Far from the tense atmosphere surrounding Layla, the air crackled with a different kind of energy.
A dimly lit workshop with lanterns in the heart of Russia bustled with the sounds of scribbling chalk, the occasional clatter of equations, and the frustrated sighs of students grappling with unfamiliar concepts. The scent of old paper, burning oil, and damp wood filled the air, mingling with the crisp cold seeping through the stone walls.
Emery stood at the front of the makeshift classroom, his sleeves rolled up, eyes sharp as he tapped a chalk-covered hand against the board.
"Mathematics is the foundation of all technology. If you don't understand this, you might as well remain farmers."
Across the room, Haoran's daughter, Lianfei, stared at the equations scrawled across the board, her brows furrowed as she worked through the logic. Algebra and calculus were unfamiliar, but not incomprehensible—if only she had the right explanations.
Callum, seated beside her, groaned, rubbing his temples.
"Okay, listen, uh—Lianfei, right? So, you have a giant bowl of rice, and instead of counting grains, you group them in chunks of 'x'. Now if you have three bowls and each has 'x' grains of rice, that's 3x! Easy, yeah?"
Lianfei's blank stare was as cold as the Russian winter outside.
She exhaled through her nose before muttering in flawless Mandarin
"What is this idiot rambling about?"
Callum groaned, turning helplessly toward Emery.
"Why am I even here? She doesn't understand a lick of English, and I don't know jack shit about their language."
Emery sighed, adjusting his spectacles as he effortlessly translated. Lianfei glanced between the two of them before crossing her arms.
''I understand mathematics, not whatever nonsense he's spewing."
"Then keep up" Emery replied in Mandarin, writing out a more complex derivative on the board.
"This isn't arithmetic anymore. If you want to grasp how energy transfer works, you need to understand rates of change. No calculus, no progress."
Lianfei blinked. Then, in Mandarin, she muttered under her breath
What is this idiot saying? Calculus? What is that??
Chen and Feng, both barely in their teens, scribbled furiously on their slates, struggling to keep pace with the lesson.
Chen hesitated before raising his hand.
"Master Emery… why do we need to learn this? I thought we were supposed to be working with metals."
Emery exhaled sharply. "Because metallurgy requires precision, and precision requires calculations. You think building an engine is the same as hammering a sword?" He rapped his knuckles against the board.
"No numbers, no electricity. No electricity, no progress. If you want to stay in the dark, be my guest."
Feng, more eager than Chen, nodded quickly.
"So… we're learning this to build your device?"
Emery smirked. "Exactly. In order to harness electricity, we need a consistent energy source, which means calculations must be flawless. If any of you make a mistake, you could fry yourselves like an overcooked pheasant."
Callum leaned back in his chair with a dramatic sigh. "Lovely. Who doesn't want to die for science?"
Emery shot him a look. "Then don't help."
"Oh, trust me, prince, I wouldn't if I had a choice," Callum grumbled before rubbing his forehead again.
"This is going to be a long lesson."
Emery ignored them, already moving across the room to a different board, one covered in an increasingly chaotic mess of equations, diagrams, and hastily scribbled notes.
"And over here, behold!" he declared dramatically, waving a piece of chalk like a conductor's baton.
"Emery's Law of Energy Induction!"
Callum groaned, sinking further into his chair. "Oh, here we go."
Emery continued as if he hadn't heard. "When a conductor—meaning a wire, for you simpletons—moves through a magnetic field, electrons get all jittery and start flowing, producing electricity!"
He underlined his sketch of a coil and magnet with such force the chalk nearly snapped.
"This is the fundamental principle behind my—ahem—the world's first practical electromagnetic generator."
Chen and Feng exchanged a glance. "So… you're saying we just need to move metal through magnets?"
Emery whirled around so fast his coat flared out. "Just? Did you just say just?"
He pointed aggressively at the board. "Do you have any idea how precise this has to be? The rotations, the material conductivity, the field intensity—all of it has to be calculated perfectly! One misstep, and instead of harnessing power, you'll have a very expensive, very useless hunk of metal."
Lianfei, still focused on her equations, muttered
"So this is why you're making us learn ''calculus''."
"Exactly!" Emery snapped his fingers.
"Voltage, resistance, current flow—all of it follows predictable patterns, if you know the math. Which, unfortunately for me, none of you do. Yet." He tapped the board again.
"This is why you're here—to make sure my machine actually works instead of exploding in a fiery disaster."
