The bureaucrats and power players of City of Hope all lived here.

In the central assembly hall, several figures sat scattered about, making the vast space feel even emptier. Every single one of them looked pissed off.

The City Lord, Uriah Gibson, demanded, "Petyr, what the hell happened? How did your people get completely wiped out just like that? And it caused such a massive scene! A whole building was blown sky-high. You know what I want is prosperity and order, what I need is tax revenue."

He shouted, "I don't need gang wars every damn day, bringing negative attention to my city. How am I supposed to maintain control? How is the City of Hope supposed to thrive?"

Petyr's face was pale and sinister, though he looked no older than 50. He wore luxurious red silk robes and sat barefoot in a high-backed chair, a glass of crimson liquid before him.

Uriah's complaints did not seem to faze him in the slightest. He lifted his drink, drained it in one gulp, then rose and left the hall.