Although Thomson Hutch had been exiled from the United States for over twenty years, it was impossible for him to be without resentment.
He hated—but not the United States, and not the Oracle Palace.
His hatred was reserved solely for the Martial Arts League.
In fact, he still considered himself an American.
And he still held deep respect for the King of Horizon.
That man had been the guardian saint of the United States, leading the Oracle Palace in defending the nation from external threats. The internal rot had nothing to do with him.
So when the three kings implied that the Oracle Palace was no different from the Martial Arts League, Thomson was disgusted.
Seeing his reaction, the three wisely dropped the subject.
There was no point in continuing.
The Oracle King was dead. The only thing that mattered now was their allegiance to the Kingslayer Alliance.
Whether Thomson was pleased or not was none of their concern.
"Ha! Master Hutch, I'm glad you're thinking this through," one of them chuckled.
But before the atmosphere could stabilize, a hearty laugh echoed through the old church.
Then—a young American man dropped from above, landing between them with an effortless grace.
All four men were startled.
Their expressions shifted instantly—on guard.
The red-faced man—the King of the Bloodshed Palace—snapped to attention, barking,
"Who the hell are you?
When did you start eavesdropping?"
The young man smiled calmly.
"My name is John Lopez. Like you, I'm a citizen of the United States.
And I've been listening in since your first sentence."
That first line made the three kings frown—but the last part sent a visible jolt through all of them.
He'd been there since the beginning.
Which meant he'd been lurking above them for over twenty minutes—and not one of them had sensed him.
This was the Shadow Pavilion, a legendary assassin organization.
They were masters of stealth and detection.
But this young man had gone completely unnoticed.
Who the hell was he?
Thomson narrowed his eyes. His voice sharpened.
"Are you... an assassin?"
A man who could hide his presence from seasoned killers was no ordinary visitor.
John shook his head. "No. I'm not like you people who skulk in the shadows. I'm a gentleman."
That last line carried a clear jab.
"You arrogant bastard!"
The King of the Pluto Palace roared, his temper flaring.
The insult was obvious—he was mocking them for being people who couldn't live under the sun.
But truthfully... they couldn't.
Thomson remained calm, more composed than the other three.
"John," he asked slowly, "if you're an American, what are you doing in Iceland? Why eavesdrop on us?"
"I didn't come here to eavesdrop," John replied casually. "I came to see Master Hutch. But when I saw how heated your discussion was... I figured I'd just enjoy the show."
His gaze rested on Thomson with interest.
To be honest, he hadn't expected the leader of the Shadow Pavilion to be someone with such a strong moral compass.
Clear distinctions between love and hate.
His first impression... was surprisingly favorable.
But the King of the Bloodshed Palace snorted. "You call that 'not eavesdropping'? You're being awfully bold for someone spying on others."
John ignored him completely.
Thomson asked thoughtfully, "You said you came to visit me. Do we know each other?"
"No. We've never met."
John smiled. "I'm just a nobody. How could I possibly have the honor of knowing Master Hutch? I simply heard that the Shadow Pavilion's leader was an American and got curious."
"Hmph! We three are also American. Why not visit us?"
The King of the Bloodshed Palace was increasingly hostile.
John gave him a mocking look.
"Didn't you just say you were Icelandic? Why the sudden change of nationality?"
"You...!"
The man's eyes flared with rage. He knew John was provoking him on purpose.
Suddenly, a sinister smile appeared on the face of the King of the Yaksa Palace.
"In my opinion," he said darkly, "it doesn't matter whether you came to visit or not."
"Oh?" John raised an eyebrow. "Then what do you think matters?"
"I think... you heard too much.
Which means the only thing that matters is killing you."
His tone was casual, but his words dripped with menace.
John didn't flinch.
"Oh? Was it that you're planning to join the Kingslayer Alliance? Or maybe the Shadow Pavilion's connections to the U.S. Martial Arts League? Or perhaps your insults toward the Oracle Palace?"
Each word John spoke was deliberate.
And each one proved just how much he had heard.
Even Thomson's expression darkened.
If John had wandered into the Shadow Pavilion by accident, perhaps Thomson could've spared him—out of national solidarity.
But now?
He had heard everything.
There was only one solution.
Kill the witness to cover up the crime.
Thomson's eyes turned cold. His aura shifted—killing intent spilling out like icy fog.
"John, our Shadow Pavilion doesn't usually target people unless we're contracted to do so.
But today... you came at the wrong time.
You heard what you shouldn't have.
I'm sorry."
Just as Thomson prepared to strike—
Click.
A sudden rhythm echoed from the distance.
The sharp tapping of leather soles against the stone floor.
Thomson froze, his head snapping toward the sound.
The three kings turned as well—faces tense.
A man appeared in the doorway.
He was tall—over 6'2"—dressed in an immaculate white suit, radiating nobility and elegance. A white round hat sat on his head, slightly tilted forward, hiding the upper half of his face.
Each step he took echoed sharply—his black leather shoes pressing into the floor with authority.
A strange pressure filled the room.
The man's presence alone was enough to make them tense.
"Gentlemen," he said in fluent American English, his voice rich and smooth,
"Have we come to an agreement?"
As he removed his round hat slowly, a typical Eastern face was revealed beneath.