The Heiress They Lost Came Back Overpowered

Night fell quickly in Country S. Just as the sky began to darken, most refugees had already found shelter nearby, praying they could survive the perilous and uncertain night.

When they heard the sound of cars roaring past outside, some would instinctively curl into a ball, shrinking into a corner.

In the car, Zachary Jacobs’s fingers danced rapidly across the keyboard.

He didn’t forget to mock his target. "This Brown fellow is a real genius. He installed cameras to monitor the refugees, but didn’t forget to install them in his own residence. That’s great. Makes it easier for me to monitor him."

Cole glanced at the man on the screen, his eyes filled with scorn. "Tch. He’d better not have some special fetish that made him install those cameras on purpose."

Cole never had a kind word for the man who killed his father. It was only after Brown appeared that Yvonne Lowell realized just how venomous Cole’s tongue could be.

It was as if he instantly de-aged a decade, his life’s motto becoming ’forever young, forever spewing vile insults.’

Yvonne Lowell took out a silver mask and tossed it to Leo Grant. "Put this on. It’ll save us some unnecessary trouble."

Leo Grant raised an eyebrow as he looked at the high-quality mask, which perfectly contoured to his face. He said nothing and obediently put it on.

Yvonne then put on her own signature black-and-gold mask, the one she wore exclusively for business.

She had said she was only here to find someone, and that was truly all she intended to do.

She had no plans to clash with that cult. In the end, they were just a bunch of delusional bugs, happy in their own little bubble.

As long as they didn’t foolishly provoke Aurelia or harm its people, and just stayed put within Country S, they had absolutely nothing to do with her.

Wearing masks was also a way to nip trouble in the bud. After all, both of their faces had been all over the internet.

Whether it was being recognized by the people here, which could bring trouble to their families, or shattering the image of mundane businessmen they had cultivated in the minds of netizens, neither was a good outcome.

’Then again... those bugs probably can’t even get into the country. It’s really not a big deal.’

Leon, Cole: *So our images don’t matter?*

Yvonne Lowell: *Do you have legitimate professions? Can your identities see the light of day? Do you even need an image?*

The abandoned bar was at the end of an entertainment district. To call it an entertainment district was a stretch; it was really just a collection of dilapidated, crumbling buildings that had long since lost their customers and gradually become a refuge for the displaced.

The car stopped at the intersection. The street ahead was a pitted, muddy road. Driving in would make them too big of a target, so it was better to go on foot.

’I don’t know what these people were thinking. They knew how to set up an entertainment district, but not how to build a road.’

’’To get rich, first build roads.’ They don’t even understand a principle that simple.’

Zachary Jacobs cracked his knuckles, looked up at them, and switched on the general communications device.

"The abandoned bar and the two-story building to its right each have fifteen men standing guard at the entrance. The refugees are in the two-story building. They’re on a two-shift system; the next change is in twenty minutes. The other off-duty men are on the second floor of the bar."

Yvonne Lowell adjusted her earpiece and said, "Proceed in your original teams. First, take care of our ’professional’ doormen, those ’Messengers of God.’ And make sure not to disturb the civilians."

Yvonne deliberately emphasized the last few words. They had been partners for years; everyone understood.

"Yes, sir!" came the crisp, unified response from the other end of the comms.

The twenty-five elite operatives who had accompanied them got out of the car and vanished like phantoms into the night.

The remaining eight of them also began to head in that direction.

They were all trained fighters, seasoned veterans of countless missions.

So even a rugged path like this was like walking on flat ground for them. They moved with wind at their feet, striding swiftly while remaining vigilant of their surroundings.

They all had placid expressions, as if they were just out for a stroll to aid digestion, not to slit throats.

...Well, everyone except Ian and Warren Lynch.

Ever since they found out this morning that they’d be on a mission with Falcon tonight, the two had been buzzing with excitement. They were so flushed and beaming, you’d think they were on their way to their own weddings.

Yvonne Lowell tapped her earpiece. "Jackie, give me Brown’s location."

"Third room from the right on the third floor of the bar. He’s with his confidant and four refugees—two men, two women. Says they’re there to ’activate their Divine Status.’"

Zachary’s voice came through the earpiece, laced with irritation and a hint of revulsion. "For fuck’s sake! Those two old bastards are doing it right in front of my camera! My eyes are tainted!!"

’Well, what do you know. Cole really hit the nail on the head. So those two old fiends really are the type to take whatever they can get, regardless of gender...’

Leon shot Cole a strange look. "That mouth of yours is practically blessed. But it seems the power of your second aunt’s ’one that got away’ isn’t all that impressive, huh?"

"Fuck off! Stop trying to gross me out!" Cole looked like he’d just eaten shit.

"Both of them are superpower users. We’ll take the third floor. The rest of you, take the refugees directly to the second floor when the time comes."

Seeing Cole’s conflicted expression, Yvonne added, "Don’t worry, I’ll leave Brown alive for you."

With the plan set, the group continued forward.

They moved quickly, arriving almost at the same time as the elite team that had set out first.

When they got there, the elites were still focused on slitting throats.

As they reached the entrance of the small building next to the bar where the refugees were housed, a guard had his throat slit just as they arrived. One of their men was still clamping a hand over the dead man’s mouth.

Upon seeing them, he even flashed a wide, toothy grin, waved his bloody dagger, then tossed the body aside and ran off to continue reaping lives...

The group stepped over the corpses without a second glance and stood before the main entrance of the bar.

Yvonne Lowell rolled her neck and looked at Leo Grant. "Pavilion Master Grant, don’t you dare slow me down."

A slight smile played on Leo Grant’s lips beneath his mask. "Don’t worry, Falcon. Here’s to our pleasant cooperation."

The people behind them twitched their lips in unison. ’Celebrating at halftime, are we?!’

’Can’t you two save the PDA for when you’re alone?! Do the lives of us single people mean nothing?!’

’And is this really the time for that?! We’re not hungry!!’

Leo Grant and Yvonne Lowell exchanged a look, then moved at the same time, vanishing from sight and silently making their way to the third floor.

Before they even got close to the room Zachary had mentioned, they heard indescribable sounds coming from within.

’Tsk, how to describe it?’

’Rising and falling? Rhythmic and undulating? A cacophony of cymbals and drums?’

Yvonne shook her head, trying to clear the junk from her mind.

She jerked her chin toward the door, signaling for Leo Grant to make his move.

Leo Grant shot her an exasperated glance, then raised a hand to cover her eyes before kicking the door clean off its hinges.