Gacha Harem System

Sol laughed, the sound filling the dining room as he reached for his wine, filled his cup, and then gulped down the entire thing.

The table was long, lined on both sides with subordinates sitting stiffly in their chairs.

None of them ate, despite the spread laid out in front of them.

They exchanged glances when they thought Sol wasn’t looking, some shifting their weight, and others keeping their eyes fixed straight ahead.

A few of them outranked him on paper.

C-rank wasn’t the highest among the people seated at this table, and they all knew it.

But they also knew that rank alone wasn’t enough to tell what would happen if a fight broke out.

Sol was triclassed.

This meant that whatever rank sat under his name in a status window was quite different from the reality of what he could do with the skills available to him, and everyone present had enough sense to respect the gap.

There was also the fact that if they dared to harm even the hair on his head, death would be the last thing they would receive.

They were Brotherhood, so they didn’t fear death. It was the fact that if they harmed him, they’d live a very long life.

But it won’t be a peaceful or painfree life.

Sol set his wine down and cut into the meat on his plate, still smiling.

"I didn’t even want to go to that damned le Fay party," he said, shaking his head. "I already knew I’d be seeing a dull crowd, predictable food, and be having the same conversations I’ve had hundreds of times before."

He pointed his fork at the man seated to his immediate right. "But you. Good work securing that invitation."

The man straightened slightly, a grin breaking across his face. "We keep legitimate businesses running in Salaria, young master. Doors like that stay open when you’re useful to the right people."

"Smart." Sol cut another piece. "I went expecting to spend an evening watching the people who call themselves the ruling class congratulate each other just for existing. I’d even picked out a few candidates to show the final mercy later."

He glanced down the table, his grin somehow widening. "But then I saw him. Lukas Valentine."

The subordinates on both sides of the table straightened at the same moment.

Sol noticed their reactions and couldn’;t help but laugh.

"Relax," he said, waving a hand. "I didn’t do anything worth reporting. Or at least, nothing as dramatic as you all think."

He speared the cut piece of meat and chewed slowly before continuing. "I only toyed with him a little. I wanted to see what he was made of."

He reached for his wine again.

"You know what he did? He went completely out of his way to flatter me. Stood there with smoke in his face and told me it was an honor." Sol chuckled, setting the glass down. "Smooth. Very smooth for someone his rank."

He tilted his head slightly. "I might give him a less painful death because of it. I haven’t decided yet."

He laughed again at his own words, cutting another piece.

The table stayed quiet until one of the subordinates sitting towards the middle spoke carefully.

"What are your orders, sir? Regarding Valentine."

Sol chewed, swallowed, and wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Put together a team," he said. "I want elite Adepts, not too large, and nothing that draws attention when we move. I want our people. I’m sure you guys have your way of doing that."

He leaned back in his chair, rolling the wine glass between his fingers. "We’ll take them to the Red Desert. Valentine and his group will be heading back to the Second Floor eventually, and the desert gives us the kind of... privacy we require for what I need to do."

He looked down the table, eyes moving from face to face.

"There shall be no mistakes. I don’t want to see any mess that traces back to us before we’re ready for it to." He picked up his fork again. "And nobody touches him before I say so. He’s mine."

The subordinates nodded, one after another down the line.

Sol turned back to his plate, still smiling.

"Now eat," he said. "You’re all sitting there looking like you’re at a funeral. The food is getting cold."

***

Morgana sat behind her desk, a ledger open in front of her, one hand moving across the page as she tallied figures from her various business ventures.

A minute later, a knock came at the door.

"Come in," she said, without looking up.

The door opened.

Baldwin entered first, his seven foot frame filling the doorway for a moment before he walked through and moved to his position behind and to the right of her desk.

Nic followed him in, stopping in front of the desk and giving a short, respectful bow.

"The mission list is finalized, my lady," Nic said. "I have all the operatives selected and confirmed."

Morgana set her pen down and held out a hand.

Baldwin reached forward, took the paper from Nic, and placed it in front of her without a word.

She read through it, her eyes moving down the names. Then she stopped.

Her eyes stayed on the last name for a moment.

"Did Lukas Valentine approach you?" she asked. "Or did you go to him?"

Nic grinned at the question. "I went to him. I watched how he handled a guest who was pushing at him during the ball. He kept his head, didn’t make a scene, and resolved it on his own."

"That kind of composure is useful. I thought it was worth bringing him in."

Morgana looked at the name a moment longer, then set the paper down.

"Thank you, Nic. That will be all."

Nic bowed again and left, pulling the door closed behind him.

Morgana sighed, her eyes moving to Baldwin.

"He’s starting to stand out," she said. "We need to establish something more concrete with him before one of my siblings takes notice."

Baldwin gave a single nod. "I’ll handle it."

"Good." She turned back to her desk, pulling the ledger towards her again. "What’s the update on the Brotherhood?"

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