Dreambreaker

Chapter 96: My base

The cacophony reverberating through the streets resembled the droning of persistent flies.

Positioned behind barricades patrolled by Union officers, a legion of photographers awaited their prey. Their cameras, akin to elongated snouts, poised to capture the unfolding spectacle, their breath billowing in the chilled air like ethereal steam.

Despite the summer season's grip on Ohinosberg, an icy mantle encased the entire building block —remnants of a fierce battle that had transpired between two mages and an elusive, ice magic-wielding murderer.

Amidst the tightly knit throng of paparazzi, conspicuous white vans loomed, their roofs adorned with colossal satellite dishes.

The air crackled with multilingual conversations from journalists, while soundmen, donning headphones, hovered in anticipation. Yet, amidst this buzzing hubbub, a young man sauntered along, seemingly unaffected by the chaos enveloping him.

An expression of the profoundest

disgust gleamed for a moment in the young man's refined face.

He was, by the way, exceptionally handsome, above the average in height, fit, well-built, with beautiful dark eyes and dark black hair.

Soon he sank into deep thought, or more accurately speaking into a complete

blankness of mind; he walked along not observing what was about him and not caring to observe it.

Occasionally, he would let slip muttered fragments, as if engaged in a dialogue with his own inner musings— a peculiar habit he had recently confessed to.

In these moments, he'd come to realize the tangled knots his ideas sometimes formed.

His gait felt like that of a pensive adult, stood in stark contrast to the mere sixteen years etched upon his youthful countenance.

Approaching a line of waiting taxis, he singled out one driver and beckoned him forth. "I need a ride," he uttered, his request left hanging in the air.

The taxi driver, his voice tinged with gruffness, challenged, "Where to, buddy?"

"To Ohinosberg's industrial district," he responded.

A barely perceptible raising of the driver's eyebrow betrayed his curiosity. "The industrial district sprawls far and wide. Got a specific spot in mind?"

"The Pt establishment," the young man replied.

The driver shook his head. "That area is off-limits for regular folks," he warned, his gaze scrutinizing the opulent attire and lavish accessories adorning the young man. He couldn't help but ask, "Does your father work there or something?"

"No, I actually own a workshop there," the young man asserted.

A sneer slowly formed on the driver's lips, but before he could voice his skepticism, the young man deftly threw some extra cash at his face, uttering in a firm tone, "I have a permit."

Caught off guard by the seriousness in the young man's eyes, the driver begrudgingly agreed, swayed by the weight of the additional Den money that had exchanged hands. His trajectory now directed straight toward the industrial district, as requested.

***

Noah's POV(Point of view) :

Ohinosberg, the town that's just a stone's throw away from the bustling metropolis of Krenada City—like, a mere 200 kilometers away.

That's practically a hop, skip, and a jump.

Last night, I sauntered up to Uncle Ethan and dropped the bombshell that I'd be bidding adieu to the comforts of home.

I had some top-secret, super-important matters to attend to, after all.

The journey to Ohinosberg in itself felt longer than a marathon episode of "Extreme Carpet Cleaning."

It's not like there was anything particularly fantastic about the place, apart from the fact that the air could probably give Academy Award-winning pollution a run for its money.

Anyway, my grand destination was the illustrious Ohinosberg industrial district.

I had wisely invested in a workshop from Petronez Trevyoz— the guy's practically a legend in the business.

Now, I'm no expert, but when plotting out my clandestine workshop acquisition, I made a mental checklist. Number one: avoid any location that could attract the attention of casual visitors .

So naturally, I considered the idea of setting up shop in some faraway, remote corner, like a hidden gem in the middle of a quaint forest or a maze-like maze of labyrinthine streets.

But then, it hit me like a bag of anvils—why not opt for the industrial district? I mean, who in their right mind would say, "Oh wow, a workshop in an industrial district? How utterly absurd!" Nah, nobody's gonna bust out that level of stupidity, right?

When I first thought of buying a workshop, I had concerns about potentially attracting the attention of authorities.

But, those thoughts also arose when I created my chess app, which accumulated millions of Dens in revenue.

Naturally, questions would have arose about how a 16-year-old boy managed to create such an app by himself and started generating millions of money.

Luckily , I had a solution to address these problems.

In this world, people involved in criminal activities, assassinations, hunting, and others utilize a bank known as HunterAssociation Banking for online transactions of various kinds, where high-profile individuals exchange millions to billions of money for covert operations on a weekly basis.

Hunter Association Banking is a trillion-dollar company operating under one of the three SSS-ranked heroes of the human domain.

With the help of Nano, I created many secure and private digital wallets for myself. These wallets were linked to HunterAssociation Banking financial institution.

To further protect my identity and keep myself shielded from authorities, I implemented four robust security protocols. These protocols acted as an impenetrable barrier, ensuring that my actions remained hidden as I played with millions of online money.

Protocol 1) With Nano's help, I employed advanced encryption algorithms and decentralized blockchain technology. This allowed me to securely distribute and transfer funds without leaving any vulnerable loopholes.

I always use Nano's exceptional hacking capabilities to constantly cloak transaction trails. By doing so, I effectively erase any traceable links that could potentially be traced back to me.

Protocol 2) Offshore Accounts: With the help of Nano I created many sophisticated virtual identity for myself, complete with offshore bank accounts. These accounts were established in jurisdictions with strict privacy laws, making it difficult for authorities to trace the flow of funds.

Protocol 3) With the help of Nano I employed a technique known as layering, where the funds were moved through a series of transactions, disguising their origin and destination. By breaking down the large sum into smaller, seemingly unrelated transactions, it became harder for banks to scrutinize the source of the funds.

Protocol 4) Exploiting Loopholes: After doing a thorough study of the bank's policy, I figured that the banking system had a certain vulnerabilities and loopholes that the Nano was able exploit to bypass scrutiny. This involved manipulating digital protocols, exploiting flaws in banking algorithms, or even infiltrating bank systems to alter records temporarily.

Of course, this whole master plan didn't just materialize out of thin air overnight.

Oh no, no, no.

I spent countless nights laboring over textbooks, conducting meticulous research, and diving deep into the mystical realm of protocols.

It was a journey—a journey of consistent studies and steadfast determination.

As I was, lost in the labyrinth of my thoughts, when suddenly, an establishment concealed behind a sturdy fence appeared before my very eyes.

The taxi screeched to a halt, and as I gingerly stepped out, my gaze fixated on a majestic signboard that proudly proclaimed 'Grey's Workshop.'

"Ah!"—a subtle smile graced my lips, like the conqueror who had discovered the perfect base for their grand expedition.