When Mordan and his subordinates returned to the office, they sighed in relief, the tension draining from their bodies like air from a punctured tire.
Mordan collapsed back into his chair, shoulders sagging, while his three subordinates simply dropped to the floor—knees giving way, backs against the wall, breathing hard.
The Heart Clone stood calmly in the same spot, hands clasped behind his back, watching them without a word, his warm aura still gently filling the room.
After several long, ragged breaths, Mordan finally steadied himself.
He straightened slowly, eyes locking onto the book resting on the desk.
The look he gave it was one of pure reverence—as though he were staring at the greatest treasure in the world.
He knew, beyond any doubt, that this breathing technique could transform India into the undisputed leader of the globe.
More importantly, he had just gained a direct connection to a being of unimaginable power.
How powerful exactly? He had no idea, and he had no intention of asking.
A man who chose to remain hidden would never reveal the full extent of his strength.
Mordan cleared his throat, voice steady once more.
"Sir Heart, we have a deal then."
He paused, choosing his words carefully.
"And if you have any more instructions, or if there is any other service you require from us, you can contact us again at any time. We will definitely fulfill it."
Mordan was a smart man.
He understood perfectly: this person was far too powerful to be an enemy.
If India could earn his favor—even just a little—the country would soar to heights no one could imagine.
But he also knew such power did not come for free.
So he left the door wide open, offering future cooperation in advance, hoping to secure more benefits down the line.
The Heart Clone understood Mordan's thoughts clearly.
He, too, saw value in a long-term relationship with the Indian government.
He nodded once.
"I will contact you if I have need."
Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he produced a small stack of plain-looking letters and placed them on the desk.
"Now, let us return to our deal."
His voice remained calm and warm.
"You must deliver these letters to the listed individuals—legally, through official channels, in the name of recruiting for a special national purpose. If they agree to come, bring them to a secure location of your choosing. I will collect them there."
He paused, gaze sweeping over the letters.
"These people will become my subordinates in the future. Do not mistreat them in any way."
Mordan nodded, eyes flicking to the top letter.
The name on it read: For Xinxuan.
A flicker of skepticism crossed his mind.
Would Xinxuan really come?
The Xing nation had showered him with every resource imaginable—rare herbs, elite training grounds, unlimited support.
Why would someone like that agree to leave and become a subordinate here?
But Mordan kept the thought to himself.
He had already confirmed with Heart: no force, only invitation.
If they refused, they refused.
That was acceptable.
Mordan looked up again.
"Sir, I will make sure these letters are delivered properly."
He hesitated for a moment.
"But… how can I contact you in the future?"
In Heart Clone hands, suddenly appeared a small, unremarkable black Rock.
He placed it gently on the desk beside the letters.
"With this, you can contact me anytime."
He rose smoothly to his feet.
"Now I am going."
With those simple words, the masked figure turned.
His form shimmered once, like heat rising from pavement, then faded completely.
No flash.
No sound.
Just gone.
The office fell silent.
Mordan stared at the black rock for a long moment, then shifted his gaze to the stack of letters and the book on his desk, finally letting his eyes rest on his three subordinates who were still sitting on the floor, faces pale and expressions frozen in disbelief.
After several seconds of heavy silence, Mordan exhaled slowly, a small but determined smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he spoke quietly yet firmly, "Get up. We have work to do."
India's rise had just begun.
But even after the words left his mouth, his subordinates remained seated, their astonished eyes fixed on the spot where Heart had vanished moments ago, as though expecting the masked figure to reappear at any second.
Then Umang broke the quiet, his voice low and filled with wonder, "Sir, that was a storage ring, right? Just like in the novels."
Mordan and the other two nodded slowly in agreement, and Mordan replied with a thoughtful tone, "Yes, it must be a storage ring or pouch—and now let's take a closer look at this communication device he left behind."