After his second uncle went to complete the handover. Kaito also left the villa, towards his studio.
Kaito took a deep breath and leaned back into his seat. The weight of multiple battlefronts I guess Kaito smirked He had made enough preparations to let the velthorns cease to exist two days from now.
Still, this was only the beginning.
"AI," he said calmly, "based on the current funds I have… what tier of server system would allow you to function at optimal efficiency?"
The AI's soft, synthetic voice responded almost immediately.
"Calculating available capital…
Analyzing infrastructure compatibility…
Recommended configuration: Helix-Vault Quantum Server, Series VII.
Cost: 200 million credits.
Performance: Neural bandwidth unlocked up to 60%.
Estimated: 42% increase in autonomous execution speeds.
73% reduction in data filtration time.
Security Breach Resistance: Omega–2 classification."
Kaito's brows rose slightly at the figure.
200 million credits, just for 60% of its total power?
He leaned forward, elbows resting on the armrest, and let out a dry chuckle.
"Technology sure doesn't come cheap," he muttered to himself.
Still, the investment made sense. The AI had already proved invaluable.
If this was what it could do with just 10–20% of its capacity… what would 60% look like?
Then, a thought struck him.
Why limit himself to using this technology? Why not create it?
He tapped his fingers against the edge of the polished console as a quiet grin spread across his lips.
Why should the Federation and those corporate families be the only ones profiting from the AI sector?
The moment the Library Ruins had been acquired in his past life, the Federation wasted no time. Using the recovered module, they rolled out enhanced domestic AI frameworks—"Sentinel Core Systems," "Civic Companion Units," and "Heritage Node Custodians." Within a year, these units had become standard across city housing, elite households, and mid-tier corporations alike.
Kaito had watched that gold rush unfold from afar.
Powerful families had secured exclusive patents. Entire tech districts were reshaped. The AI industry boomed, funneling credits into hands already bloated with wealth.
But unlike those families, Kaito had something they didn't—a head start.
He had taken the meat, as they say.
While the others were left fighting over soup.
And more importantly—he had no intention of sharing.
Even if the Federation would eventually rediscover the minor ruins in two or three years, the delay alone was enough. By then, Kaito would already have the Ren family firmly entrenched in the Technology Industry.
"Okay then order one to be delivered to the villa also order the training equipment for the family guards."
[AI: Order placed for the server and the equipment]
[AI: Total cost 250,000,000 Credits]
[AI: Balance Remaining: 362,440,000 Credits]
only 300 million left well.....
.....
While Kaito advanced toward Genesis Studio, the shadows of the Ren family moved with lethal purpose.
His third uncle, now operating with complete autonomy, had already mobilized the operation. Twenty-three elite guards had been briefed, armed, and dispatched in small strike squads under the leadership of himself and Rovan Dale—the Rank 2 mid-stage powerhouse known for his brutal precision.
The guards were now clad in salvaged ruin-armors and weapons. Each had a sleek obsidian-black plating reinforced with fiber-ceramic mesh, below their regular outfits keeping their visors in their bags with the weapons.
They departed in sub-teams of two in silence, cloaked under the guise of merchant convoys and night-shift maintenance teams, each team assigned to one of the eight Velthorn warehouse facilities—spread strategically across different neighboring cities.
Brazefield
Inside a metallic logistics facility, some Velthorn guards lounged near a surveillance panel.
"You hear something?"
"Nah, probably rats again. This place always creaks at night."
Suddenly, the metal shutter at the rear door exploded inward, and two shadows blurred past the threshold.
Blades flashed—silent, precise, like moonlight slashing across water.
One guard's eyes widened as his weapon was knocked from his hand.
"Who the hell—?!" he barked, just before a gauntlet-crushing palm drove into his ribs, sending him crashing into a crate.
"Velthorn security?" one of the Ren guards sneered from behind his visor. "You're in the way."
The fight was over in seconds. The strike team began planting magnetic thermite charges on key cargo pallets.
