10x God-Tier Stealing System: Pumping S-Rank SuperHeroines Daily!-Chapter 114- Preparing for Massive Train Heist

Surben spat, clearly stunned.

He had once heard a late-night radio commentary featuring a scathing short documentary about this exact man.

Out of sheer boredom and curiosity, Surben had found that Cruxius was often seen publicly with an endless string of beautiful, random women across many different high-society occasions.

"...Which exact radio station was that, and what was the name of the loudmouth radio jockey?" Cruxius asked, his eyes narrowing, genuinely caught off-guard. In most cases, such sensitive information was violently suppressed by the ruthless Blac family, so revealing anything of the sort was incredibly rare and dangerous.

For this blind hermit to know about it, it meant the family had carelessly overlooked a small, underground FM channel leaking the truth—a surprisingly admirable, yet fatal feat.

"Oh, it was Vex. Devil Vex," Surben replied, slowly loosening his tense grip on the iron rod and carefully moving toward a wobbly chair. He seated himself without asking for help, acutely noting the powerful woman didn’t even offer him assistance—a clear sign she felt absolutely no sympathy for a helpless blind man.

"Vex... I see."

Cruxius’s mouth twitched slightly in dark amusement upon hearing the familiar name. He instantly recognized it. A brief, cold smile formed as he shook his head, vividly remembering a few annoying "friends" who often targeted his private, personal life for clout.

But Vex had never been on that specific list—mainly because the idiot had died like a stray dog after hilariously falling into a dried-up lake while desperately dodging a runaway truck.

The exact same "accident" would happen again to whoever was running the station now—Cruxius just needed a valid reason.

"So—" Cruxius began, shifting gears to speak about the specific, heavy sword he needed made, but Surben angrily interrupted him.

"I know exactly what you want, Blac. Handcuffs, heavy butt plugs, and those twisted, perverted toys you constantly ask other, desperate weapon masters to make for your little games. I won’t do it. Never," Surben said firmly, his jaw set. He vividly recalled the detailed, scandalous information the jockey had broadcast, complete with photographic proof—Cruxius was infamous for hiring popular weapon masters to forge unbreakable bondage tools for his women.

"...."

Cruxius stared at him, blinking slowly.

"Master, any orders?" Darithi asked, her voice entirely devoid of emotion, though she subtly shifted her stance, the leather of her suit creaking softly.

"Kill Vex’s successor. Make sure he falls into a very dry lake."

"Understood. I’ll hire a professional assassin right now."

"...Gulp. Y-Young Master, please tell me what you actually need," Surben stammered, his face draining of color, suddenly deeply shaken by the terrifyingly serious, casual conversation—as if the man named Vex was already being buried. His stubborn bravado instantly vanished as raw survival instincts fiercely took over.

"I need a weapon, Surben," Cruxius said coldly, glancing toward the dark entrance where Darithi had just silently left. He had intentionally sent her away, wanting to prepare a very specific, intimate gift for her. She would definitely know eventually—but not right away. He wanted to see her face when she realized.

"A weapon? Young Master, I might not be entirely suitable..." Surben began to nervously explain that he might not be good enough anymore, especially considering the vast, cutting-edge resources a billionaire like Cruxius had access to. But Cruxius smoothly interrupted him.

"A sword. A simple, perfectly balanced sword made out of pure cold black metal. I’ll personally deliver the raw material to you in two days," Cruxius stated calmly, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument.

The old smith appeared visibly confused, his sightless eyes blinking. If Cruxius was going to bring the materials later, why the hell had he come down here now?

"I-I understand," Surben replied with a simple, jerky nod, waiting silently for the terrifying man to finally leave his home.

"Pick up that filthy cat. We’re relocating you immediately," Cruxius said as he stood, his hands casually tucked into his expensive pockets. At that precise moment, several heavily armed guards violently burst into the dim room.

’!?!’

"Wh-what the—mmpphh—!?!" Surben cried out, clearly startled by the sudden, deafening stampede of heavy footsteps. As he frantically tried to rise from the chair, a thick, chloroform-soaked rag was suddenly clamped over his face, and his thick arms were brutally grabbed by two or three massive, muscular men. In mere agonizing moments, his struggles ceased, and he lost consciousness entirely.

Thud.

He fell heavily to his knees, tightly restrained by two men in sharp suits—clearly elite bodyguards—on either side of him. Cruxius gave them another cold order, his voice sharp as he pointed a manicured finger toward the gray cat that had just leapt in terror onto the table.

"Grab that damn cat."

"Y-yes, sir," one of the guards responded nervously, lunging clumsily after the agile cat. But naturally, the terrified little creature evaded capture with absolute ease, springing violently off the massive guard’s head and desperately attempting to dash out of the open room. Just as it was mid-air, however, Darithi effortlessly caught it by the collar, her reflexes terrifyingly fast.

"Here, Master," Darithi said, holding the violently squirming cat firmly in one gloved hand as she approached Cruxius, her chest rising and falling evenly.

Cruxius stepped forward as well, reaching deliberately for the thick collar the cat wore. It squirmed furiously in Darithi’s firm, unyielding grip as he forcefully pulled a small, heavy locket from the collar.

"Hm, it even has a digital timer?" Cruxius muttered, highly unaccustomed to seeing such a thing on an animal, as he sharply noticed a small, flickering red display on the back of the pendant.

With a simple, calculated click, he completely stopped the countdown—clearly a piece of advanced tech designed to trigger something devastating once it hit zero.

Whatever it was, he had absolutely no intention of letting it activate—especially knowing this little device could mean the explosive freedom of the man he fully intended to keep locked away as his personal weapon-making slave.

"Darithi, let’s go," he ordered coldly, turning sharply toward the door and walking out of the trashed room. The heavy bodyguards and Darithi followed obediently behind him.

A tall, brutalist building stood near Station Kael, its vast rooftop completely open to the strong, biting morning wind. A striking woman stood dangerously close to the edge, holding a long, polished stick casually in one hand. Her heavy black tactical robe fluttered violently behind her, snapping in the wind.

A cold silver mask completely covered her face, hiding her expression from the world.

Behind her stood five heavily armed men. Each held a long, rod-shaped, high-tech weapon, their eyes fixed intensely on the complex network of tracks far below. The distant, heavy sound of an approaching cargo train echoed ominously in the crisp air.

"Get ready. Stop that train completely. No one gets off alive." She raised her gloved hand, the sheer coldness in her eyes clearly visible through the narrow slits of the mask—silvery and calculating, like a gem reflecting the harsh light outside.

"What about you, Commander?" One of the men stepped forward, his voice unsure.

They were among the very few fanatically loyal to her, but for the past few tense days, there had been a very noticeable, disturbing change in the commander—who, after ruthlessly leading the front lines, had suddenly returned to the city. Clearly, she was deeply, almost obsessively interested in targeting a particular elite family. Especially the infamous heir of the Blac family.