Empire of Shadows

Inside a noisy private club room, a young man who looked somewhat like old Mr. Potter was slumped on a sofa, smoking a cigarette laced with additives.

He squinted, as if the smoke entering his body was not mere vapor but all the good things he could find in the world!

His gaze was alternately unfocused and intense—a clear sign that the Maple Herb extract was taking effect.

The Ghost Face Mushroom actually produced a stronger effect, but... it was too cheap. Sometimes, the sales of a product in a specific group had less to do with its quality and more to do with its positioning.

Ghost Face Mushroom was mostly consumed by the middle class. Its price was low. If suitable growing places were found, a large harvest of spores and powder could be gathered annually.

But Maple Herb was different. It was very sensitive to environment, and not many places in the Federation could grow it. Furthermore, there were artificial factors involved—

For example, the Perez family would eliminate non-family farms, burning the Maple Herb grown by others. They were practicing the same monopolistic tactics that capitalists used in the free market, and they were quite effective at it.

Currently, only three or four entities in the Federation supplied Maple Herb extract. They had already carved up the market, naturally driving up the price of this "naturally" higher-grade pleasure.

But to say it was inherently better than Ghost Face Mushroom was probably inaccurate.

The door would display his name and his government title.

It wouldn't be a low position; he would start at least as a City Councilor. After all, his grandfather was running for President; how could he possibly start from the bottom?

He could enjoy everything others worked their entire lives for without paying any personal price. If there was a price, it was that his life was rather boring and unchallenging.

That's why he was here now, seeking thrills.

Cigarettes, liquor, dangerous drugs, sex—everything that stimulated his senses surrounded him.

The young men and women around him knew this wasn't good behavior, yet they participated, surrounding him and catering to him.

Everyone had their own path. Some were born at the finish line, and some needed a favorable wind.

Mr. Potter's grandson was clearly a favorable wind.

"I hear your grandfather is running for President?" a friend who often partied with him asked.

Young Potter immediately smiled smugly. "That's right. I hear he has a very high chance of winning. I can invite you all to visit the Presidential Palace. I hear there are many guest rooms. We can stay there."

The others immediately looked longingly at him. Staying a night in the Presidential Palace, even without meeting the President, would be the greatest honor in their lives.

They immediately began flattering him, which kept young Potter smiling happily. He loved being praised and catered to.

Those who couldn't offer such flattery, or those whose status was comparable to his, were not at this gathering.

No one belonged to just one circle. They had many circles waiting for them. In some, they were supporting characters, but in others, they were the lead.

When they were the lead, the circle could not contain other rivals. Thus, the people here were mostly subservient figures.

The beautiful girls surrounded him, their smooth skin intoxicating. Under the influence of the laced cigarette, he quickly entered a state of semiconsciousness.

It was similar to being blackout drunk, yet slightly different from just passing out and knowing nothing.

He remained suspended between sobriety and intoxication, reality and illusion. The sensation was hard to describe. The entire world was undergoing miraculous changes!

It became bizarre. As his senses were magnified, the things before his eyes sometimes shifted strangely.

Overall, the feeling was wonderful. He began to feel hungry, a frequent occurrence for him.

After satisfying various other urges, he would eventually release his primal desires. Tonight would be just like any other night.

He vaguely knew he was taken back to his villa. He felt a girl stayed with him. He performed various actions, eventually falling asleep embracing her.

In his dream, he became a fierce beast, tearing everything apart. Then his consciousness sank into a deep void.

The next morning, he woke up feeling hazy. A combination of a hangover and the other chaotic indulgences made him feel extremely uncomfortable.

Extremely uncomfortable!

Whenever he indulged himself the night before, he always woke up feeling like this.

The alcohol, tobacco, and other substances made him feel terrible. He had told himself countless times never to do this again.

But once he sat down and lit the first cigarette, everything became irresistible.

He hadn't opened his eyes yet. The harsh sunlight streaming through the curtains was blinding. Summer morning sun was strong.

He uncomfortably threw off the thin blanket covering him. The villa had an air-conditioning system. While many people still thought home AC was a hoax, some were already enjoying it.

The room temperature was kept at 26 degrees Celsius, requiring a thin blanket, or it would feel slightly cold.

But today, the blanket felt heavy and damp.

Those sons of bitches must have wet the sheets and forgot to change them before leaving, he cursed them internally. But then he realized something was wrong.

The dampness wasn't just water; there was a faint, metallic odor. He opened his eyes, stared at his blood-red hands, froze, and then let out a piercing scream.

