Martin remained oblivious to Vivian’s intricate thoughts.
Given his nature, even if he were aware, he wouldn’t have dwelt on it.
Having cycled around Hillside Neighborhood for two days, familiarizing himself with the area, he had narrowed down a few potential sites.
He opened his laptop, clicked on the notepad application, and began jotting down the nas:
Clear Mountain Villas.
Maple District’s unfinished project.
Red Star Industrial Park.
...
Each location he noted featured a building structure.
After all, if he situated the headquarters’ secret realm on barren land and people frequented it only to disappear, it would draw undue attention.
Having entered the details, he launched a web browser to delve into the backgrounds of these places.
Most of the search results were advertisents with a few scattered bits of useful information.
Riverland ranked amongst the top cities nationwide, making its intricacies deep and convoluted.
For Martin, the labyrinth of capital gas, intertwined with various cross-shareholdings, was particularly vexing.
He sifted through each option, discarding them one by one.
Suddenly, a news article popped up on the screen.
The local news headline read: "Rosewood Group’s Beautiful Chairwoman Donates 50 Million in Charity."
What captured Martin’s attention wasn’t the headline, but the accompanying background image.
It depicted a collection of structures nestled against a hill.
The buildings were brick and stone, topped with blue-tiled eaves, giving a clear indication of their age.
Corridors connected the buildings, adding charm to the ensemble.
The cherry on top: a gentle stream flowing around the property.
Martin was almost instantly drawn to this site.
Its position against the mountains, the serene surroundings, the architectural cover, and its rich historical aura all appealed.
It seed too perfect for an organization headquarters!
He imdiately clicked on the link.
At the outset, a striking woman appeared on the screen.
With a simple ponytail, her eyes radiated intensity, while a subtle, confident smile played on her lips. Dressed in a black suit and trousers, she sat up straight.
The epito of a powerful, self-assured woman!
The host began by introducing her background and the purpose of the interview.
Anna Rosewood, 26, the eldest daughter of Riverland’s House Rosewood, holds an MBA degree.
Following her grandfather’s demise, she took over the Rosewood Group.
In the three years under her leadership, the stock prices have consistently soared.
Recently, she generously donated 50 million to a charity fund, paid in full without any pretense.
Mid-interview, a segnt detailed the history of House Rosewood, showcasing the very image Martin had been captivated by earlier.
Suddenly, a robotic voice erged:
"5-star individual detected. Recomnded for assimilation."
Caught off guard by the abrupt announcent, Martin blinked in confusion.
A 5-star individual?
"System, what does that an?"
A monotone voice responded in Martin’s mind, "Based on an individual’s potential for cultivation and their unique abilities, the system assigns a star rating."
"1-star is the lowest, 5-star the highest. The system only prompts when a 5-star individual is detected."
I see.
Martin nodded in comprehension, his gaze becoming contemplative.
Up to this point, the location he deed most suitable for the organization’s secret realm headquarters belonged to House Rosewood.
And the current steward of House Rosewood, Anna, was a 5-star individual that even the system suggested assimilating.
This House Rosewood...
He opened his browser and began searching for more information on House Rosewood.
The information remained scattered and chaotic.
So online forums and chat boards had occasional ntions or speculative discussions about the house.
Piece by piece, Martin began assembling the puzzle.
A vivid image of a family that had dominated Riverland for centuries slowly took shape in his mind.
In summary, House Rosewood’s current assets amounted to over 7 billion, with the lion’s share held within several family businesses under the umbrella of the Rosewood Group.
Anna, succeeding her grandfather, had a controlling stake in the Rosewood Group.
The location that had caught Martin’s eye was an ancestral property of House Rosewood.
Although maintained for over two centuries since its construction, no mber of House Rosewood had ever resided there.
The exact reason remained elusive to netizens.
Having read this, Martin had almost settled on this location for the headquarters in his mind.
However, the specifics of the plan still required careful consideration.
Ideally, he’d recruit Anna into the Divine Shield.
This would not only address the headquarters dilemma but also provide substantial financial backing.
After all, as long as an organization operates in the real world, there are countless problems that money can solve.
For instance, if soone joined Divine Shield and lost their previous job, they couldn’t be left unpaid, forcing their families to suffer alongside them.
Closing his laptop, and pondering deeply, the beginnings of a recruitnt plan began to erge.
In the past, facing an elite woman like Anna, Martin would have found himself woefully out of his league.
But things were different now.
Martin was a Level 3 superhuman in spirit power, and he possessed the Power of teorology.
One must understand, the gap between each level of spirit power is vast.
And when wielded correctly, the Power of teorology could be sowhat ga-breaking in its capabilities.
Martin was acutely aware of the extent of his own strength.
As long as he didn’t overreach, conventional armies could scarcely lay a hand on him.
Even withstanding direct confrontations, a few conventional missiles wouldn’t be enough to end him.
The system, coupled with his extraordinary abilities, was his greatest asset and sothing that could drive ordinary people to the brink of envy.
"In any case, I’ll visit the ancestral property of House Rosewood for an on-site inspection tomorrow. Once finalized, there’s plenty of ti for further strategizing."
