Top-Tier Arranged Marriage, but the Dom-Husband Has Amnesia - Chapter 7

The day set for their scheduled meetings arrived quickly.

It was early morning.

Sunlight poured down from above. Within the strands of light, dust motes drifted silently, converging at the window lattice into a golden waterfall. On the desk by the window, the leather-bound hardcover book was opened to the center, flickering between light and shadow as the spots of light danced and external objects obstructed the view.

The pages made a faint rustling sound as they turned.

Noah sat behind the desk, holding a teacup in one hand while absentmindedly flipping through the book in his other.

Taking advantage of the time spent recovering in the hospital, he had been consciously and systematically organizing the gaps in his knowledge these past few days. He accessed public archives from the last decade via his optical computer, traced the evolution of various laws and policies, and incidentally tried to simulate the trajectory of the Federation’s power structure changes on a virtual sandbox.

The result was not pleasing to the insect mind.

Since entering the Star Sea Era, the Federation had not formulated any policies regarding military expansion for nearly two thousand years.

Firstly, as a permanent member of the Security Council of the Star Sea Peace Alliance, the Zerg civilization was no longer suited to initiating wars against other civilizations without just cause.

Secondly, it was a matter of marginal utility.

Once territorial expansion reached a certain point, war no longer brought gains, but rather meaningless attrition. When the actual benefits of a war could not even cover the basic energy costs, even the most bellicose military drones had no interest in fighting a war that could not pay for its own fuel.

However, this did not mean the Zerg had lost their ambition for external advancement.

On the contrary, the birth of the Star Sea Peace Alliance allowed the Zerg civilization to conduct external conquest and expansion in an entirely new form.

The invincible Zerg swarm silently receded into the shadows. Replacing them were goods carefully crafted by the Zerg, using the wisdom, genes, and technology harvested from thousands of defeated civilizations over the past tens of thousands of years, and pushed into the universal market.

To this day, the resource benefits that the Federation plundered through legitimate economic trade each year were already one hundred times greater than during the era of war.

From this point on, the division of power within the Federation could be simply and crudely divided into three parts:

The [Academy], which turned the wisdom, genes, and technology of defeated civilizations into nourishment for the Zerg, mastering all knowledge and technology;

The [Corporation], whose commodities permeated two hundred and sixty-three cosmic civilizations and whose economic colonies spanned the entire Star Sea Peace Alliance;

And the [Legion], once known as a cosmic-level disaster, now silently dormant, lurking and hiding in the endless shadows.

Because every generation of the Federation’s supreme leaders came from one of these three, the public collectively referred to the [Corporation], the [Academy], and the [Legion] as the “Three Houses.”

By all rights, in just this short decade, it should have been impossible for any existence to arise that could surpass the Three Houses.

Noah set down his water cup, leaned over the table, and tilted his head. As if touching some living creature, his fingertips poked unconsciously at the name he had written in his notebook: Igris Orwell.

He recalled the file he had accessed using his authority as the Chief of the Holy Land.

Compared to most high-ranking privileged individuals who climbed to the top in a steady, step-by-step manner, Igris Orwell’s past resume could be described as eccentric.

He had once disguised himself as a low-level drone and worked as a waiter in a tea restaurant on an industrial planet for nine months. He had also infiltrated “Wildfire,” an interstellar-scale, cross-civilization, multi-racial criminal organization composed of outlaws from over two hundred civilizations, as an undercover agent.

Nine months later, at a pharmaceutical manufacturing factory only ten kilometers from the tea restaurant where he worked, the formula for a certain soon-to-be-released drug used to alleviate the agitation in a drone’s mental sea was severely leaked.

The price of the drug plummeted, benefiting a large number of civilian drones, while the [Corporation] lost nearly a trillion credits.

During his time undercover in “Wildfire,” he had played the Legions responsible for hunting them down from the three top civilizations, the Zerg Federation, the Machine Alliance, and the Star Spirit Empire, for fools. Not only did he cause all three parties to lose face, but he also directly or indirectly caused dozens of high-ranking military officers responsible for the pursuit to be removed from office, leading to a major reshuffle within the Legions.

Five years later, due to Igris Orwell’s “betrayal,” “Wildfire” was completely annihilated.

As one of the heroes, Igris Orwell was able to end his undercover work and return to the Federation. From then on, it was smooth sailing, and he logically took his seat as the supreme leader.

Noah rubbed the corners of his eyes, speechless.

At first glance, this file seemed fine, but with just a little bit of thought, one could tell something was off.

Undercover work sounds noble, but in reality, they are still bottom-tier cannon fodder. Not to mention climbing to the top from that position, being able to escape unscathed after the job was finished, without being tried or liquidated for special actions taken while undercover, was already the best possible outcome.

Being undercover was one thing.

But Igris Orwell had stolen an [Academy] drug formula, causing the [Corporation] to lose nearly a trillion credits, and had repeatedly directed the internal reshuffling of the [Legion] either directly or indirectly.

Under such circumstances, how could the Three Houses have allowed him to return to the Federation alive?

Letting him return unscathed and openly as a hero was one thing, but the Three Houses, who since their inception had fought tooth and nail for the top spot in every generation, had actually voluntarily taken a step back and handed over the position of supreme leader.

Was this still the Three Houses he knew?

Strange.

Too strange.

What exactly were the Three Houses afraid of?

And what was Igris Orwell’s true trump card?

He supported half his forehead with one hand, his eyes showing a touch of vexation.

With his investigation reaching this point, if he still did not know the goal he had set for himself before losing his memory, he would just be lying to himself.

