Hope

Gilbreth strolled leisurely down the street, his head slightly bowed as he absorbed the somber atmosphere around him. He couldn't help but notice the faint traces of dried blood on the ground, stubbornly clinging to the cracks in the road.

The remnants of a violent past, a constant reminder of the chaos that had unfolded. As he walked, he eavesdropped on the snippets of conversations exchanged by passers-by, their voices filled with intrigue and curiosity. The corners of Gilbreth's mouth curled upwards, a mischievous smile threatening to escape.

In fact, he had no desire to conceal his delight. After all, his arch-nemesis, the High Table, had suffered a significant blow. But how long had it been since this turn of events? Gilbreth furrowed his brow, delving deep into his memories, only to come up empty-handed. It was as if time had played a trick on him, erasing the specifics from his mind.

His fingers instinctively tightened around the cross hidden in his pocket. The symbol held secrets that eluded him. Why did those who opposed the High Table leave behind these tiny crosses as a calling card after eliminating their targets? What clandestine organization lurked in the shadows, orchestrating this intricate dance of retribution?

Moreover, the news of the New York Continental Hotel's defiance against the High Table piqued Gilbreth's interest. Could they truly stand up to the formidable force that had dominated their world for so long? As he pondered this question, a sudden cry disrupted his musings, drawing his attention to the source of the commotion—the New York Continental Hotel.

Or rather, what used to be the New York Continental Hotel. Gilbreth's eyes widened in astonishment as he observed workers removing the old hotel sign, replacing it with something unexpected. It was a colossal cross, taking center stage as the emblem of this new establishment.

Unable to contain his curiosity, Gilbreth halted in his tracks, carefully comparing the cross in his possession to the one installed before his eyes. Just as he was lost in his thoughts, a flickering change in the surroundings caught his attention.

The large commercial television screen nearby abruptly shifted to a different display, followed by a synchronized transformation across all radio and television channels throughout the fifty states of the United States.

In a moment of collective surprise, the faces of the viewers, whether filled with astonishment or indignation, were captivated by a single image—Edward.

Some individuals, overwhelmed by the sudden spectacle, succumbed to fear and fainted. In contrast, others questioned the authenticity of what they witnessed, dismissing it as deception or trickery. Yet, unbeknownst to them, this turn of events had not escaped the premeditated schemes Jack had.

Amidst the audience's fluctuating emotions, Edward's voice resonated, amplified through every speaker. The air grew heavy with anticipation as he introduced himself with an air of confidence.

"First and foremost, allow me to introduce myself. I am Edward, the chairman of the Edward Group," he proclaimed, his voice carrying a mixture of authority and charisma.

"I'm sure many of you are familiar with my name. Yesterday, my life was deemed worthy of an eight-million-dollar bounty, attracting the attention of nearly every individual in New York. Yes, the assassins employed by the Continental Hotel, loyal to the High Table, sought to end my existence."

A pause filled the air as Edward's words hung in the collective consciousness. Then, with unwavering conviction, he continued, "But I did not perish."

The room trembled with anticipation, all eyes glued to the screen. Edward's words ignited curiosity, overshadowing skepticism in the viewers' minds.

"Fortune did not favor me, nor did sheer strength ensure my survival. Instead, during that precarious moment, when the assassins paraded through the city with audacity, a certain group of individuals, an organization, came to my aid when no one else would."

The tension grew, breaths held in anticipation. And then, with a big revelation, Edward declared, "They are the Templars—the valiant Templars of the Knights Templar."

.....

Inside the bustling studio, Jack fixed his gaze upon Edward, who spoke with eloquence and charm. The studio lights danced off Jack's face as he nodded silently, a spark of determination gleaming in his eyes. With a swift motion, he raised his hand, and a magnificent long sword materialized within his grasp.

The blade, adorned with intricate golden patterns, seemed to come alive, emitting shimmering streams of light that surged along its surface, creating mesmerizing arcs. The sword seamlessly blended traditional craftsmanship with a touch of futuristic sci-fi, forming a breathtaking sight. Its flawless appearance, captured in high-definition images, left no room for imperfection.

Practicality-wise, Jack had discovered that he could channel controlled discharges through the sword while developing other features was still underway. Nevertheless, this newfound ability alone elevated the sword's status to Jack's weapon of choice.

Sure, a wrench could deflect bullets or serve as a shield, but when it came to style, was there anything more dashing than wielding the Holy Sword of Eden, capable of unleashing lightning itself?

For Jack, it was a choice without compromise.

The previous night's display of devastating power, the "lightning" that had mercilessly claimed the lives of 500 individuals, had been executed by Jack with the Holy Sword of Eden in his grip. Naturally, he didn't harbor sentimental notions of "lightning coursing through his fingertips, an immortal creed for this lifetime." But he relished the opportunity to play along, for why not?

Beyond showcasing his might to the Templar Knights and feigning the capacity to lead them to victory, Jack sought to assess the true extent of his upgraded abilities. His final conclusion: the [Advanced Backstab Skill] alone had the potential to dispatch opponents instantaneously, even before his enhancements.

A head-on spike, a lethal blow.

The only downside was a lack of mana. With attributes exceeding two thousand in both [Physical] and [Wisdom], Jack's [Dharma] still lingered at a mere hundred. Undoubtedly, Jack's character template adhered to the most orthodox image attributes.

On the bright side, Jack had discovered that he could now regulate the mana consumption of this skill, granting him newfound freedom in his actions. Moreover, the enhancement to his [Advanced Knight Bloodline] had given him a well-rounded boost.

The only minor inconvenience was the sensation that overwhelmed him whenever he activated it—a sense of standing atop an immense precipice, an irrepressible urge to leap into the unknown.

Was this an instinctual yearning for a leap of faith?

Should he prepare a haystack down below?

Or perhaps toss a blade of grass as a precursor to the jump?

Amidst these musings, Jack patiently awaited the conclusion of Edward's address. His mind oscillated between thoughts of his newfound abilities and the meticulous review and adjustment of his plans.

At present, Jack had already secured a coveted position on the global hit list maintained by the High Table—a staggering reward of 100 million US dollars! For the High Table, producing such a sum presented no significant challenge. Manager Winston of the New York Continental Hotel and a host of other unwavering allies like Wick, Wesley, Fox, and more also found themselves listed.

However, ordinary assassins were no longer a significant concern after the previous night's events. Everyone understood that while the money held its allure, once the amount reached a certain threshold, individuals were forced to confront their limitations and assess their ability to acquire and wield such wealth.

If a few million dollars could drive someone mad, a hundred million could provide a sobering wake-up call.

People possessed a certain self-awareness.

Lost in thought, Jack observed as Edward neared the end of his speech. With a swift motion, Jack sheathed the Holy Sword of Eden, adjusting his attire and readying himself to take the stage.

Edward had just elaborated on how he survived the clutches of the High Table's assassins, intricately linking the struggle between order and chaos, light and darkness, ultimately culminating in the confrontation with the Templar Knights.

And now, it was Jack's turn to step into the spotlight.

Ever since he had arrived in the Assassin's World, countless plans had been set in motion, meticulous preparations made. Even now, when he possessed the means to depart from this realm, Jack remained steadfast, committed to fulfilling the next phase of his grand design.

It wasn't merely about delivering a speech before an audience of hundreds of millions. Instead, his objective was clear—he intended to share his bank account number with the world and encourage them to willingly deposit their money into it!

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