Lianfei, who had been silent until now, suddenly frowned, stepping closer to the board.
"Your coil placement is inefficient."
Emery blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Excuse me?"
She pointed at one of his more complex sketches, her expression unreadable. "If you adjust the angle of rotation here by even a few degrees, you'd reduce energy loss. Right now, you're generating unnecessary resistance."
For a moment, the room was silent.
Then Emery's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Brilliant!"
He grabbed a fresh piece of chalk and immediately started adjusting his calculations.
"Yes, yes—less drag on the rotational field… better electron flow… I like where your head is at!"
Emery, still lost in his calculations, nodded approvingly.
"You're officially promoted to 'slightly less incompetent.' Keep this up, and you might actually be helpful."
Elsewhere, in the cold stone corridors of the Russian stronghold, Zafira walked with pride while Haoran and Renshu followed, their expressions cautious and worried. The mighty warlord and underworld Queen has the cards to potentially monopolise a big part of the economy.
She smirked to herself and talking to herself.
Strength alone means nothing if it isn't controlled.
Zafira crossed her arms, studying them like a merchant appraising goods.
"Let's get one thing straight—you're not prisoners. But you're not free, either. Your loyalty isn't guaranteed, and until it is, I have to ensure you don't suddenly decide to slit my throat in my sleep."
Haoran scoffed, "And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"
Zafira's smile widened. "By making sure you have more to lose than you could ever gain by betraying me."
Haoran's jaw tightened. "You think this makes us your lapdogs?"
Zafira let out a soft chuckle. "Dogs are loyal. Tools are reliable. I don't need either—I need assets. And that's what I intend to make you."
Renshu, ever the quiet observer, merely adjusted her sleeves.
"And what exactly does this… 'investment' in us entail?"
Zafira turned on her heel, gesturing for them to follow.
"You're both warriors I presume. But war is a tedious business—influence is the future. I'm giving you a role in it. Haoran, you're going to build us a martial arts dojo. A place to train fighters, raise influence, and create something lasting. Once the winter is over, you'll be at the head of it."
Haoran narrowed his eyes. "A dojo? You think teaching brats how to fight is a future?"
Zafira smirked. "Not just fighters—loyalists. A network. A foundation. One that ensures you, your wife, and your children remain valuable. Because the moment you stop being valuable, well…"
She let the silence linger, the implied threat hanging in the air.
Haoran exhaled sharply, but he said nothing. He wasn't a fool—he understood exactly what she was doing. But he also knew that, for now, playing along was the only move he had.
Zafira's smile didn't waver. "Good. You're learning."
She motioned forward. "Now, let's talk business. Your future starts today."
Zafira led them into a dimly lit chamber, a stark contrast to the cold halls outside. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, distorting their figures. She gestured for them to sit at a modest wooden table, where a carefully arranged set of documents awaited them.
Haoran and Renshu exchanged a glance before cautiously taking their seats. Zafira, however, remained standing, circling them like a predator assessing its prey.
"Loyalty is not given freely." she said, her tone almost conversational.
"It is built, tested, reinforced. And in your case? It will be ensured."
She placed a single sheet of parchment in front of Haoran. It was blank, save for one word at the top: Oath.
"I don't believe in blind trust." she continued.
"Which is why this agreement ensures your cooperation—not just with words, but with consequences."
Haoran's eyes flicked over the parchment before meeting hers.
"A contract? You expect me to sign away my life?"
Zafira chuckled. "Not your life, Haoran. Your future. The dojo, your wife, your children—it all thrives under my protection. But the moment you step out of line, it all crumbles."
Renshu, silent until now, spoke up. "And if we refuse?"
Zafira leaned in, her fingers lightly tapping against the table—then, with a smooth motion, she reached into her coat and pulled out the gun. The cold metal glinted in the dim candlelight as she placed it gently on the table between them, her expression never shifting from that calculated smirk.
"You won't refuse." she said, her voice low, almost amused.
"Because you're not stupid. Because you know that without a place in my vision, your entire bloodline seize to exist. And because, Haoran—" she slid the gun forward an inch "—I don't make idle threats."
Haoran's eyes flicked to the weapon, his jaw clenching. Renshu remained eerily still, though her fingers were shivering
"Do you really want your legacy to be that of a man who once was?" Zafira continued, voice smooth as silk.
"Or do you want to leave this room as a man who still has something left to build?"
The weight of her words settled between them. Haoran clenched his fists, but he didn't argue.