From their daily interactions and the file in his hand, it was not hard to see that while this Council Chairman appeared easy-going and rule-abiding, deep down, he was essentially disrespectful to his elders and impulsive. If he was in a good mood, he could maintain a composed act, but if he was in a bad mood, he would probably toy with any stray dog that walked past him.

To want to tie such a drone to his own faction forever, there were clearly only two paths:

Either give up resistance in front of him and hand over all initiative, or thoroughly crush him, control him, and tame him.

There was no third possibility.

Headache.jpg

He did not know where the version of him before his memory loss got the confidence to think he could fight someone like that.

He could not have thought that by acting spoiled, being cute, and snuggling up to Igris Orwell, he could easily handle such a dangerous insect.

What a joke.

It was not that Noah lacked confidence in himself; it was just that from the results of his observations and tests, this current Federation Council Chairman was, no matter how one looked at it, the type to take the sugar-coated bullet served on a silver platter, lick it clean, and then shamelessly and expressionlessly fire the cannonball back, only to turn on him without batting an eye.

Playing nice with this kind of drone? How was that any different from just handing himself over?

He tilted his head and racked his brain for a long time, but no matter how he thought about it, an opponent as shameless and morally bankrupt as this one seemed to have no openings and no weaknesses. He could only sigh softly, pack up the various files and materials, and briefly push them to the back of his mind.

Forget it.

The matter of this grave threat could be planned for the long term. Today, he would rather catch a few fish and kill a few chickens to scare the monkeys.

He rubbed his face, stood up, and walked toward the drawing-room.

The place where he was resting now was not the hospital room he woke up in. Considering the necessities of His Holiness’s daily work, leisure, and entertainment, Noah’s room had changed from a single-occupancy unit designed for observation to an entire building with a layout similar to a detached villa. Besides his daily bedroom, it included a study, balcony, dining room, and more.

He pushed open the doors to the drawing-room.

Three drones were sitting on the sofa surrounding a transparent glass tea table.

Hearing the door open, the three drones looked up in unison, gazing at him with identical movements. Noah tilted his head, just about to politely greet his Drone Father, his “plastic” Drone Consort, and his “cheap” uncle, who had come to see him a few days ago and had refused to move ever since, when he saw the books they were holding, all neatly raised as if they were reading.

Reading was not strange.

What was strange was, uh…

Noah’s gaze shifted downward, landing silently on the book titles that his Drone Father and uncle were deliberately or unintentionally spreading out, making them very prominent.

The one in his Drone Father’s hand was titled The World is Only Good with a Drone Father.

The one in his little uncle’s hand had a longer title: A Book for All Excellencies of the Federation: There is No Reliable Drone in This World, Except Your Father’s Blood Brothers.

… ?

Who were they pointing at?

It was hard to guess.

Noah silently supported his forehead, feeling a bit awkward and speechless.

He turned his head composedly to look at the Council Chairman, who was caught in the middle of the two Veroria-tribe “bullying” session. Noticing his gaze, the latter paused slightly. Following Noah’s line of sight, he glanced at the two less-than-friendly drones nearby, pondered for a moment, and then realized something.

… Realized something?

The next second, meeting His Holiness’s slightly confused gaze, the young Council Chairman casually felt the silent provocation, isolation, and bullying from his Excellency’s Drone Father and uncle. He then calmly reached into his personal spatial storage unit, pulled out a book, and opened it unhurriedly.

The title was: None of these Drones Are Any Good.

The two Veroria drones turned their heads instantly and glared at him.

However, the drone who was being stared at held up the book, waved it deliberately in front of them under the golden sunlight, and coolly and calmly bullied them back.

Noah: “…?”

I retract my previous statement.

Whether the current Federation Council Chairman has weaknesses remains to be seen, but at the very least, his cheap Drone Consort definitely has something wrong with his brain.

Seeing the expressions of his Drone Father and uncle growing increasingly hostile, Noah had to speak up to shoo them away before this family war broke out, his face expressionless: “The scheduled visitors should be arriving soon. If you want to argue or fight, do it outside; don’t just stand here getting in the way.”

Mr. Chairman raised his hand quietly, self-promoting with absolutely no self-awareness: “Master, actually, I can accompany you to fish.”

Noah gave him a cold look: “Not necessary.”

Get lost, all of you, get out.

With three big, fierce creatures sitting beside him, they were scaring away the fish he had baited; how was he supposed to fish?

Seeing that Noah’s mind was made up, the two reluctant Veroria gentlemen, along with the quite regretful Mr. Chairman, had to stand up and leave, making room for the prey specifically intended for His Holiness.

Ten minutes later.

Dressed in a sharp suit, the drone representative from the [Corporation] hesitated, his expression sincere.

“Excellency Noah, I know you may not believe me, but I still need to offer you my loyalty. I am actually a secret hand you carefully placed within the [Corporation] before your accident. I am your true, most loyal, and most trusted confidant.”

Noah said nothing.

An hour later.

His clothes slightly disheveled, the male representative from the [Holy Land] looked around, cautious.

“Excellency Noah, as your trusted subordinate, I have a very important piece of intelligence that I need to report to you.”

Noah smiled without a word.

Another hour later.

When a sunny, cheerful, and innocent-looking little male, no older than nine, ran into the drawing-room, his eyes shining, and whispered secretively into his ear: “Teacher, Teacher, when are we going to rebel?” Noah finally closed his eyes and calmly snapped the fountain pen in his hand.

This really is…

In the moment of his downfall, any monster or demon dares to stand in front of him and speak?

The young Excellency curled his lips and smiled in relief.

Fine, fine, fine.

That is how we are playing, right?

Noah thought: Once I regain my memory, I will turn you all into bean paste!

Everyone must die.

Everyone must die!

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