Inside the VIP box, the heavy titanium armor plates sealed away all sound and light from the outside world. The air was thick with the acrid stench of devoured high-tier poison and the faint, lingering ozone of the shattered Tier 5 Holy Spear.
Old Thorne was paralyzed on his knees against the dark red velvet carpet. Drenched in a waterfall of cold sweat, he stared fixedly at the crystal glass in Caspian's hand, where the dim, dying sparks of the holy spear still flickered. Deep within his mind, his entire cognitive structure and understanding of reality were violently collapsing.
The Temple's supreme killing array hadn't even managed to sever a single hair on this man's head. His proud foundation as a top-tier tycoon felt like a flimsy paper toy before this monster in a bespoke obsidian suit.
Caspian sat on the single leather sofa, his long legs elegantly crossed. He methodically set down the wine glass and gently smoothed out a microscopic wrinkle on the black leather glove that had just crushed the spear of light.
His gaze fell upon Old Thorne. There was no rage, no murderous intent—only the absolute, freezing detachment of a scientist observing a mutated fungus in a petri dish.
"I have no interest in using [Spirit-Rhyme] to rummage through a male brain saturated with excrement and cheap, mortal lust," Caspian's voice echoed in the vault, every syllable carrying a high-dimensional pressure that made the very space tremble. "I ask, you answer. If your tongue hesitates for a single second, I will snap a bone. If your answers bore me, I will rip your soul out and stuff it into one of those cheap vibrating toys on the stage, leaving you to experience the ecstasy of being crushed for all eternity."
Old Thorne shuddered violently. Looking into those bottomless, dark golden eyes, he had zero doubt this man could, and would, commit such an unfathomable, reality-defying atrocity.
"This array... the one that treats mortals as batteries. Who taught it to you?" Caspian leaned forward slightly.
VMMMM—!
A terrifying gravitational force, heavy as a collapsing mountain, instantly locked onto Old Thorne's throat, compressing his cervical vertebrae until they let out a teeth-aching creak.
"It... it was the Regional Inquisitor of the Sancta Lodo Temple!" Old Thorne gasped desperately, his mouth opening wide like a dying fish as he frantically squeezed out the words. "Ten years ago, he approached me in secret! He gave me an ancient metallic shard called the 'Sovereign's Relic'... that is the core of the array! It converts secular despair and lust, distilling it into 'Lifeforce Essence'!"
Caspian's eyes instantly turned glacial.
The Sovereign's Relic. That was unmistakably a fragment of his [Genesis Core]—the very godhood that had shattered across the realms when those traitors besieged him in his past life! These rats hiding in the gutters had actually turned his divine core into the engine of an oil pump.
"Where does the extracted lifeforce go?" Caspian's tone grew softer, yet the temperature in the vault plummeted to absolute zero.
"Our Thorne family only intercepts twenty percent... to maintain my youth and cultivate our family's death squads..." Terrified for his life, Old Thorne completely abandoned the Temple's highest taboo, spilling secrets like a ruptured dam. "The remaining eighty percent... is funneled through specialized underground conduits, straight down to the eightieth floor beneath this building!"
"What are they feeding down there?"
"A... a 'Flawless Receptacle'!" Old Thorne panted heavily, a morbid mix of fanaticism and awe flashing in his cloudy eyes. "She is the only ultimate-grade girl the Temple found across the entire Federation capable of withstanding high-purity Law energy! They call her the 'Frost Saintess.' The Temple's higher-ups are feeding her the concentrated lust of the entire city every single day, trying to use the Relic to artificially synthesize a pseudo-god's vessel!"
The cruel curve of Caspian's lips deepened. "Going through all that trouble to synthesize a pseudo-god, just to lock her in a basement?"
"No... she is merchandise!" Old Thorne shrieked hoarsely. "In half a month, the quadrennial 'Scarlet Auction' will commence! At that time, the world's apex tycoons, underground overlords, and the highest echelons of the Temple will gather in secret. That fully nourished receptacle will be the grand finale item... The starting bid is the absolute territorial control of three super-states!"
Hearing this, Caspian slowly leaned back against the sofa, letting out a low, dark chuckle that even carried a hint of genuine amusement.
So, this was it.
This was the true operating logic of the world following his fall. The Temple, acting as the ultimate "wholesaler," had fragmented his Sovereign Laws and distributed them to "white-glove conglomerates" like the Thorne family. These tycoons built clubs and blood-sacrifice dens in the secular world, harvesting the lifespans and fortunes of mortals like crops. Finally, this colossal energy was used to feed the pitiful [Apex-Tier] Saintess trapped underground, preparing her to be bartered away at a higher echelon of power—The Scarlet Auction.
It was a flawless, filthy, and highly lucrative industrial supply chain, acting as a parasite on the corpse of the old Sovereign.
"Slicing the heart of a Genesis God and selling it by the pound on the black market." Caspian lowered his eyelids, glancing at Victoria, who was paralyzed with fear at his feet. "The greed of mortals truly never fails to provide me with cheap surprises."
"I've told you... I've told you everything I know! Mr. Vane, please, spare me!" Seeing that spine-chilling smile, Old Thorne crawled forward in sheer despair, trying to grasp the hem of the Sovereign's trousers. "I can give you half the Thorne family's wealth... No, all of it! I can be your dog!"
"My hounds do not feast on the cold scraps left by others."
Caspian stood up, the unique, sadistic amusement of a tyrant flickering in his golden eyes. He had obtained all the intelligence he required. For a low-tier thief who had desecrated his Laws like Old Thorne, a simple death would be a profound act of mercy.
"You enjoy sitting in the front row, watching those starlets be humiliated by 'toys' on stage, watching their lifespans be drained by the array, don't you?" Caspian looked down from his high-dimensional pedestal.
Old Thorne froze. An intensely ominous premonition violently seized his heart.
Caspian didn't even turn around. He simply raised his gloved hand and casually hooked his index finger toward the one-way bulletproof glass overlooking the stage below.
BANG!
The indestructible glass instantly shattered, leaving a massive, perfectly circular hole. The specialized "sex toys" previously scattered at the edge of the stage—the taboo instruments inscribed with Temple Laws designed to violently extract human essence and lifeforce—were suddenly gripped by an invisible gravitational tether. Like marionettes on a string, they floated eerily through the shattered glass and hovered in the air inside the VIP box.
"Victoria," Caspian spoke plainly.
Huddled in the corner, her skin marred by red blisters from inhaling the trace poison gas, Victoria snapped her head up. Her eyes were filled with nothing but awe and absolute submission to her Sovereign.
"Your former father-in-law seems quite fond of these rules," Caspian methodically adjusted his obsidian cuffs, his voice echoing like the final judgment of the Grim Reaper. "Help him maintain his dignity. Right here, in the VIP box he is so proud of, use his favorite toys to wring out the very last drop of stolen lifespan from his body. And remember..."
Caspian's glacial gaze swept over the mechanical instruments, which were already humming with a depraved, low vibration.
"Do not stop until he is a desiccated corpse."