Chapter 122: The Evening Banquet (Part I)

The Ninth District’s ball was unlike any other: a safety zone was cordoned off right in the street, with heavily armed guards standing at every corner, guns in hand, ready to strike at any suspicious individuals. Those who had been invited held their invitation letters and passed through the secure area, walking the red carpet like celebrities at an awards ceremony, entering through the main entrance. Everyone else had to use the side doors, or worse, watch longingly from the open plaza where free buffets were served.

Yet, despite this segregation, whenever Blackstone Group hosted a ball, it was the liveliest time in the Ninth District. This occasion was no exception.

By the time Ferren and his companions arrived at the Black Market building, twilight was settling in. The brightly lit streets illuminated the entire Ninth District like a field of snow, and cheerful music blared from loudspeakers. Defeating the Federation was a great victory for the Ninth District. Though the district’s unique structure meant its residents didn’t feel the same innate loyalty or reliance on the ruling powers as other factions did, the Blackstone Group, as a capitalist enterprise, knew well how to bind people through shared interests.

In the Ninth District, aside from exceptional figures like Ferren, known as one of the “Seven Titans,” most ordinary people still had to work to survive, much like before the disaster. But their wages were paid in credit points usable only within the district. It was akin to pre-disaster foreign exchange controls: if energy chips were the global hard currency, then credit points were the Ninth District’s internal “national currency.” Only a select few had access to “foreign exchange,” while everyone else conducted transactions using credit points.

Under this system, Blackstone Group employed a strict yet effective form of control—the acquisition of credit points was closely tied to how long a person had lived in the Ninth District and their personal conduct. In simple terms, if you were a longtime resident with no criminal record, you earned a minimum of ten credit points per hour at work. Conversely, newcomers or those with a criminal past received less. Even buying a home was tightly regulated by population criteria. If you were single and wanted to purchase a large residence in the middle district, you had to pay 150% of the original price. However, if you could prove you had enough workers, servants, or family members under your care, you could buy a comfortable home at original or even discounted prices.

This system naturally encouraged people to avoid crime to protect their livelihoods, and to work hard expanding their businesses to accumulate wealth and resources. It was under this framework that the Ninth District thrived and grew to what it had become.

Defeating the Federation was not only beneficial to the Seven Titans but also a cause for joyous celebration among ordinary residents. Although the Blackstone Group directly recruited those with advanced technical skills, the Federation’s many civilian enclaves inevitably included common folk. Upon arrival in the Ninth District, these civilians were sold as slaves.

Due to the district’s unique currency system, these newcomers had no means to survive independently; they could only be purchased as servants or slaves by residents. Only after becoming part of the community could they begin to build credit records.

For the commoners, buying slaves to work for them or as personal servants and spouses to increase household size—and thereby qualify for better, more affordable housing—was a cherished dream.

Thus, the streets were adorned with festive decorations as people celebrated victory. They sang and danced, praising the strength of the Seven Titans and dreaming of a better life.

Of course, those slaves trembling in dark corners, ragged and fearful of their uncertain futures, were not part of their concern.

Nor were they part of Ferren’s concern.

“Creak…”

The Rolls-Royce came to a smooth stop on the red carpet before the building. Soon, a well-prepared attendant respectfully stepped forward and opened the door. Ferren emerged from the car.

Compared to usual, Ferren’s attire had barely changed: a long black coat, leather shoes, a suit, a wide-brimmed hat, and a red tie—though, to be fair, his everyday clothes were already quite formal, so no further embellishment was necessary.

Delin had reverted to her black cat form, curled comfortably in Ferren’s arms, eyes half-closed as she enjoyed his gentle strokes. As a familiar spirit, she had little interest in human social events and saw no need to take human shape to join in.

In contrast, the three Eluka sisters were visibly excited.

Like Ferren, the sisters were dressed formally in outfits prepared for them by Miss Yue during their time in Vegas. These dresses were not merely elegant in appearance; they were made from waterproof, exceptionally durable materials that ordinary knives couldn’t tear. Their toughness meant even vigorous movement wouldn’t damage them. These were specialized products from the Fuyuan Society, but Ferren had secured a good deal out of respect for him.

“Welcome to the ball, Doctor,” the attendant said courteously, bowing deeply and gesturing an invitation upon seeing Ferren.

“Please, follow me.”

“Very well,” Ferren nodded and, guided by the attendant, proceeded toward the hall. The sisters followed closely behind.

Had this been a typical awards ceremony, their arrival would have unleashed a cascade of camera flashes. Unfortunately, for security reasons, the venue had been completely cleared. Aside from the heavily armed, stern-faced guards, there were no starstruck fans or throngs of eager reporters—somewhat of a disappointment.

Still, upon entering the hall, all eyes turned to them.

Ferren’s infamous reputation in the Ninth District was legendary, and his striking appearance was enough to unsettle the majority of married men worldwide while igniting admiration in the eyes of most women. The moment he stepped inside, those who had been chatting immediately fixed their gaze on him.

Equally captivating were the three sisters.

There was no denying the harsh Spartan-style education Miss Yue had imposed on them had also refined their bearing. Whether lively and playful Eluka, young and adorable Kulona, or cold and aloof Chris, each moved with confidence and grace.

Simply put, they were the difference between streetwalkers and noble ladies.

Their entrance caused the young male guests’ hormones to surge. Many of the younger men breathed heavily, eyes reddened as they stared at the sisters. To be honest, though basic survival was paramount in the wasteland, many still yearned for higher status and recognition. Even pre-disaster, the aristocracy’s upper-class culture was admired; post-disaster, that sentiment remained. To many, the sisters’ appearance was like that of three noble princesses standing in stark contrast to the other women present, who were beautiful but otherwise unremarkable—like luminous pearls beside mere glass beads.

Yet no one dared approach them. The title “Doctor” was carved in blood and death; everyone present knew of his brutal past. No one wanted to risk trouble in such a setting, fully aware that provoking him could end in a bloody demise.

But not everyone was so cautious.

“That woman is really beautiful…” a young man’s eyes gleamed as he stared at the sisters, licking his lips.

Seeing this, his companion grabbed his arm.

“You’re crazy! That’s the Doctor’s woman. Are you out of your mind?”

“That’s what makes it exciting…”

The man shrugged off the grasp.

“Don’t worry, I know my limits… The Doctor is formidable, but I have my own ways… Nothing will go wrong.” (To be continued.)