Simpson slammed the table and shouted with sudden realization.
For days, he had been frustrated. No matter how talented the actors were, none of them could deliver the effect he envisioned.
But until now, he couldn't pinpoint what was missing.
Then John gave him a single suggestion—and everything clicked.
Mystery.
Yes. That was it.
From the beginning, the Oracle King had appeared to the world only while wearing a dragon-head mask, his real face never revealed.
Mystery was the missing ingredient.
Humans were always curious about the unknown—like black holes. They wanted to peer inside, to uncover what lay hidden. The dragon-head mask was just like that—an abyss of intrigue.
The moment someone tried to define the Oracle King—to put a specific face to the legend—the mystique would shatter.
Because in people's minds, they'd already created the perfect image. A shadow, a myth, an enigma. No actor could ever live up to the fantasy they had built in their heads.
That was why no one should play the Oracle King face-on.
As John pointed out, only a back view should be shown on camera.
Simpson, a seasoned Hollywood director, had been stumped by such a simple truth. Now, hearing John spell it out, he felt like someone had lifted a veil from his eyes.
He jumped into action immediately.
At Sivan's place, all the necessary filming equipment was already prepared. Without wasting a second, Simpson directed the team to shoot a scene based on John's vision.
He used a fast-zoom camera:
A majestic mountain appeared first, the lens soaring over it with power and grace. Then suddenly, the momentum pulled back—
—and the camera focused on a tall, commanding back, standing firm against the wind.
The footage stopped.
It captured the awe-inspiring presence of the Oracle King, while preserving his mystique.
Simpson was stunned when he watched the playback.
Perfect.
It was almost surreal.
The posture, the atmosphere—it was as if the real Oracle King stood before the camera.
"Amazing…"
Tears welled up in Simpson's eyes.
This was the perfect shot he had been chasing all along. And the credit? It all belonged to John.
Simpson gripped John's hand with excitement. "John, thank you. I'll get your request handled immediately. Just wait for my good news!"
As a renowned Hollywood director, Simpson had deep connections with countless stars. Most of them owed him favors and would gladly cooperate.
John then delegated the remaining work to Queenie.
As for himself—he continued to wait.
Meanwhile, news of the King of Horizon's "death" continued to spread like wildfire.
In the past few days, attacks on members of the Martial Arts League in the U.S. had increased.
The hidden forces—dark, dangerous, and long dormant—were finally beginning to stir.
Among them were even genetically modified warriors, returning from abroad.
But none of this concerned John.
His job was to catch big fish.
The Martial Arts League could handle the rest. If they couldn't even manage that… then the late King of Horizon would truly be disappointed in them.
Some time passed.
Then came unexpected news—news that made John's expression darken.
The Martial Arts League of Houston had undergone a massive upheaval.
Warren had been thrown in prison for unknown reasons. Alexandra—Bertha Carter's aunt—was also under investigation by the League's law enforcement division.
The Flaherty family had collapsed overnight.
When John heard this from Bertha, his eyes turned cold.
He had no love for Warren. Their history was full of conflict.
But Alexandra?
She had treated him well when he was in Houston.
And he never forgot kindness.
Without delay, John dialed a secure, encrypted number.
At the Law Enforcement Department of the Martial Arts League in Houston, Alexandra was currently under investigation.
Her travel had been restricted, and her role as director of the Houston Martial Arts School had been suspended.
The charges were serious.
While the investigators interrogated Alexandra, something unexpected happened in the League leader's office.
A burly man strode in.
His presence was thunderous. Eyes sharp as blades, expression unreadable—but his aura demanded respect.
Chester, the current League leader, immediately stood up.
"Sir!"
The man who had entered was none other than Loneliness—one of the 36 Lords of Oracle, and the guardian of the U.S.
When someone of his rank arrived, no one dared to be casual.
"Flaherty family. What happened?" Loneliness asked bluntly, not bothering with small talk.
Chester didn't know why such a high-ranking figure would care about the Flaherty family. He hesitated. "General, may I ask why you're asking about them?"
"You only need to answer the question."
Loneliness frowned. That alone made Chester break out in a cold sweat.
He quickly told the truth.
As it turned out, the Flaherty family was being investigated because Warren had secretly trained a private army.
A group of elite warriors known as Venerable Men.
According to Martial Arts League regulations, every member, from law enforcers to generals, had to be officially registered. No one was allowed to train private forces.
It was a capital offense.
In reality, many leaders—Chester included—had their own hidden forces.
It was an open secret.
But the rule was: Don't get caught.
Warren got caught.
And it all traced back to the day he tried to assassinate John.
The Venerable Man who showed up at the Long family residence was one of Warren's secret soldiers.
That act painted a target on his back.
The Martial Arts League was filled with internal rivalries, schemes, and hidden agendas. The moment Warren slipped, his enemies pounced.
As for who those enemies were?
No one could say. It could be one person. Or many. Or an entire faction waiting in the shadows.
But one thing was clear:
They had evidence. And they moved fast.
Now, Warren's downfall created a vacuum. A dozen hands were already reaching for his title.
Such was the brutal world of power.