Investing In My Four Crippled Yandere Wives Get 1000x Returns
Chapter 18|Desperation Wears Gold

Chapter 18: 18|Desperation Wears Gold

The livestream request arrived through official Association channels, formatted with all the polish of a legitimate broadcast invitation — Party Fallen Crown, cordially invited to participate in a joint dungeon clearance alongside Party Golden Vanguard, in commemoration of inter-guild cooperation week. A C-rank rift, freshly discovered, moderate risk, full media coverage guaranteed.

Myria read the invitation twice before setting her tablet down with visible suspicion.

"Golden Vanguard is Edward’s party," she said flatly.

"I’m aware," Allen replied, studying the invitation’s fine print with the same wariness. "Which makes this either an olive branch or a trap. I’m inclined to bet on the second one."

"Obviously it’s a trap," Irene said, sprawled across the couch with her usual restless energy. "The real question is whether it’s a stupid, obvious trap, or a clever one. Edward’s never struck me as clever."

"Desperate men get creative," Vivian said quietly from her spot near the window, head tilted in thought. "He lost publicly in front of the entire oversight committee. His reputation took a hit. A joint livestream, broadcast to millions, gives him a controlled environment to try to reclaim that narrative — on his terms, in front of an audience that already assumes we’re beneath him."

Allen turned the possibilities over carefully. Declining outright would look like cowardice, feed exactly the narrative Edward likely wanted to spin regardless. Accepting walked them directly into whatever trap had been prepared, in front of the largest audience imaginable.

"We accept," he said finally. "But we go in expecting exactly what this is. No surprises, no assumptions of good faith."

Myria nodded slowly, already pulling up contingency notes on her tablet. "Then let’s make sure we’re the ones controlling the narrative by the time the cameras start rolling."

---

The rift sat in a reclaimed stretch of parkland just outside the city, drone cameras already hovering in wide, sweeping arcs as both parties gathered at the barrier’s edge. Golden Vanguard looked exactly as flashy as their name suggested — five members in matching polished armor, Edward at the center, golden hair catching the afternoon light with theatrical precision, a smile plastered across his face for the cameras that didn’t remotely reach his eyes.

"Little brother," Edward called out, voice pitched perfectly for the livestream microphones drifting nearby. "So glad you could join us. I thought, given everything that’s happened, it might be nice to remind everyone just how much stronger real Hunters perform under pressure."

"Looking forward to it," Allen said evenly, refusing to rise to the bait.

The dungeon briefing proceeded with excessive formality, cameras capturing every practiced smile from Edward’s side, every carefully composed non-reaction from Allen’s. Then, just before the barrier opened, Edward leaned close, voice dropping low enough that only Allen could hear it beneath the ambient noise.

"Try to keep up," he murmured, smile never wavering. "Wouldn’t want your little collection of broken toys getting hurt on camera. Terrible for ratings."

Allen’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, filing the threat away as they stepped through the barrier together.

---

The trap revealed itself twenty minutes into the dive.

The rift, officially classified C-rank, had clearly been misrepresented — the moment both parties pushed past the first chamber, the beast density spiked dramatically, far beyond what any legitimate C-rank rift should have produced. Golden Vanguard, Allen noted grimly, seemed entirely unsurprised by the escalation, falling back with practiced efficiency the moment the first wave of overleveled constructs surged forward, leaving Fallen Crown dangerously exposed at the front.

"They knew," Myria snarled through the comm bead in Allen’s ear, tablet already flashing warnings. "This rift’s actual classification is B-rank at minimum. Someone falsified the initial survey report."

"Focus on survival first," Allen bit out, throwing dart after dart into the surging wave of Ironclad Wraiths, each strike buying precious seconds as Irene’s flames roared beside him, Everlyn’s roots erupting from the ground to slow the advancing horde.

Through the chaos, Allen caught sight of Edward’s party retreating further, cameras still capturing everything, and understood with cold clarity exactly what this trap was designed to produce: footage of Fallen Crown overwhelmed and struggling, broadcast to millions, while Golden Vanguard remained conveniently, safely out of frame.

’He’s not trying to hurt us,’ Allen realized grimly, throwing another dart with brutal precision. ’He’s trying to humiliate us on camera, and he’s willing to risk our lives to do it.’

"Vivian," Allen called through the comm, "can you get a read on their retreat position?"

"Fifty meters east, sheltered behind a rock formation," Vivian confirmed instantly, her enhanced hearing cutting through the chaos with practiced ease despite being stationed outside the primary combat zone. "They’re not engaging at all. Just watching."

Something cold and furious settled into Allen’s chest.

"Then we don’t need them," he said, voice hard. "New plan. Myria, redirect the wraiths toward the collapsed tunnel section on the western wall. Irene, prepare a sustained burn the moment I give the signal. Everlyn, reinforce our flank the second the wraiths funnel through."

The coordination that followed felt less like desperate survival and more like the practiced rhythm of a team that had spent every day of the past month learning exactly how to move around each other’s strengths. Myria’s ice carved precise channels through the chamber, funneling the surging constructs into a narrow, exploitable bottleneck. Irene’s flames roared to devastating effect the moment the wraiths compressed into range, an inferno of controlled destruction that reduced the majority of the horde to ash within seconds. Everlyn’s roots caught the stragglers, and Allen’s darts — faster, more precise, carrying the faint shimmer of newly awakened fire affinity — finished the rest.

Within minutes, the chamber fell silent, littered with fading light, Fallen Crown standing bloodied but entirely intact amid the wreckage of a trap clearly designed to break them.

Allen turned toward the drone cameras still hovering nearby, capturing everything, and allowed himself a single, sharp, satisfied smile.

"Tell the Association," he said, voice carrying clearly for the livestream audience watching from millions of homes, "that Party Golden Vanguard might want to explain why their survey report significantly understated this rift’s actual classification. Purely for safety purposes, of course."

The implication landed exactly as intended, even without naming Edward directly — and judging by the sudden flurry of activity from Golden Vanguard’s position, the message had been received loud and clear.

[Investment Detected: Milestone — "Overcame life-threatening sabotage through flawless team coordination."]

[Sincerity: High. Emotional Impact: Extreme.]

[Reward Generated: +800 Investment Points.]

[Multiplier Applied: x1 → Total Reward: 800 Investment Points.]

[Reward Manifestation: Equipment Acquisition]

[Mythic-Grade Weapon: "Ashfall Talons" — a pair of enchanted throwing gauntlets, estimated value 2.3 million dollars, forged from phoenix-touched core stone.]

Allen felt the weight of the gauntlets materialize around his forearms, faint orange light pulsing along intricate engravings, and glanced toward Irene, who stared at the weapon with wide, delighted recognition.

"That’s phoenix-forged material," she breathed. "Allen, that’s— that’s insanely rare. Where did that even—"

"Long story," Allen said, exhaustion and satisfaction warring in his voice as the chaos of the dive finally began settling. "I’ll explain everything. Tonight. All of it — the systems, everything."

Myria’s sharp eyes studied him for a long moment, something understanding passing behind her gaze. "Took you long enough," she said, though there was no real accusation in it — only quiet, patient relief.

Behind them, the drone cameras continued broadcasting to millions of viewers exactly what Edward had never intended them to witness: not four broken women and a failed heir, struggling and humiliated, but a party that had turned his own sabotage into the very proof of everything he’d spent his whole life trying to deny.