Minutes later, a patrolling guard chanced upon Bernard slumped in his cell, immediately triggering the alarm that threw the entire facility into chaos.

The Warden nearly suffered a heart attack upon learning the situation. Bernard had already been pronounced dead by the prison physician. He immediately ordered his guards to conduct a thorough investigation, which swiftly uncovered poison in the fruit platter. However, when they tried to press the inquiry further, every single lead vanished into thin air.

The scene yielded no discernible clues pointing to the perpetrator. The fruit platter had been delivered to Bernard’s cell through established, legitimate channels within the prison—channels managed exclusively by the most senior guards, each having served there for at least a decade, which was the prerequisite for handling such sensitive deliveries.

The composition of the poison was analyzed shortly thereafter, much to the profound disappointment of the Warden and his superiors. It was merely a simple chemical synthesis; though lethally potent, its precursors were common materials accessible to ordinary people. With a suitable set of containers and tools, such a substance could be easily manufactured in any spare kitchen. Therefore, tracing the poison back to its source was an absolute impossibility.

The entire prison was thrown into turmoil for the better part of the day, yielding nothing. Just hours later, agents from the Security Bureau arrived, turning the facility upside down, nearly sparking a full-scale inmate riot, yet they, too, came up empty-handed.

The Warden mentally cursed the assassin repeatedly. Bernard had been the Minister of Propaganda for the Earth United Government just days ago; his status and influence were enormous, and even in disgrace, his shadow loomed large. Furthermore, the wave of scandals was still cresting. Once the public learned of his death, the Warden’s tenure would be swiftly terminated.

However, the Warden soon felt considerably better, not because the situation had improved, but because he now had company in misery. As the Security Bureau agents conducted their evidence gathering, another piece of earth-shattering news began to propagate rapidly across the network.

The disgraced ministers, ousted due to various scandals, were being assassinated one by one!

The first discovered were the four ministers who had not been detained. Two were killed by sniper fire, one by poison, and one by an explosive device. They were killed in various locations—in their rooms, inside levitating vehicles, or in public spaces—meaning their deaths were discovered quickly.

Next, major media outlets received insider tips. Many immediately sensed something extraordinary in the air. They diverted their most elite reporters, dropping all other assignments, to begin tracking and reporting on the unfolding events.

These uncrowned kings were figures of immense reach, with informants supplying intelligence from every corner of the Solar System. They swiftly located the facilities holding the other six ministers and began inquiring about their status.

The Warden of Elba Island Prison also received his intelligence from a handful of reporters: the assassination spree was not isolated to his facility; former ministers were being struck down elsewhere as well.

As the saying goes, the truth cannot be contained in paper. The Warden had hoped to stall for time and gauge the situation, but as outside rumors intensified, the influx of reporters to Elba Island swelled, and leaks from other informed sources mounted, he could no longer hold the line.

Consequently, Bernard’s demise was rapidly exposed by the press. Soon, nearly the entire world knew that all ten ministers had been assassinated; not one survived.

At this juncture, the scandal wave had yet to settle, and the assassination wave crashed over everything—truly, one crisis had barely subsided before the next erupted!

This delighted the press corps. When the ten ministers were in office, every move they made was prime material for headlines. But in the last three days, they had first been forced from power by scandal, then systematically murdered. Their elevated status and the sheer drama of the events were enough to compose an entire novel for publication.

Under the intense shock of this governmental upheaval, various factions were filled with apprehension. Secrets that usually lurked beneath the surface began to surface, and reporters needed only scratch the veneer to uncover massive stories.

Still, these ministers represented the face of the government. The Security Bureau, under the Intelligence Department and tasked specifically with internal intelligence, was issued a non-negotiable ultimatum: find the assassins and the organization behind the ministerial murders within a set timeframe.

Any discerning observer could see the clear involvement of a mastermind organization. The ten assassinations occurred within a very tight window; achieving such precise coordination would have been impossible without extraordinarily powerful intelligence and organizational capabilities.

However, what troubled the senior brass at the Security Bureau was the assassins’ meticulous cleanup. They had left virtually—no, absolutely—no traces whatsoever, making any investigation impossible. Several high-ranking officials subsequently lost their positions and were sent into comfortable retirement as a result.

While the outside world buzzed with speculation, in the secret base located in the Asteroid Belt, Kalia finalized the after-action report for Operation and submitted it to Yang Ying.

“Sir,” Kalia stated soberly, “Even now, I maintain that the second phase of the plan was unnecessary. The impact of killing ten ministers is far too great. If the Intelligence Department finds even the slightest thread, it could bring us enormous trouble. Assassinating heads of government is an intolerable act for any administration, and it will create a sense of 'the fox mourns the death of the rabbit' among other officials, turning them against us. If the goal was merely to halt the planned military deployment in two months, forcing their resignations would have sufficed.”

