Cyrus scrolled through the catalog of safehouse options and began selecting what he needed.

First came full structural reinforcement. His apartment would be gutted, every wall, ceiling, and floor replaced with 8-inch alloy panels. The material was aerospace-grade—one-third the weight of steel but ten times stronger—ideal for embedding into a high-rise without overloading the building. The windows would be swapped for the world's toughest bulletproof glass.

Next, the ventilation system would receive full air filtration, keeping out any toxic gas. Then a complete surveillance network would cover every angle, inside and out. Finally, the door: it would be replaced with a vault-grade security door, like those used in major banks. Even a small bomb would barely scratch it.

In short, Cyrus' demand was simple: his apartment would become an impenetrable fortress.

He handed the tablet back. Hector skimmed the request, eyebrows rising. Cyrus wanted to transform a 1,300-square-foot apartment into a steel box.

"With weapons inside, this wouldn't just be a house. It'd be a fortress," Hector muttered.

Cyrus' eyes flickered. "Oh? You know a thing or two about fortresses?"

Hector chuckled. "I used to work overseas as a mercenary. I know my way around military hardware."

An idea sparked in Cyrus' mind. He lowered his voice. "Then tell me—can you get guns?"

Hector's expression turned grave. Firearms were strictly forbidden in Cretora.

"Mr. Knovell, you should know that's illegal," he said quietly. "What's this really about? Dangerous enemies?"

Cyrus seized the chance to play along. "Exactly. I crossed some people from the underworld. They're armed, ruthless. I just want to protect myself. Otherwise, hiding behind reinforced walls won't help."

Hector smiled wryly. "I'm afraid I can't help with that. We're a legitimate company."

Cyrus caught the hesitation in his eyes. Hector was capable but unwilling to take the risk. He leaned forward. "This project will cost me over 1.6 million. If something happens to me afterward, that won't look good for your company. I only need a few weapons to defend myself. Help me, and you won't regret it."

Hector fell silent with a frown. He had the connections, but was Cyrus worth the risk?

"Go home for now," Hector finally said. "I can't promise anything, but I'll ask around. If I hear something, I'll contact you."

Cyrus did not press. Guns were sensitive. It was better to wait. He smiled. "Then I'll wait for your news. In the meantime, start work on the safehouse. I need it as soon as possible."

"Half a month," Hector assured him. "We'll have it ready."

They signed the contract on the spot. Cyrus paid a 200,000-dollar deposit, knowing he would likely never pay the balance.

Leaving Wyvern Security, Cyrus ticked "shelter" off his mental checklist. That problem was settled. Next: weapons.

Back in his car, he called an old acquaintance, Seamus Lancaster, who ran a private hunting ground on Mt. Barat—hundreds of acres stocked with harmless game for leisure hunters.

Seamus had plenty of legal hunting gear like crossbows, compound bows, and air rifles. Cyrus had visited before and had Seamus' number.

This time, he asked for bulk and offered extra payment.

Seamus, a businessman first, agreed easily. "Mr. Knovell, what do you need so many for? These are for hunting, right? Not hurting people?"

Caution laced his voice. Selling the gear was one thing, and liability was another.

Cyrus laughed. "Relax. I'm taking friends on a hunting trip in Kongor. Just stocking up."

Seamus whistled. "Kongor, huh? Lions and hyenas out there. Stay safe."

"Don't worry. When can you have the gear ready?"

"I've got stock on hand. Swing by anytime."

Cyrus did not waste a second. He drove straight to Mt. Barat and loaded up: five steel crossbows, three high-grade compound bows, and 300 arrows and bolts for each. Two Damascus steel hunting knives, razor-sharp and nearly unbreakable, rounded out the haul. They were perfect for close combat.

By the time he finished, his trunk was full. The sight filled him with a deep sense of security. With a hunting license already in his name, no one would question it.

By dusk, he returned home.

That evening, he treated himself to a barbecue feast at a famous smokehouse. As he bit into sizzling ribs and brisket, he realized that soon, if he wanted barbecue, he would have to grill it himself.

Thus, he did the only logical thing—he ordered 10,000 packs of the restaurant's signature barbecue rubs and sauces.

The staff froze, assuming he was playing a prank. Once the manager confirmed he was serious and would pay in full, they proceeded with the order.

Cyrus dropped over 200,000 dollars on the spot. The manager, grinning ear to ear, even tossed in an extra 500 bottles for free.

Cyrus left his address with the smokehouse staff so they could deliver the packs later. He could always fetch fresh meat and vegetables from Volmart's warehouse when the time came. Barbecue rubs and sauces were another matter. Restaurants never sold their real recipes, and supermarket bottles were cheap knock-offs, nothing close to the genuine article. If they were, nobody would bother eating at a smokehouse in the first place.