He stumbled off the bed and onto the floor, scrambling with his hands and feet. His hazy intoxication vanished instantly. He looked in terror at the blood-soaked bed and the young girl staring wide-eyed at the ceiling.

Her body had multiple wounds, which were no longer bleeding. Most of her blood had likely been lost. Only open wounds and dark red scabs remained.

"F***!" Young Potter cursed, trembling as he used the wall to stand up. He looked at the girl who had been dead for a long time, trying to call her name.

But there was no response. She was dead.

Young Potter stumbled toward the bedside. He reached out and felt beneath her nose—no warmth. Terrified, he hugged himself and retreated into the furthest corner of the room.

He looked at the scene, cursing again. He didn't know what happened, but he knew he was in huge trouble.

His father and grandfather had both told him he could do anything he wanted, and they would cover for him, but he must avoid committing serious crimes.

Murder, kidnapping, abuse, or other serious felonies—these were forbidden.

It wasn't that they were morally upright, but they were worried that young Potter couldn't handle the consequences or clean up the mess, leading to uncontrollable risks.

Unlike them, who could mitigate all potential risks and minimize danger, young Potter lacked the experience. He needed to reach his mid-thirties before being exposed to these things.

He took their warning seriously. He almost never broke the law. Even when he wanted a girl, he used his family status and money to corrupt her.

As for force?

He wouldn't use it. He had a bright future and a prominent family background. Why would he need to resort to force?

His self-awareness had kept him safe until now—until now!

He suddenly remembered something and immediately walked to the bedside table. He glanced at the girl, whose eyes were wide and unseeing, then grabbed the blood-soaked blanket and covered her face.

He knew the girl. She wanted to use him for money—a gold-digger who would kneel to him for money.

These girls were toys and tools to him, but he never intended to hurt anyone!

He picked up the phone with trembling hands and called his father. "I messed up!"

His father immediately knew he wasn't lying. "Where are you now?"

"What did you do?"

"Who else is with you?"

The rapid-fire questions left young Potter confused. He walked back and forth near the bedside table, answering in his own pace. "I don't know. I went out and partied last night, and as usual, brought a girl back to spend the night."

"But just now, when I woke up, I found that she..."

"She's dead!" As he said the word "dead," he felt an overwhelming surge of anxiety and confusion. This had never happened to him before. He didn't know how to cope!

His father took a deep breath. It was only one death. That wasn't a problem for high society.

Old Potter had dealt with much worse. He maintained a steady voice, which provided some sense of security to young Potter.

"Besides you, does anyone else know about this?"

"Are you at your villa now?"

Young Potter finally remembered his father's other questions. "Yes, yes, I'm at the villa outside the city. I don't know if anyone is outside. I'm in my room. I haven't left."

"I'm covered in blood, F***!"

His father felt a slight relief. As long as it wasn't a public place. "Good. Stay calm. Lock the door. Don't let anyone in. I'm bringing people over immediately."

"Remember, don't open the door for anyone but me, and don't tell any of your friends anything!"

After ending the call, his father immediately gathered his assistants, called some contacts, and headed to young Potter's villa.

There were still a few people at the villa who had partied too hard last night and hadn't woken up yet.

Young Potter's father politely dismissed them all. After confirming the room was empty, he knocked on young Potter's bedroom door.

"It's me. Open up."

Hearing his father's voice, young Potter said, "Thank God," and quickly went to the door to open it.

The moment the door opened, his father frowned. A slightly putrid, metallic smell of blood rushed out. He and the men behind him wore gloves and clothes that were clearly not their everyday wear.

The first thing they saw was the blood-soaked bedding and the raised form beneath it, shaped like a human body.

Young Potter's father walked to the bed and pulled back the blanket. He looked at the girl's body. The men with him confirmed: "She died from blood loss. There are no strictly fatal wounds, but too many cuts. There are also hand marks on her neck."

The man completely pulled back the blanket. Young Potter instantly turned away, unable to look, still cursing under his breath.

His father remained calm. "Start working."

The men quickly began cleaning up the mess. They were highly professional, separating everything.

The girl was placed in a body bag. The mattress, pillows, and all blood-stained items were separately bagged.

This was to prevent any accidental leakage of evidence during disposal.

However, the men quickly discovered an issue.

"We can't find the murder weapon."

Clearly, young Potter hadn't committed this brutal murder with his teeth or fingernails; a sharp weapon was involved, but they couldn't find the object that matched the wounds.

Young Potter's father turned to him. "What did you use to kill her?"

"Where is it?"

(End of this chapter)

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