Montreal's skyline glittered with frost and defiance. The boycott was supposed to be Mortensen's quiet war, but Sebastian Voclain had turned it into a crusade.
His speeches spread like wildfire across the northern provinces. Videos of him railing against Ashford wealth were streamed on underground networks, printed in pamphlets, whispered in taverns.
And unlike the aging aristocrats clinging to their estates, Sebastian was young. His fire lit something dangerous: hope.
The Crimson Voice
On a stage draped in banners of black and crimson, Sebastian's voice carried over a restless crowd.
"They think wealth makes them kings! They think a system of machines and numbers gives them the right to rule! But we—" he raised a clenched fist, "—we are not for sale!"
The crowd roared. Men and women stamped their feet, crying out his name.
"Voclain! Voclain! Voclain!"
At the edge of the rally, Mortensen watched with a calculating gaze. She had not planned for her nephew to take the lead. But perhaps destiny had given her something Arthur Ashford could not buy: a symbol.
The Emperor's Counterstroke
Meanwhile, Arthur sat in his Manhattan penthouse, walls alive with floating data streams. Montreal glowed red on the holographic map, pulsing like an infection.
Eva adjusted her glasses as she scrolled through intercepted messages. "His words are spreading faster than any currency injection we've made. His charisma is natural, not manufactured. Even I can't scrub it all."
Bella leaned against the table, arms crossed. "If you don't act, he'll unify the whole continent against you. This is no longer Mortensen's chessboard—it's his."
Arthur's jaw tightened. "Then we burn his board."
He tapped the glowing Montreal sector, and new directives spilled into the air:
Operation Market Flood – release luxury imports at cutthroat prices.
Operation Pulse – infiltrate Voclain's rallies with Ashford-funded agents.
Operation Black Frost – freeze Mortensen supply chains with quiet sabotage.
Candy laughed, twirling a dagger between her fingers. "Want me to silence him? He won't see me coming."
Arthur shook his head. "Not yet. Killing him now makes him a martyr. No—first, we let him taste power. We let him believe he's winning."
Vivian smirked. "And then?"
Arthur's eyes darkened. "Then we rip his dream apart in front of his people."
Cracks in the Ice
Arthur's influence began to seep through Montreal's streets. Ashford food trucks sold hot bread for pennies. Energy flowed into poor neighborhoods through "anonymous benefactors." Nora's people distributed cash quietly to desperate workers.
The people of Montreal began to ask questions. Who cared more—Mortensen's nobles or the mysterious hand that kept their children fed?
The chants of "Voclain! Voclain!" grew weaker in certain districts.
The Turning Point
At the height of winter, Sebastian called for his boldest act yet: a march on Montreal's financial district.
Tens of thousands gathered, torches in hand, banners fluttering in the frozen wind. They chanted, cursed, demanded freedom from Ashford wealth.
The world watched live as Mortensen's nephew declared a "Free North."
But as the chants echoed, the cameras caught something else. Ashford banners—subtle, golden—fluttered among the crowd. Ashford food stalls fed the marchers. Ashford-paid agents steered chants into chaos.
The rebellion was being consumed from within.
Emperor's Reflection
From his tower in Manhattan, Arthur swirled a glass of wine and watched the live stream.
"They cheer for him now," he murmured. "But when hunger bites deeper, when supplies vanish, when money disappears, they'll cheer for me."
Eva looked up from her console. "And if they don't?"
Arthur's smile was thin. "Then Montreal will learn what happens to those who mistake fire for light."
The golden interface pulsed before him:
Mission Update: Break the Montreal Gambit – 42% Complete.Next Objective: Undermine Sebastian Voclain's credibility without killing him.
Arthur raised his glass in a mock toast to the screen, where Sebastian stood at the head of the torchlit march.
"To your dream, young lion," he whispered. "I'll make sure it dies beautifully."