Chapter 117: Road to Power Part 7
While Lucien and the others were busy dealing with the Kings, Francis quietly changed his plan behind the scenes.
Destroying cities had already helped him achieve part of his goal, but it was no longer the main focus.
After learning more about humanity’s orbital cannons, he turned his attention elsewhere and began setting up something much more dangerous.
The parasites spreading through the city had already shown him what he needed to know.
Ordinary people worked as useful sensors, but they were not the ones in control.
They did not command armies, approve military actions, or control information. If Francis wanted real power, he had to reach the people above them.
But those people were harder to infect.
Most high-ranking officials avoided public water systems. They drank bottled water, used private filters, and lived in secure compounds with their own supply chains.
What worked on normal citizens would not work on them.
So there was only one choice left.
He had to target them one by one.
The governor was his first target.
From what the parasite network had learned, the governor was the best choice.
He was not an awakened person and had no special physical traits.
More importantly, his position gave him access to military reports, emergency plans, and private communications.
Deep under the city, Francis hid in a tunnel. A small piece of flesh separated from his arm and dropped onto the concrete floor.
It twitched once.
Bones formed inside it.
Muscles followed.
A gray rat stood where the flesh had been.
Francis moved part of his mind into the rat and immediately felt the world change.
Sight became less important.
Smell took over everything.
The air carried many details humans could not notice.
Moisture clung to the walls. Rust sat inside old pipes. Oil, mold, dirt, and faint food smells moved through the tunnels like trails.
The rat moved.
Instead of going straight to the governor’s home, Francis spent hours moving through maintenance tunnels, drains, and old utility paths to map the area.
There was no need to hurry.
By the time he reached the estate, night had fallen.
The governor’s home covered several acres near the city center.
High walls surrounded it. Guards walked set routes around the perimeter. Cameras covered every direction.
For a human, it would be hard to enter.
For a rat, it was only slightly difficult.
Francis moved through a drainage pipe hidden under decorative plants and entered inside the outer wall without being seen.
No alarms went off.
No one noticed.
He moved closer to the mansion.
The building was large, more for showing power than comfort.
Expensive stone covered the outside. Lights lit up gardens that served no real purpose.
Francis ignored all of it.
He focused on a vent at the back of the building.
The rat squeezed inside.
Warm air moved through the vents, carrying smells of food, cleaning chemicals, and many people.
Most of the smells came from the kitchen.
That was useful.
The kitchen was the center of the house. Staff moved through it all the time, carrying food and supplies. If he gained control there, reaching the governor would be easy.
After moving through the vents for several minutes, he found an opening and slipped into a storage room connected to the kitchen.
No one saw him.
He did not act right away. He watched.
People moved in and out, bringing ingredients and tools.
He studied their routine. Guards changed shifts at set times. Staff followed schedules. Deliveries arrived at fixed hours.
Inside the kitchen, tension was rising.
The head chef walked quickly, speaking sharply as he looked over the staff.
"Listen," he said, pointing at the work tables. "Tonight is important. We have guests from the upper command."
A metal tray clattered in the back. Someone quickly stopped it.
"Generals," the chef continued, stepping forward. "Senior officers. People who don’t wait—and don’t accept mistakes."
A young cook looked down and tightened his grip on a knife he was not using yet.
The chef hit the counter twice. "Tonight must be perfect. Not almost. Not close. Perfect."
He looked over the plates. "If it’s wrong, redo it. If it’s late, fix it. I don’t care whose fault it is. Everyone is responsible."
One assistant started to speak, then stopped when the chef looked at her.
The chef let out a slow breath. "This isn’t a place for excuses. These are people who expect perfection the moment it is served."
He pointed forward. "Now move."
"YES, CHEF!" they answered.
Lids opened and closed. Knives hit cutting boards. Orders were called out and repeated.
"Faster! Don’t stand there! This isn’t a café!" the chef shouted. "If you can’t keep up, I’ll replace you. Plates out. Now!"
