The room erupted into chaos.
Shouts of shock and outrage flew from every corner, voices overlapping in a deafening uproar. The man with deep wrinkles, who'd been in control until now, furrowed his brow, clearly thrown by the sheer size of the figure announced. He slammed his hand on the table—a sharp, commanding gesture—to restore some order.
"Quiet!" he boomed, his deep voice echoing through the room. Slowly, the murmurs faded, though the tension hung thick in the air. All eyes turned to Mr. Tish, who stood tall, unfazed by the storm he'd just unleashed.
The gray-haired woman, arms crossed, fixed him with a piercing stare. "100 billion Jils? That's insane. Even for a guild as renowned as Zion, it's astronomical. What justifies a price like that?"
Mr. Tish adjusted his glasses, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Their efficiency, Mrs. Veyn. Zion doesn't just contain a threat—they wipe it out, fast and clean. They've handled crises like this before. Their reputation's earned."
The member who'd suggested the Senkai let out a loud scoff. "And you think we can trust them? A shady guild calling itself the 'Sixth Great Power'? What's stopping them from taking the cash and vanishing?"
"They don't operate that way," Mr. Tish replied coolly. "Zion has a code. They only take a job if they're sure they can finish it. Neutrality's their trademark. If they fail, they refund everything—plus interest. No state's ever had a complaint about their work."
Miss Hartley, the young woman, shook her head, still dumbfounded. "Let's say they're as good as you claim. 100 billion Jils is more than the annual defense budget of three provinces combined! We could outfit an entire army with that. Why not pour that money into our own forces?"
A heavyset man who'd been quiet until now spoke up, his voice rough. "Because our forces are already stretched thin, kid. You heard it yourself: the Faloo wardens are out of commission, Arkhan's an hour away, and Veyra's six. Damos can't wait for us to build an army. If Zion can act now, it might be worth it."
"Might?" snapped another member, a gray-templed man with a sarcastic edge. "We're talking about betting a city's survival on a 'might' for 100 billion!"
Mr. Tish raised a hand to cut off the speculation. "The price includes immediate action. They can deploy in the next thirty minutes if we greenlight it."
The man with deep wrinkles, who'd been listening quietly, finally spoke. "Thirty minutes, you say? That's fast. Too fast. How are they so ready without anticipating this crisis?"
Mr. Tish shrugged.
The gray-haired woman narrowed her eyes. "And they contacted you directly? Bypassing official channels?"
"Yes," Mr. Tish admitted. "They reached out to me privately, knowing my role on the council. They're aware we're backed into a corner."
Another tense silence fell. The man with deep wrinkles rubbed his chin, his lines seeming to deepen under the weight of the decision. "100 billion Jils… We can't pull that kind of money without higher approval. Even in an emergency, it'd take hours to free up those funds."
Mr. Tish tilted his head. "They'll accept a payment plan—20 billion upfront, the rest after the job's done. But they need an answer in the next ten minutes, or the deal's off."
The uproar kicked off again. "Ten minutes?!" Miss Hartley cried. "They're holding a knife to our throats!"
"It's a tactic," the gray-templed man growled. "They're banking on our desperation to rush us."
"Or they know every minute counts for Damos," the gray-haired woman countered, her tone calmer.
"I've got a handle on who this guild is," Miss Hartley said, "but I still think it's gutsy of them to demand that much—and in Jils, no less!"
"How many are they sending?" asked the man with wrinkles.
"President, don't tell me you're okay with shelling out that kind of cash!" Miss Hartley protested.
"It's true Zion's known for its greed," the president replied. "But consider this: if they can actually save our city, that massive sum could be seen as an investment in protecting our people and preserving one of our nation's key metros." He turned to Tish. "Mr. Tish, how many deviants are they offering?"
All eyes locked on Tish. He hesitated briefly before answering, "One."
"A team? How many exactly?" the president pressed.
"One. Just one person…" Tish said, feeling the weight of his own words.
"Are you kidding us, Mr. Tish?!" Mrs. Veyn snapped. "You've wasted our time with this? Is Zion mocking us?!"
"Please calm down, Mrs. Veyn," Tish tried to soothe. "It sounds unreasonable, I know, but trust me, it's not."
"Then explain," cut in the man who'd suggested the Senkai.