Hollowburn
Dust swirled in the dry air.
Four to Five Velthorn guards sat smoking near a truck bay when shadows flickered across the concrete.
A whistle cut through the air. Then—a metal-tipped wire wrapped around one guard's throat, dragging him into the darkness.
The rest rose in panic.
"Who's there?! Show yourself!"
The answer came not in words, but in steel.
A cloaked Ren guard lunged from above, spinning in midair before driving his curved blade through the rifle of one panicked sentry. Sparks flew.
"G-get the alarm—!"
Too late. A blade scythed through the button panel. Then another figure—a Rank 2 guard in full armor, their helmets sported narrow crimson visors—like slits of molten light in the dark marched out, deflecting bullets with his plated vambrace before cleaving a sword diagonally across a Velthorn's chest.
One minute later, nothing remained but unconscious bodies and fire.
Thistlebridge
This warehouse lay by the docks.
Velthorn's security had boats, rifles, and even drones buzzing overhead.
"now!" a voice echoed through the comms.
A cloaking field disengaged, revealing two guards hidden in the shadows of the dock cranes. They leapt down with brutal efficiency.
One Velthorn guard caught sight of them too late.
"Armor?! What kind of army is thi—!"
He was silenced by a reverse-grip slash to the neck, non-lethal but enough to drop him.
Others charged. Steel clashed with steel as Ren's Rank 1 high-stage fighters danced around their opponents with supernatural speed, weaving between blows, parrying and countering.
As they disarmed the squad leader with a twist of his blade, he muttered:
"Tell your masters: next time, don't store poison near water."
Then the barrels ignited.
Noxreach
The city's shadows ran deep, and so did Velthorn's connections here.
Inside their warehouse, six mercenaries lounged in tactical gear.
"I'm telling you, pay's too good to be legal," one muttered.
"Quiet," growled another. "We got movement—left side!"
And then hell descended.
Rovan burst through the skylight, descending like reapers.
Blades met bullets, and sparks exploded.
The mercs fought hard. One even managed to graze another Ren guard's shoulder before being slammed into a steel shelf with a cry.
Rovan faced their commander, a grizzled ex-military brute.
"Don't suppose you'll surrender?"
The man raised a his gun. "Don't suppose you'll stop breathing."
Rovan ducked the blast and stabbed upward, driving his blade beneath the man's chest plate.
Asterhelm
Security was tight here—Velthorn had influence over the Federation's watchmen.
But influence meant little when the power was cut.
Inside, alarms chirped. Emergency lights flickered.
Then the Ren guards moved in like shadows, disabling systems and subduing guards with blades.
Not a single fatality. But not a single crate left intact.
Glasthorn
Two guards patrolled near automated loaders.
"There's noise...," one whispered.
He was interrupted as a shuriken embedded in the panel behind him.
"Contact! Someone's here!"
This fight was swift, executed under the direction of a twin-blade user from Kaito's Rank 2 team. He sliced through the loader arms to collapse the loading bay, then turned with a grin.
"They won't be shipping anything for weeks."
Ebontrace
Snow howled outside.
The Ren strike team trudged through the frost, cloaked in thermal-camouflage coats.
Inside the warehouse, guards sat drinking near a fire.
Then the wall imploded.
Steam hissed from energy blades as the guards went down in one strike.
One tried to run—only to be clotheslined by a spinning blade mid-air.
Raekon Vale
Known for its peaceful valleys, the warehouse here was unprepared.
Velthorn guards ran out screaming as a duo of armored shadows emerged from the treeline.
One drew a curved greatblade.
"You've had your profits," he muttered. "Now comes the cost."
The warehouse was gone within minutes.
...
By the time the smoke cleared across the region, all eight warehouses had been rendered non-operational. Only scorched earth and collapsed steel remained.
Each team withdrew quietly, blending once again into the darkness.
The main Velthorn warehouses in Silvercrest were still untouched, but that was intentional. Kaito's final blow would come not from blades, but from headlines.
.