daughter lost her life, but that piece of trash only loses a leg. It’s too unfair. As the old saying goes, a life for a life."

"Relax, my friend." Caesar patted Milo’s shoulder gently, signaling him to rise. "Perhaps one day—or perhaps never—I will ask you to repay this favor. Until then, let this act of justice serve as the beginning of our friendship."

Milo’s expression was grave. As a businessman, he would have preferred to resolve this with money. But clearly, the Godfather didn't value his money; he valued the man himself and the "favor" that might come in handy later.

Caesar smiled and made a simple gesture to his assistant standing nearby. The assistant nodded in understanding. For many, taking a life was an extremely difficult task. But for the underground Godfather of Vina City, it was nothing more than a few words. Caesar always had a way of ensuring that various "accidents" would descend precisely upon the heads of his targets. If he couldn't do that, he wouldn't have been able to hold his position as Godfather for so many years.

He straightened his suit, preparing to let the next supplicant in. Just then, his phone rang with a crisp tone. The screen displayed the caller ID: "Little Sister."

Caesar answered immediately, his voice softening. "My dear Polina, are you having fun in Miss?"

"Sob... Brother..." A suppressed cry came from the other end. "Berto... he’s drunk... he hit me..."

Caesar’s fingers tightened around the phone. He knew Berto had a bad temper when drinking, but his sister loved him, and with his own status as a "patron," he had assumed Berto wouldn't dare overstep. Clearly, he had underestimated the extent of the bastard’s stupidity.

"Don't cry. Tell me the address of your hotel." Caesar’s voice remained calm, but his speech was noticeably faster. Polina quickly gave the address.

Caesar stood up abruptly and strode toward the door. His personal bodyguard, waiting outside, immediately stepped forward. "Godfather, where are you going? We..."

"Don't follow." Even with his anger burning, Caesar maintained his final shred of reason. If he brought his men, out of the "Godfather's" decorum and dignity, he would have to execute Berto on the spot, rather than simply teaching him a lesson. He knew very well that Polina did not want to be a widow just yet.