Once again, all attention zeroed in on Tish. He took a breath and said, "They claim one of their agents is already in the city. But that's not all—this agent's an S-rank deviant."
"S?!" half the room gasped.
"Hmm, that does clear things up," the president said, nodding.
"Still," Miss Hartley jumped in, "I think the price is way too steep!"
Mrs. Veyn uncrossed her arms and leaned forward, her sharp gaze drilling into Tish. "I'll admit it sounds ridiculous, Tish. Even if this deviant's as strong as they say, the cost is outrageous. What's our guarantee this isn't a scam?"
Mr. Tish adjusted his glasses again, keeping his cool. "Zion doesn't mess around with its rep. If they say this deviant can handle it, they're certain. They gave me a file—brief, sure—on his past feats. Two months ago, he supposedly took down a dragon king solo in the Kalthar region. A threat rated higher than this one. The job took less than an hour."
Murmurs rippled through the group. The gray-templed man, ever sarcastic, crossed his arms. "Kalthar? That story? Everyone knows it was blown out of proportion. Official reports say it was a guild coalition, not one guy. Zion's trying to sell us a legend to jack up their price."
"Maybe," Tish conceded, "but those official reports came from authorities who weren't there. Eyewitnesses all mentioned a guy in a black suit doing the heavy lifting. Zion never publicly claimed it, which fits their low-key style."
The president tapped the table lightly to refocus the room. "Let's say this Zion agent is as good as they claim. An S-rank deviant is a rare asset… But if he's already in Damos, why not act on their own and bill us later?"
"That's not their code," Tish shot back. "Zion never moves without a contract unless they're directly threatened. Their neutrality's ironclad—they don't want to be accused of meddling without clearance."
The Senkai advocate spoke up, impatience lacing his voice. "Can we get back to a saner option? The Senkai can be scrambled fast without draining our funds. Why obsess over a mercenary guild when our own elite forces are ready? We've got S-ranks too!"
"Because the Senkai's a strategic asset, not a fire brigade," Mrs. Veyn snapped. "Deploying them now, like some have said, could leave us exposed elsewhere. Zion doesn't touch our broader defenses. That's a big point in their favor."
The gray-templed man sneered. "A point that costs 100 billion. We could rebuild Damos twice with that, even in ruins. And if it flops? We're out 20 billion and Damos. We can't afford that gamble."
Mrs. Veyn raised a hand to cool things down. "Hold on. Mr. Tish, you said they refund with interest if they fail, right?"
Tish nodded. "Yes. If their agent flops, Zion promises to return the initial 20 billion, plus 10% interest. It's in their standard contract."
A wave of surprised murmurs rolled through. The president frowned. "That's a solid guarantee. But it also means they're dead sure they'll pull it off—otherwise, they wouldn't risk the hit."
"Or they're bluffing," Miss Hartley muttered, still skeptical.
The president turned to Tish. "How long until their offer's off the table?"
Tish checked his watch. "Six minutes, sir."
The president closed his eyes briefly, then opened them.
"Colleagues, we're at a crossroads. On one hand, we've got our own forces—limited but reliable—that can hold the line at a high cost. On the other, a radical, expensive, uncertain fix that could be a game-changer. I'm calling for an immediate vote. Who's for Zion stepping in?"
Hands went up slowly, hesitantly. Mrs. Veyn was first, followed by the heavyset man and two others. Tish, naturally, voted yes. Miss Hartley and the gray-templed man kept their arms crossed, joined by three more dissenters.
Five for, five against.
All eyes locked on the president, whose tiebreaking voice would decide. He took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly under the burden.
"As president of this defense council, my priority is Damos and its people. We're out of time to waffle. I greenlight Zion's intervention. Mr. Tish, contact them now. Get their agent moving."
A mix of relieved sighs and grumbles filled the room.
The president raised a hand to hush them. "But we're adding a condition. In the meantime, mobilize the Arkhan guild and prep a full evacuation. We're not taking extra risks."
Miss Hartley clenched her fists but stayed quiet. Tish nodded and pulled out his communicator to relay the order.
The president faced the group. "Let's be clear, team. I won't let a city under my watch fall. Even if it means burning through every military resource we've got, we'll defend this metro to the end! Am I understood? Let's crush these monsters once and for all and restore our nation's pride!"