The Celestial Grand Hotel shimmered under a blanket of golden light, standing as a monument of wealth and power. Beneath its opulence, however, a storm was brewing.
Ochieng arrived in a sleek onyx-black Koenigsegg Jesko, its custom-made number plate reading "G.O.D 8X"—a silent declaration that he was now beyond reach.
He stepped out, dressed in an impeccably tailored midnight-blue Wang Xuan suit, every fiber designed for both elegance and combat readiness. His aura was neither loud nor desperate for attention—it simply demanded it.
The moment he walked through the entrance, the entire ballroom seemed to pause.
Heads turned. Murmurs spread. The whispers of the elite had one common theme:
"Who is he?"
—
Seated at the grand VIP table were the most powerful figures in the Eight Major Provinces.
Madame Zhen, the ruthless matriarch of the Red Serpent Triad.
Wei Xian, the billionaire puppeteer behind multiple governments.
The Black Lotus, a ghost in the underworld, feared and unseen.
And then, of course, there was Ochieng.
He sat calmly, swirling his aged Qing Dynasty whiskey as the others continued their charade of forced smiles and calculated pleasantries.
But he was here for one thing. Justice.
A butler placed a golden envelope in front of each guest.
Wei Xian smirked. "Interesting. A challenge?"
Madame Zhen raised a brow. "Or a coronation."
With a simple nod from Ochieng, the butlers stepped back, and the room's holographic screens lit up. Files. Names. Evidence.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Everything Ochieng had uncovered—the truth behind his parents' deaths, the financial manipulations, the betrayals—was now displayed for every powerful figure to see.
Wei Xian's face paled. Madame Zhen's wine glass slipped slightly.
And then, the doors to the ballroom slammed shut.
Black-clad men entered.
Ochieng finally spoke, his voice smooth but sharp as a blade.
"For years, you all played god. Tonight, you face the consequences."
Silence.
Then a slow, chilling clap came from the shadows.
The Black Lotus stepped forward.
—
The room's tension shattered like glass. Chaos erupted.
Men lunged. Guns were drawn. Martial artists moved like shadows.
But Ochieng was already ahead.
He ducked under a blade, twisting with precision, his tiger-crane fist technique sending a man crashing into the banquet table.
With a flick of his wrist, a hidden blade extended from his cuff—a gift from the Shaolin master who had once saved his life.
Slice. Silence. Another man down.
Across the room, Black Lotus and Ochieng locked eyes.
And in that moment, the real battle began.
The underworld had a new ruler.