Yang Ying rapidly scanned the summary report while responding, “I understand. It was indeed an unnecessary action. Acting purely out of emotion is profoundly immature for a person in a position of authority. But I had my rationale.”

“Please share your rationale, Sir; I am intrigued,” Kalia inquired respectfully.

Yang Ying set the document down, closed his eyes in contemplation for a moment, letting the thoughts brewing within him coalesce clearly. He then opened his eyes and spoke slowly, “A person in a position of authority requires many things, including the wisdom of trade-offs. Many actions, even those that violate one’s own will, must be done ruthlessly. To act purely on whim is the most destructive trait.”

“I concur with that,” Kalia affirmed.

“Lately, I’ve often recalled what Saint Haiden told me regarding the Way of the Holy Light,” Yang Ying suddenly shifted the topic to something seemingly unrelated. “The Way of the Holy Light influences the heart; sometimes, one must go against their true intentions to align with the Light, thereby achieving greater compatibility and acquiring immense power. Reaching the extreme allows one to transcend mortality and attain sainthood. For a long time, I thought Paladins were counterfeit saints, until Saint Haiden explained that the Eastern Way of the Noble Man operates similarly. Upon reflection, the two are indeed indistinguishable; both require suppressing one’s innate nature to approach a certain idealized standard.”

Yang Ying smiled, then his expression hardened as the smile vanished. “My avatars have traveled widely recently, and I’ve begun to think the Way of the Superior Man is similar: achieving a more resolute heart and colder methods by suppressing one’s inherent nature. The more intensely a superior man suppresses his nature, the stronger his command ability becomes—whether managing subordinates or eradicating enemies, his efficacy is unparalleled. When suppression reaches its absolute peak, he becomes devoid of sentiment for kin or country, his heart like cold iron, enacting slaughter or decisive measures based solely on a single thought—the man transforms into a machine of absolute rationality.”

“Absolute rationality provokes fear, which hinders command over subordinates,” Kalia countered.

Yang Ying nodded and chuckled, “Naturally. However inwardly detached a superior man may be, he cannot display it openly to his subordinates. Projecting absolute rationality externally only signifies incomplete attainment, an inability to adapt as circumstances require. The interior landscape of a superior man is not for public viewing; internal and external must be segregated. Outward emotional fluctuations exist only as necessary tools, not as reflections of the inner core. Speaking of which, Kalia, do you not agree that the Way of the Superior Man demands even more suppression of the human spirit than the Way of the Holy Light?”

Kalia paused to consider, then nodded in agreement. “Yes, and more than that. The Way of the Holy Light instructs benevolence, and any occasional missteps are normal. However, the Way of the Superior Man teaches utter disregard for relationships—it practically indoctrinates one toward depravity.”

Yang Ying sighed lightly, offering a wry smile. “In this world, gain necessitates loss. To many, paying a price to become a superior man seems normal, but I personally dislike it.”

“You dislike it?” Kalia asked.

“Yes, I dislike it,” Yang Ying laughed. “Consider this: why do people strive to become superiors? Is it not to be able to do as they wish, to satisfy their desires? This is why so many superiors are flawed; they cannot suppress their desires, and they often fail because of it—like the ten ministers who met their end by our hands.”

“There are still plenty of superiors who are utterly detached,” Kalia observed.

“They are worse,” Yang Ying shook his head. “In their relentless climb to the top, they abandon the things they genuinely enjoy, suppressing their nature completely. This is achieving the goal by any means necessary, sacrificing the purpose for the means. It is a paradox. Many who claw their way to high office only realize in old age, when they can climb no further, that they relinquished too much of their youth. They discover that all they need in the end is a space in a coffin, and by then, many things are irreversible. Regret will be too late.”

“Sir, what precisely are you trying to convey?” Kalia asked, still struggling to grasp Yang Ying’s point after the extended monologue.

“I do not wish to regret,” Yang Ying stated earnestly. “The incompetent superior is pitiable; the competent superior is even more so. The essence of all this is simple: doing what one loves! That is why, this time, although it was unnecessary, I acted—so that I will not regret it later. This Earth is unfamiliar to me; I only need its resources to develop the Floating Continent. However, those ten ministers truly infuriated me this time. Failing to kill them would not have quelled my rage. If I had suppressed even that, then who truly controlled the Way of the Superior Man—me, or the Way itself!”

“I understand, Sir,” Kalia bowed deeply.

Yang Ying accepted the operational summary report, dismissing Kalia back to his post.