She smiled, sensing his wavering resolve. "I won't break you, Haoran. I'll reshape you. You will still be a warrior, still be strong. But you will belong to something greater than yourself."
Haoran stared at the parchment, then at the gun, then back at Zafira, before exhaling a slow, measured breath.
"How about a different kind of deal?"
Zafira arched a brow, intrigued. "Oh? Do entertain me."
Haoran leaned back slightly, his muscles relaxing, but his eyes gleamed with a sharpness that hadn't dulled despite their captivity.
"You say you want loyalty, but trust built on fear never lasts. If you're so sure of your control, fight me. No guns. No tricks. Just you and me. If I win, you let my family go. If you win, I'll sign your damn contract."
For the first time since the conversation began, Zafira blinked in mild surprise before tilting her head.
Then, she chuckled. "A physical challenge? You do realize I'm not some frail merchant woman, don't you?"
"And I'm not just some warrior who only knows how to swing a sword," Haoran countered.
"Or are you afraid you'll lose?"
Zafira's smirk widened. "You really think taunting me will work? Cute."
She slid the gun back into her coat, standing straight.
"Fine. Let's play your little game. But when I win, I expect you to be a man of your word."
Haoran cracked his knuckles, rising to his feet. "Oh, I always am. The real question is—are you?"
Zafira simply gestured toward the open space at the center of the chamber.
"Let's find out."
Before Haoran could move, a slow, deliberate clap echoed from the doorway. A woman stepped inside, her presence a silent but commanding force. She was dressed in sleek, dark attire, a stark contrast to Zafira's more refined look. Her hair was tied back neatly, sharp brown eyes glinting with amusement as she observed the two opponents.
"Oh Haoran" she drawled, her voice smooth as silk, yet carrying an edge of cold amusement.
"Do you even know who you just challenged?"
Haoran narrowed his eyes. "And you are?"
The woman smirked, crossing her arms as she leaned casually against the doorframe.
"Jun." she said. "Ezra's personal blade. Her most trusted assassin. The one who makes problems disappear. And you, my dear dumbass, have just issued a challenge to Ezra, the Queen of the Underworld."
Haoran's breath hitched. His mind scrambled through every name, every legend, every whispered rumour from the darker corners of the world. And then it clicked.
His jaw tightened. He had made a mistake.
His mind raced for a way out. "You know, on second thought" Haoran started, raising a hand, "maybe we were too hasty with this whole 'fight' idea. Honey, back me up here."
Renshu, who had been quietly calculating their survival rate, nodded sagely. "Yes, yes. It would be unwise to damage such an important business relationship. Perhaps… a different kind of negotiation is in order?"
Zafira's smirk deepened as she tilted her head. "Oh? Are you saying you suddenly don't want to fight me? That's disappointing. I was looking forward to it."
Haoran coughed. "No, no, it's not that. It's just that—uh, well, I wouldn't want to accidentally hurt someone as important as you. Bad optics, you know? Wouldn't want to ruin your reputation."
Jun snorted from the doorway. "That's cute. You actually think you'd land a hit?"
Haoran ignored her, pressing forward. "So let's say we restructure the terms—maybe an arm-wrestling contest instead? Or, hear me out, what if we test loyalty through a cooking competition? I make an excellent stir-fry."
Zafira raised an eyebrow. "You're stalling."
"I absolutely am," Haoran admitted. "Is it working?"
"No."
And with that, Zafira casually rolled up her sleeves, stepping onto the sparring floor. It was only then that Haoran realized, in their back-and-forth, they had already walked into the open space.
Renshu sighed. "Well. That failed spectacularly."
Haoran exhaled. "Yeah. I was really hoping she'd go for the cooking contest."
Zafira rolled her shoulders, then unfastened her coat, tossing it to the side.
"Since I'm such a generous person, I'll even give you an advantage."
She raised her hand, signalling towards Jun without looking. Jun bowed and stepped toward the far end of the chamber, pushing multiple boxes and revealing an impressive arsenal of weapons—each one polished, sharpened, and very much real.
Heavy swords, longswords, spears, staffs, daggers, throwing knives, chain whips, and even a massive battle-axe gleamed under the dim candlelight. The sheer variety of lethal instruments could outfit a small army.
Renshu let out a long, slow whistle. "That's… an excessive amount of murder options."
Haoran tensed. "Why do you have all this?"
Zafira smirked. "For moments like this."
Jun crossed her arms, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Pick your poison, become a warlord."