The doorman didn’t understand what was happening. His first reaction was to wonder about the lookouts. Someone without an invitation had arrived at the theater door, yet there was no response whatsoever.

’Have all the lookouts been taken out?’

He was about to look through the peephole to see who had come. As his hand touched the Refined Gold Gate, an intense heat sent a jolt of pain through him, and he quickly pulled his hand back.

Before his eyes, the door began to glow red, melting like a bar of chocolate in hot water into a viscous liquid.

’Why? Wasn’t it supposed to be the strongest of metals? Why is it melting so easily?’

Through the large, molten hole, he saw a squad of fully-armed warriors. Their helmets completely obscured their faces, and their armor bore no emblems or sigils, making them impossible to identify. It was the last thing he ever saw.

Zog had arrived.

Uncertain of the exact defensive strength within the theater, Zog had decided to come in person, bringing all his elite subordinates currently in Twin Tower City with him.

’It’s time to end this farce.’

He had originally just wanted to find out who was spreading rumors about Raul, but it had snowballed, dragging him into this mess of noble-led human trafficking, brainwashing, and Devil worship.

Fine by him. If they weren’t going to play by the rules of morality, he was more than happy to repay them in kind.

Robbing nobles was his old trade, after all. After so many quiet years, he could treat today as a refresher course.

To avoid being recognized, Zog was currently in his standing form, clad in a suit of Dragon Descendant armor.

To be honest, it wasn’t a great fit. Dragon Descendants didn’t have wings, so he had to wear a size larger and stuff his own tightly folded wings into the space behind the chestplate.

This meant the rest of the armor was very loose, rattling around him like a boy who had stolen his father’s armor.

Besides, its defensive capabilities were inferior to his own Dragon Scale.

More importantly, the armor couldn’t withstand the heat of his Dragon Breath. Since a Red Dragon’s body often combusted in many places during battle, the chestplate was fitted with a heat indicator light. It would flash and emit a "DING-DONG" sound when the armor was about to melt.

It gave Zog a nostalgic thrill, reminding him of the joy of playing as one of the Light Country Warriors when he was a child.

Nevertheless, with a mixed warband of Zor Orcs at his back, no one would dare find the Dragon Descendant leading them comical.

Zog chose the simplest method to break through the theater’s Defense Magic.

One Dragon, leading the charge, smashing straight through.

Based on the feel of the spells hitting his body, their power was a far cry from the ones in Soron Tower.

He barged all the way into the central hall of the theater. The boisterous, frenzied crowd didn’t even notice their arrival. One man, high on something, even grabbed a Warrior and started dancing with him.

"Hey, nice armor! Really nice! Wanna come and play with us?"

The response was a longsword through the heart.

If they had just been patrons of this den of indulgence, Zog had planned to only take their money, not their lives. But since this one was clearly a junkie high out of his mind, running him through seemed like the better option.

Such self-numbing drugs had a long history on the Continent. Countless Kingdoms had tried to ban them, but none had ever truly succeeded.

However, the rulers of these Kingdoms didn’t want to ban them for health reasons. Rather, an addicted populace meant a depleted labor force, which made it inconvenient for them to exploit their "human mines."

Because of the existence of Extraordinary Power, perhaps the oppression of Ordinary people on this Continent would never change.

"Guards!" Sir Baron was the first to notice something was wrong. He shrieked for the Guards, though he had no hope that they could deal with these intruders.

They had managed to eliminate the lookouts outside without anyone inside noticing; that proved the Guards inside would be no match for them either.

He only hoped the Guards could buy him enough time to escape.

However, that hope was quickly shattered.

They were hopelessly outmatched. The hand-picked Guards couldn’t withstand a single blow. The rest lost the courage to fight, dropping their weapons to flee for their lives.

The Dragon Descendant easily reaped the lives of all who resisted. The intense heat made the world before his eyes glow a burning red.

’What do I do?’ Sir Baron’s mind raced, desperately searching for a way to survive.

Meanwhile, Zog and his warriors were tightening the circle, herding everyone in purple robes together.

Zog had been worried that the masterminds would use the people being treated as merchandise as hostages.

That would have been tricky. He didn’t want to harm the innocent; after all, his attacks had a rather large area of effect, even in his smaller form.

He soon realized his worries were unfounded. Taking their "merchandise" hostage wasn’t even an option for these people. On the contrary, they were desperately shoving them away, afraid the victims would slow their escape.

This was because if their roles were reversed—if they were the ones attacking and Zog were the one fleeing—and Zog chose to take a Half-Beastman as a hostage, the only result would be that they would attack him and the hostage together.

The circle quickly shrank to the stage. The remaining people were all forced into the fighting pit in the center of the stage. Now, they were the ones being spectated.

"Wait!" Sir Baron suddenly shouted, stepping to the front of the crowd to face the fully-armed warriors.

"If it’s money you’re after, you’ve already gotten what you want! There’s no need to silence us. Killing us won’t do you any good."

Zog crossed his arms, gesturing for Baron to continue. He was listening.

"Do you have any reason to kill us? Did someone pay you a high price? Or is this some kind of crusade for justice? No, it’s not!"

Baron’s tone grew more and more impassioned. His exaggerated gestures were highly inflammatory; he was clearly an experienced orator.

In a speech, reason and logic were secondary. The key was to draw the audience into the emotion.

"If someone is paying you, we can certainly pay you more! If this is for some childish, shallow, so-called justice, what a joke! Our existence is an essential part of justice in Twin Tower City!

"Demand will never disappear! It is because of me that these demands have a centralized supply! Without me, there would only be more chaos! And those children, those Half-Beastmen, they are merely necessary sacrifices! Necessary sacrifices for the peace and stability of Twin Tower City!

"Even without me, they would still die! They would die of sickness, die of hunger, work themselves to death in some sunless Factory, or be stabbed by some nameless street thug over a single Copper Coin! I haven’t changed their fate! In fact, I might have even given some of them a hope to live!

"Did I force people to take drugs? Did I force them to gamble? Did I force them into the fighting pit? No! Not at all! They chose it themselves! I simply gave them the opportunity! This makes them like Twin Tower City more, which brings more wealth into Twin Tower City, and everyone’s lives will get better!

"I built Twin Tower City! It was me who built Twin Tower City! I am the necessary justice! I maintain the rules that keep this place running! I made this place better! You are the ones who bring only destruction! You should be ashamed!"

Baron’s eyes were bloodshot and he was panting heavily, but standing there on the stage, he looked for all the world like a triumphant champion.

’To truly deceive others, you first have to deceive yourself.’

"Did you record all that?" Zog’s voice rang out.

"Recorded," a Beastman behind him replied.

"Sigh. How can we ever build a better Twin Tower City with vermin like this around?"

With that, the indicator on his chest began to DING-DONG and flash wildly. As the armor melted into molten iron, a surging torrent of flame erupted forth.

There was no process of burning. In an instant, the crowd in purple robes, along with the entire stage, was reduced to ash, leaving behind a vast, clean slate of white.

"Let’s go. Take pictures of the remaining evidence. We should have established our own media outlet sooner; would’ve saved us from letting nobles like this control the flow of information all the time. It’s time to clear Raul’s name."

After a few Treasure Chest Monsters had devoured the valuables at the scene, Zog and his squad withdrew.

And beneath the unnoticed ashes, where Baron had just been standing, a blood-red Rune faintly shimmered—the mark of Mammon.