Root perked up instantly at the words, "It might not be impossible?" He didn't care whether these people were truly allies or not. All that mattered was whether they could grant him the autonomy he craved.
Root hadn't always been a wanderer. He was once the eldest son of a moderately wealthy family in the upper city. Blessed with an early knack for "filial piety," he constantly drained his family's resources, until his father, in a fit of rage, kicked him out to fend for himself.
That moment changed him. When his father slapped him, a burning desire for power was born. With power, I could slap anyone I want, right? Even that old man at home… Root's thoughts darkened. After enduring society's harsh lessons, he clawed his way to becoming a small-time leader among the lower city's wanderers. Though he lacked much else, his upper-city physique gave him an edge over the malnourished locals.
This life persisted until one day, while out and about, he encountered a white-haired girl who looked about ten years old. She was adorable, but her first words stunned him: "Hey, who're you rolling with?" Her tone was that of a seasoned gang leader. Is this the terror of the lower city? Even kids are this hardened? She puffed on a lollipop like it was a cigarette, her face radiating disdain.
Root couldn't let that slide. "Wanna go one-on-one? I'll even let you have the first punch!" he challenged.
Thud! The response was a swift kick to his face from the girl's tiny foot—a moment of humiliation he'd never forget, delivered by a child barely four feet tall.
Later, he learned from other wanderers that this girl was Clara, the undisputed "big sister" of the mechanical settlement. Despite her age, years of working as a mechanic had honed her strength beyond that of most adults. One story claimed she once got so frustrated with a drone part that wouldn't fit, she forcibly widened a wrench's jaws and jammed it in. Another tale described her fighting barehanded against "Boss Svarog" from the robot manor to claim territory. Though no one saw the fight's end, Clara's move into the manor spoke for itself.
Root, however, refused to give up. As a former upper-city elite, how could he bow out before tasting true power? Determined to redeem himself, he and his crew spied on Clara for days, eventually discovering her weakness: she was deeply focused while repairing a massive robot, later revealed to be Svarog.
Seizing the opportunity, Root's gang held a chainsaw to Svarog's neck, forcing Clara to surrender. To his surprise, Svarog, perhaps due to a glitch, pleaded for Clara's safety. This allowed Root to take control of Svarog, the lower city's drone soldiers, and eventually much of the region, building his current empire.
---
"Now, you say it's not impossible? Explain how it'll work," Root demanded.
Stelle cleared her throat. "First, when we say autonomy isn't possible, we don't mean it's truly impossible. It's about giving it strategically, with a plan!"
"We must address the issue correctly, directly, neutrally, and incisively…"
Stelle's assessment of the situation was off. After seeing Dan Heng and another captured, she assumed these wanderers were formidable, capable of overpowering his "Azure Dragon Beauty Combo." Time to outsmart them, she thought, or at least stall to buy time for Bronya and the others.
Cocolia, listening to Stelle's ramblings, felt a headache coming on, as if she'd heard this nonsense before. "Enough!" a minister interrupted, furious. "You're just spouting gibberish!"
"Hey, old man, what's that supposed to mean?" Root's face darkened. "I think she's making sense."
Sense? Nonsense! the minister thought. I deal with this kind of drivel daily; I know it's worthless.
"(Omitted 800 words of rhetoric)… So, as long as you're patient, the upper and lower cities will coordinate a smooth handover. By then, the issue will be resolved simply," Stelle concluded with a grin. "We're all family here, so how about letting us go?"
Root sneered, pointing his gun at Stelle. "You're playing me."
At that moment, at least three people in the room tensed, ready to act. Root's logic was simple: he wanted autonomy, and anyone who couldn't deliver was an enemy. Despite finding some of Stelle's words intriguing, the moment he heard "can't give," he flipped.
Stelle panicked internally. This guy's not easy to fool. Fight? Svarog's not here, so maybe it's doable. I can't beat a boss or an elite, but a grunt like you? You're worth half a bag of snacks in the real world!
Just as Stelle prepared to act, Cocolia, who had been silent, sighed and stood. "Mr. Root, on behalf of the upper city, I agree to your request for autonomy."
The minister, Root, and Stelle were stunned. Wasn't the Great Guardian assassinated?
"Cocolia, who do you think you are?!" the minister roared. "You're just an escort officer. What authority do you have?"
Cocolia calmly produced a document. "This is a personally signed order from the Great Guardian. Verify it if you doubt me."
The minister, incredulous, examined the document. Finding it genuine, he froze, unable to process the turn of events. "Due to the interests of various factions, the Great Guardian kept this confidential and tasked me with executing it," Cocolia explained.
Root read the document, his grin widening until he burst into laughter. "Excellent! Take this lady to the VIP room and treat her well! Lock the rest in the dungeon!"