With a plan in mind, Martin felt significantly at ease.
The next day.
BB District, Riverland.
Martin stood by the roadside, leaning on his bicycle, gazing to his left.
Nestled adjacent to the Moonlit Mountain Nature Reserve, amid lush greenery, lay a stream like a ribbon of jade.
Around it, a few ancient houses with red bricks and green tiles were scattered at varying heights, exuding an exquisite charm.
Directing his gaze straight ahead, the vast expanse of the Làng Waters shimred faintly.
The distant whistle of a steamboat wafted through the air.
Glancing to his right, the traces of the Hiran University, dating back to 1906, peeked through the veil of towering skyscrapers.
"This is the place."
Martin felt certain.
"Now, I need to gather more detailed information about House Rosewood and formulate a comprehensive recruitnt plan."
With that in mind, he mounted his bicycle and began his journey back.
Dark clouds slowly coalesced overhead.
Seven or eight minutes away from his residential complex, a gust of wind was followed by a sudden downpour of rain.
Having anticipated the weather with his Power of teorology, Martin donned his raincoat, which he had carried in advance.
His foresight was sharper than any weather forecast, and he was never wrong.
Riding past the hurried crowd seeking shelter from the rain, he made his way ho.
Elsewhere,
Vivian stepped off the bus, umbrella in hand.
The thought of the task ahead gave her a headache.
Issues from recent landslides persisted, and now, a significant fresh produce order in the BB District had gone awry.
The client, a rather irate male, refused a triple compensation offer.
The dispute was escalating.
Being both adept at negotiations and undeniably beautiful, Vivian was chosen by her superiors to diate.
Thus, even though it was midday, she hadn’t found a mont to rest.
Holding her umbrella aloft, she walked, her high heels clicking against the wet ground.
Surveying the hilly landscape dotted with food processing factories, a sense of desolation hit her, prompting a deep sigh.
Her boss had promised: should she resolve this issue, not only would she receive three paid days off, but she’d also be a top contender for the next managerial promotion.
"Push on, push on, push on!"
Silently pep-talking herself, the prospect of a promotion added a spring to Vivian’s step.
...
Eamon stepped out of the car, imdiately spotting a middle-aged man waiting under the eave by the factory’s entrance. It seed he had been there for a while.
As the man noticed Eamon and his group’s arrival, a smile swiftly took over his face. Gesturing to soone beside him, he began to approach, umbrella in hand.
"No need, no need, you’re too kind!" Eamon quickly waved him off, opening his own compact umbrella.
The cacophonous sound of heavy rain shed with the distant hum of machinery from the factory, making it seem as if the world was composed only of these two sounds.
Rainwater dripped from the edge of Eamon’s umbrella, obscuring the distant views in a blurry haze.
Undeterred by Eamon’s refusal, the middle-aged man’s face remained amiable.
With unwavering warmth, he started guiding the group further inside, saying, "You all traveling in such heavy rain for work is truly comndable. Why not co to my office first? We can warm up with so hot tea."
"This tea," he continued, "was a gift from a friend. It’s the first flush from old tea trees this year. The taste is simply exquisite."
Eamon responded with a polite smile, "No need to fuss over us. We’ve been seated comfortably during the drive here and are not chilled. And please, don’t go out of your way. It’s just a routine inspection. If all checks out, we’ll be on our way."
Only then did a shadow of unease pass, almost imperceptibly, across the man’s face.
As they entered, it was evident that it was a food processing factory.
Though there were signs of recent tidying, there were still nurous irregularities. Eamon’s brow furrowed in slight annoyance.
In a vast open area, a few makeshift tents were erected under which processed at was stored.
A murmured conversation from nearby factory workers drifted into his ears: "It’s so strange, more at has gone missing. What in the world is happening?"
This triggered a mory for Eamon, and he turned to ask the middle-aged man, now identified as the owner, "I heard you lost so at a few days ago? The police didn’t find anything?"
The owner let out a resigned sigh, "Yes, we couldn’t catch the culprit."
The topic ended there.
After a thorough inspection of the facility, Eamon’s expression grew increasingly stern.
"Sir," he began, "it’s not that we’re being overly critical, but the hygiene standards here are seriously lacking. There are also procedural issues."
The owner managed a weak smile, explaining, "All this chaos is due to the recent floods and landslides. Transportation is blocked, and we can’t ship out the processed goods. We’re running at a loss, so everything’s just piling up here."
He added, with a hint of insinuation, "In the past, we’ve always complied with the regulations. When your superior last visited, he was quite understanding."
Eamon’s expression tightened, his response firm, "Regardless, these deteriorating products need to be disposed of imdiately. How else would we know you won’t compromise on quality in the future?"
His character had always been like this, having no tolerance for anything shifty or underhanded.
Moreover, he firmly believed that since he chose this profession, he must honor its responsibilities.
Food safety was of paramount importance.
Even if it ant facing difficulties down the line, he was accustod to it.
Had he been one to compromise, he wouldn’t have spent so many years in a modest position.
The owner’s expression darkened profoundly.
Reviews
All reviews (0)