From the shelves, Francis watched trays being prepared. Sauces were checked. Garnishes adjusted. Every plate passed through several hands before leaving the kitchen.
That was his cue.
He moved slightly behind stacked containers.
Tiny strands spread into the air vents above the shelves, then drifted down with the airflow. They landed where movement was constant but attention was low.
Into containers waiting for final plating. Into cloths used for cleaning. Into bowls of warm sauce.
No one noticed. Nothing looked different. The kitchen kept working as normal.
A cook picked up a tray, checked it once, then passed it along.
Footsteps gathered near the exit.
"They’re here," someone called.
Trays were lifted in order. Covers were placed.
The kitchen doors opened. Servers walked out.
They moved down the hallway in silence, footsteps soft on the polished floor.
At the end were double doors leading to the dining hall.
Inside, the room was wide and open.
A long table sat in the center under soft lighting. Around it were about twenty people. Some wore military uniforms. Others wore office or formal clothes that showed quiet authority.
They spoke quietly before the food arrived. Then they stopped when the doors opened.
Servers entered in a line.
Plates were placed carefully in front of each guest. Covers were lifted at the same time. The smell of food spread across the table.
The room settled as the servers stepped back.
Silver covers were removed in unison.
Steam rose from the plates, carrying the smell of carefully prepared food across the long table. No one reached for anything yet. They were waiting.
At the end sat the governor.
He didn’t touch his utensils. His eyes moved slowly across the table, taking in each guest before he spoke.
"Before we begin," he said, voice calm but firm, "we need to address the situation in our country."
The room quieted further.
A few officers leaned back slightly in their chairs. Others stayed still, hands folded.
The governor continued.
"Although it’s true that we have to rely on the NET now to protect our coastline... I’ve been hearing that we’re actually on the losing side."
He hesitated, then continued anyway.
"And I can’t help thinking things started getting worse after we killed one of the Kings. Did we really make the right decision?"
A few seconds passed after the governor finished speaking.
No one moved to respond immediately.
The weight of the question lingered over the table, hanging between the plates of untouched food.
Then a general near the middle of the table leaned forward slightly.
"With respect, sir... I think we’re looking at this the wrong way."
Several eyes turned toward him.
He continued.
"The reason it feels like we’re losing is because the Kings are being careful. They’re hiding because they are afraid of our weapons."
He tapped two fingers lightly against the table. "They’re afraid to commit directly now. After the elimination of one King, we’ve seen less coordinated large-scale movement from the remaining ones."
He looked toward the governor.
"If we continue this path and remove the remaining Kings, the other beast will lose their central coordination. Without leadership, they’ll break into scattered groups."
A couple of officers nodded faintly. Others remained uncertain.
Then the governor spoke.
"Is that really true?"
"The flying beasts came in waves. They flooded our coastline skies within days. Entire defense sectors were overwhelmed before response the NET could fully activate."
The governor’s hand rested lightly on the table.
"So explain this to me," he continued. "If removing a King leads to collapse, why did its death trigger this?"
No one answered.
He didn’t raise his voice, but the pressure in his words increased.
"And what’s stopping the others from doing the same if we continue?"
"Are we sure the beasts will just become weaker after the Kings die or are we only assuming that because it matches what we want to believe?"
His question stayed in the air.
Francis, watching through the eyes of one of the servers, gave a small, silent nod.
The governor had started to see the gaps in the plan, and he wasn’t the only one.
Francis could sense it in the room now—small cracks forming in the confidence of even those who had defended the NET moments earlier.
Even the general who had spoken so firmly seemed less certain now. His posture had not changed, but his silence was telling.
They were holding onto their arguments, but not because they fully believed them. More because there was nothing else to hold onto.
Just as he said... and as Aris had explained before, killing the Kings was not a path for survival.
It was the beginning of the end.
’It’s poetic,’ Francis thought. ’They built the very thing that is now tightening around them.’
Declaring war without a real chance of winning was practically suicide with extra steps.
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