The Almighty Dominance (by Sunshine) novel Chapter 629

In the quiet hush of the Bai Mansion, morning light spilled across the polished wooden floors of the great hall. Alex sat in a high-backed chair, Lord Bai in every sense—ruler, protector, architect of a new order. Across from him, Zhuge Liang leaned forward, his scholar’s robes draped neatly, eyes sharp with the weight of centuries of strategy.

“Lord Bai,” Zhuge Liang said, “are you certain you want to hand out a single Wudang strengthening pill to every person who accepts the band-aid Gaia? These pills are ruinously expensive. One dose could feed an entire family for a month.”

Alex frowned, the lines deepening between his brows. “They’re my people. What’s wrong with giving my own the very best? Even a farmer feeds his pigs the finest grain if he wants them strong.”

Zhuge Liang fell silent for a moment, studying him. “Then… are you planning to butcher them later?”

“Hell no,” Alex answered, a low laugh escaping despite the seriousness in his eyes. “But we need their strength. We’re going to ask them to push harder than they ever have— to stand up, to fight for something bigger than themselves. A healthy citizen makes a healthy city. That’s why I’m giving them the pills.”

He didn’t mention the part he kept to himself: these strengthening pills for ordinary people were crafted from the scraps left over after the cultivators’ own doses. Even the leftovers worked miracles, flooding normal bodies with the raw power of adulthood in a single swallow.

Zhuge Liang nodded slowly, then pressed on. “Let’s say your campaign succeeds. You dangle the carrot and the stick in perfect balance—ten lashes of bamboo stick for anyone who refuses the band-aid Gaia, and a strengthening pill for every soul who accepts it. Fine. But what’s the endgame? How do you plan to use this on every citizen in the realm? Will you rule them like a dictator?”

“Hell no,” Alex said, leaning back. “I’m not a dictator. And I’m sure as hell not some bleeding-heart liberal. I’m more like… a communist.”

Zhuge Liang’s brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “Communist? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Alex’s gaze softened. “I just want to know my people. I want to make sure no one goes hungry. I want every man, woman, and child fed properly, given real work, and the dignity of a job they can be proud of. That’s it. That’s the whole damn dream.”

Zhuge Liang’s expression shifted, a flicker of respect crossing his face. “That is wisdom, Lord Bai. Truly. But tell me this—will you control every citizen the same way you control the magisters yesterday?”

“No,” Alex replied, the word sharp and final. “The device that can truly control someone is far too expensive to waste on the masses. We keep it limited—reserved for our enemies only.”

“What the citizens get is simpler. It tracks their location, nothing more. They can’t be spied on through it. They can’t be manipulated or bent to our will. That level of control is a privilege for officers alone, and even then, it’s strictly limited.”

Zhuge Liang leaned forward again, his sharp eyes narrowing with fresh understanding.

“Oh. So these are only the special band-aids.”

Alex reached into his robe and produced a small wooden box, its surface carved with subtle runes. He set it on the low table between them with deliberate care.

“Yes, The ones inside this box are different. They’re the real deal—the kind that can accept commands and monitor a citizen’s exact condition at all times. Guard them closely. Only hand them out to people you trust with your life. No one else.”

Zhuge Liang studied the box for a long moment, then met Alex’s gaze. “So… you cannot control me with one of these?”

Alex held the strategist’s eyes without flinching. “I cannot,” he lied, the words slipping out smooth as silk.

If he wanted to keep the truth from the entire city later, he had to start with the people closest to him. No panic. No cracks in the foundation. Not yet.

A flicker of relief crossed Zhuge Liang’s face, subtle but unmistakable.

“City Lord Bai,” the strategist continued, shifting the topic with practiced ease, “there is something important I need to tell you. Since you’re already here—”

“What is it?” Alex asked.

Before Zhuge Liang could answer, a roar of voices crashed against the mansion walls—hundreds of men shouting Alex’s name in raw, angry unison. The sound rolled through the corridors like thunder. A servant burst into the hall, breathless, robes flapping.

“Sire!” the man gasped, dropping into a deep bow. “There are about a hundred people protesting out front. They’re demanding to see you.”

Alex’s brow furrowed. “What the hell are they doing?”

The servant kept his head lowered. “They’re asking you to repay your debts, my lord.”

“Me?” Alex’s voice cracked with genuine shock. “Debts?”

Zhuge Liang exhaled, a grim shadow falling over his features. “That’s the trouble, Lord Bai. And you have a great many of them.”

Outside, the shouting grew louder, raw and insistent. Most of the voices belonged to hardened mercenaries—men who had once fought for coin and now wanted every copper returned with interest.

Alex rose. “Open the gates,” he ordered the guards. “Let them in.”

The heavy wooden doors groaned open. The crowd surged forward like a flood, boots hammering across the mansion’s wide courtyard until they filled the open field before the main hall. Alex stood at the center of it all.

One burly mercenary stepped forward first, face flushed with years of resentment. “City Lord Bai, you borrowed a thousand gold coins from me few years ago. You swore that once you became lord, you’d repay me double.”

Another pushed through the press of bodies, voice cracking with fury. “And me! Fifteen hundred coins. You promised triple the moment you took the seat.”

More voices joined the chorus, each claim sharper than the last—debts tallied in gold, promises made in the dark days before power had finally landed in Alex’s hands.

Alex’s mind reeled. Had the original Bai Xaichun really bled the city dry like this? Borrowed from mercenaries with those kinds of insane terms? He kept his face calm, but inside the questions burned.

“I don’t remember borrowing from any of you,” Alex let the words hang, watching their faces, buying himself a heartbeat to think.

The crowd surged closer, faces twisted with raw fury. The first merchant—a thick-necked man with scarred knuckles—jabbed a finger at Alex like a blade.

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