Behind the mask, his Divine Sage insight had already run the calculations. One future path showed the company owners leaking his existence—spreading rumors, selling information, drawing unwanted eyes. That path ended with erasure of those who were involved. He had chosen the other path: quiet assistance from trusted allies. No massacre. No risk.
Umang and Mordan nodded slowly, accepting the reasoning.
General Amit leaned forward, brow furrowed in thought.
"Why don't we take loans from other countries? Spread the burden. Pay them back slowly over time."
Mordan nodded immediately. Loans could prevent sudden economic collapse. Even with interest, it would be worth it—Sir Heart would surely offer something of equal or greater value in return.
Just as Mordan opened his mouth to agree, the Ether Clone spoke again, voice even.
"You don't need to take loans. Instead, approach a few trusted, friendly nations. Ask them to invest—not lend—in a secret project. Tell them the project will allow their chosen individuals to become real cultivators."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"If the project fails, return their money—no interest. If it succeeds, offer them spots in the cultivation program as reward."
Mordan's eyes widened. Umang's breath caught. General Amit sat straighter.
The strategy was elegant: reframe it as investment, not debt. Minimal risk for allies. Massive upside if successful.
And the promise of real cultivation…
Mordan and Umang exchanged a glance—excitement flickering beneath their composure. They had no idea what Sir Heart planned to do with the game, why a cultivator would care about a mobile battle royale game. But the implication was clear: something grand was coming. Something world-changing.
The Ether Clone rose slowly, robes whispering as he walked toward the door.
"If you succeed in this, I will give you a real cultivation system—use it however you wish. I will also send someone to guide you once per month. And I will provide pills."
He paused at the threshold, turning slightly.
"…Even if you fail… I will still give you an item that allows flight."
With those final words hanging in the air like a promise carved in starlight, the Ether Clone's figure shimmered once—then simply disappeared just as he reached the doorway. No sound, no ripple, no trace. Only the faint scent of celestial orchards lingered behind him.
Inside the office, silence held for a heartbeat.
Then Mordan's face split into the widest smile he had worn in years—almost boyish, unrestrained.
"Umang," he said, voice trembling with excitement, "immediately call our alliance meeting. Right now. I will speak to them personally. No matter what we have to do, we will complete this task."
The rewards were too enticing. Too perfect. A real cultivation system. Monthly guidance. Pills of unimaginable power. Even failure brought flight—an item that would make any man a legend.
Umang was already laughing like a madman—head thrown back, shoulders shaking—as he scrambled for his phone, fingers flying across the screen to arrange the urgent virtual summit.
General Amit, still holding a half-eaten blue fruit, joined in with a booming, unrestrained laugh that echoed off the walls. All traces of military decorum were gone.
"Sir! Mordan!" he managed between breaths. "I had no idea you'd secured a connection with such a powerful cultivator! If I'd known, even if you'd kidnapped the Xing Nation leader himself, I wouldn't have said a word—I'd have supported you fully. Hahahaha!"
He took another bite of the fruit, juice running down his chin, eyes shining with unrestrained glee.
"And if that company refuses? Just tell them we're coming for them. We'll attack if we must. Reputation? Let it burn. In this chaotic time, if we're destroyed, what's the point of protecting anything?"
Mordan and Umang nodded in unison.
He was right.
Survival came first.
And now—more than ever—survival meant securing this deal.
On the other side, the Ether Clone had already folded space again.
He emerged on a small, uninhabited island just off India's coast—rocky, windswept, forgotten by maps and satellites alike.
This was one of his protected origin points. No nation had discovered it. No satellite had ever caught its faint essence leakage. His puppets guarded it invisibly, and layered concealment vyuhas wrapped the entire island like a shroud, hiding every trace of energy from the world.
He stood on the highest outcrop, black hair stirring in the salt wind, white robes untouched by the sea spray.
What he was about to do was simple.
He was going to create a headquarters for Free Fire.