After his meal, he headed home, only to receive a call from the manager of the five-star hotel.

"Mr. Knovell, your 500 tables' worth of food is ready. Are you available to receive it now?"

"Yes. Send it over," Cyrus replied.

By the time he returned, the convoys were already en route. Five hundred tables would feed him for at least two to three years. With nearly 1,400,000 dollars still in hand, he was far from stingy. If anything, he was eager to spend it all.

He thought of more dishes he liked on the way back. He called several of Volaris' most famous restaurants and placed orders for an additional hundred tables at each. That covered eight major cuisines and ethnic fine dining, thousands of tables in total. It was enough to cover half a lifetime of meals.

Not long after, the Grand Heritage Hotel's convoy rolled up to the gates of Cervusa Residence. Two or three dozen catering trucks clogged the entrance, drawing a crowd of neighbors.

Kenneth Uthman, the complex's security guard, rushed forward nervously. "Hold up! What's all this?"

The hotel manager explained, but Kenneth insisted the property owner appear in person before allowing anyone through. With a delivery this massive, he could not take any chances.

Dylan called Cyrus, who came downstairs promptly. By then, the gate teemed with curious onlookers—neighbors, children, gossiping women. Even Diana and Natalie were there, eyes wide at the commotion.

"Kenneth, it's my delivery. Let them in," Cyrus said with a smile.

"Delivery?" Kenneth blinked. "What kind of food takes a dozen trucks to bring?"

The crowd erupted.

"Look at that! Must be hundreds of tables!"

"Is Cyrus hosting a wedding banquet or something?"

"Even if he is, who needs hundreds of tables worth of food?"

"Hold on. That logo—that's the Grand Heritage! A five-star hotel!"

"One table there runs into the hundreds. Hundreds of them? That's a fortune!"

"My god, one banquet worth over 100 grand! Cyrus has been hiding his wealth all along!"

The neighbors' eyes burned with awe and envy.

Diana bit her lip, her resolve hardening. This man had to be hers.

She approached with a bright smile. "Cyrus, what's going on at home lately? Why are you stocking up so much food?"

Cyrus ignored her, lit a cigarette, and offered one to Kenneth.

The guard nodded and swung the gates open. The convoy rolled in, and Cyrus led the way.

Diana stuck close and asked in a soft, honeyed voice, "Why not tell me? We're friends, aren't we? You can trust me. I just want to know you better."

Cyrus gave her a long, cold look, then smirked. "These? They're for my boss. Same with the Michelin-starred meal last time—he paid for them. If I really had that kind of money, life would be easier."

Her face drained of color. "You're joking, right?"

He spread his hands. "Why would I? You've known me for years. My parents are gone, and I'm just a warehouse supervisor. Where would I get that kind of money?"

Her mind reeled. Real heirs usually came from families running major businesses. Cyrus' parents had been gone for years. He might have inherited some property, but that did not make him a rich heir. Also, he just confirmed that he was ordinary, neither wealthy nor powerful.

Her smile faltered. She stepped back, smoothed her hair, and forced a polite grin. "Well, rich or not, we're still best friends, aren't we? I'm not some gold digger."

She lingered on the word friends. A true bitch would never burn bridges. A backup was still a backup.

Cyrus curled his lip in disdain and said no more.

Meanwhile, the Grand Heritage staff got to work unloading.

Cyrus had arranged with the property office to use a basement storeroom, and now the banquet tables were stacked neatly inside. Even 500 meals packed into lunchboxes took up surprisingly little space.

Prime rib, smoked salmon, Maine lobster, white truffles, caviar, aged cheeses—each box resembled a treasure chest.

Dylan shook his head in disbelief. In all his years, he had never seen an order this massive.

Cyrus waved them on. Once the staff left, he quietly transferred every last box into his pocket dimension.

Maybe people whispered. Maybe they wondered. But who really cared? Life went on, and at most, it became gossip fodder.

By evening, the 500 tables' worth of food had vanished into his personal void.

That night, Cyrus received a call from Hector of Wyvern Security.

"Our teams are ready," Hector said. "We can start the safehouse project whenever you like. When's convenient?"

"Tomorrow," Cyrus replied without hesitation.

He planned to move into a hotel while the work was done.

After wrapping up that discussion, Cyrus waited for Hector to bring up the matter he still needed most: the weapons.

Hector hesitated before lowering his voice. "If you truly want them, I can introduce you to someone. But the price won't be cheap."

Cyrus' eyes narrowed. Then he nodded. "That's not a problem. As long as the quality's good."

Hector exhaled in relief. "All right. I'll make the arrangements and contact you in three days with the time and place."