I'll be the Red Ranger [Progression, LitRPG] [Book 4 Returns 09/01]

[Oliver PoV]

Oliver let a quiet scoff curl the corner of his mouth. They had bet on this. He had wagered they would accuse him after the Senate's opening theatrics. Pyro had predicted it would be lobbed at the end, once they were too tired from the negotiations. Talos, annoyingly precise, had said it would strike at the start.

'Point to Talos.' Oliver thought.

He shook his head slowly, arranging his face into the best imitation of offended incredulity he could do.

'Let them read what they wanted there; let them decide they'd seen a crack.' Using his face to play his part.

To his luck, with the increase in his synchronization, some of the glitches had reduced. The rules had not changed, yet he had more leverage.

[Glitches]

| [A Timed Power]
| You can only use your Green Crystal for 30 minutes.
| You can pause its use at any moment.

| [Our Secret]
| No other Human or Ork must discover that a human is using a Green Crystal.

| [Oliver the Battery]
| Upon depleting your Green Crystal, you must invest 168 hours of your Energy production to recharge it.

He'd had five years to build alibi upon alibi, misdirections rooted in paperwork and bureaucracy. Corporate shells with legitimate ledgers. Shipping routes that existed whether he was on them or not. Decoys prepared to take the fall. None of it hinged on a single piece.

Lucius's stare did not leave him. Stewart's, too, the general's boots halted mid-step. Confusion ghosted across both men's faces. It was an unfamiliar emotion for men used to being the ones to surprise.

If the Green Ranger was carving a path through a spaceport on a live feed, who was Atlas Blackwell sitting here in the fifth line? Not the Green Ranger?

The question fluttered around the hall. Katherine had thrown him the line, and she hadn't even known she was part of this scene.

Her intervention wasn't expected. The plan didn't require her Gauntlet to vibrate at that precise moment. If it hadn't been her, it would have been John or any number of officers plugged into the same network watching the same emergency alerts. The decoy was for everyone.

' Yet, maybe they wouldn't be so promptly,' He judged, watching the ripple of reactions spread.

"Any chance it's an illusion? There are thousands of Boons capable of that." Lucius asked the question, aimed at Katherine and then at Stewart. It sounded like an inquiry, yet it carried the weight of an order.

"Unlikely," Katherine answered. "From the footage, it's no illusion. They're fighting someone in green armor. And it's rare for two people to carry the same Ranger Weapon."

She keyed a sequence into her Gauntlet. As soon as she finished typing, a hologram was projected from her equipment.

In the image, it was apparent that a Green Ranger was fighting. Shots were being fired in all directions, and dozens of Rangers were surrounding him. Still, he was dominating the battle at the spaceport.

Lucius sat with the image reflected in his eyes, chewing the fact as if it tasted bitter. Beside the throne, Stewart consulted his own Gauntlet, then stepped close and spoke low against the Emperor's ear.

"Interesting," Lucius pronounced at last, gaze returning to Atlas. "But that only proves you are not the Green Ranger or that you don't have the crystal. It doesn't remove the possibility of being connected to him."

The accusation shifted, narrowed. A blade turned sideways was still a blade. The Emperor had refused to let go of the hilt.

It was a moment to push or be buried under insinuation. "Then investigate me," Oliver said, voice as even as a level blade. "Audit my companies and my holdings. If you find anything, you'll know where to find me." He let the next sentence land with a gentle weight. "For now, this is a session of the Senate."

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

It was an exit offered. It had room to let go without losing face, and a way to move the assembly forward. On the balcony, whispers clicked off like toggled switches.

"Fair," Lucius said. The grip in his jaw eased by a fraction. He struck the arm of his throne once. "I've occupied enough of our time. Let us turn to matters of greater importance."

--

For six long hours, the debate dragged on without end, each faction fighting for every inch. Topic after topic was discussed. Their relations with the Orks, next steps in the war, the crystal market, and even discoveries made in the farthest reaches of the galaxy.

Even so, they seemed to be chasing their tails. The Emperor wanted the Empire's weight thrown back onto that single mission. Drive the Orks out of the systems they had clawed near strategic suns, reclaim the lanes, reset the board.

However, each faction viewed it through its own lens.

Even the Militarists were against the imperial plan. Lucius argued for containment and rollback, a hand steady on the brake. Demi wanted to escalate the conflict to the next level. Map their capitals. Hit them in a chain. Bleed their logistics until the green tide could no longer do any damage.

By sunset, their discussion had gone nowhere. No bloc left satisfied. The assembly adjourned with the awkward gravity of a ceremony that had been useless.

Perhaps the only person pleased was the man who had brought a fifth row into existence.

The heirs were escorted to their appointed suites with the smooth choreography of a palace used to sorting power into wing and floor. Oliver, as Atlas Blackwell, was an anomaly, and anomalies didn't receive suites. He was shown instead to a smaller room reserved for minor nobility.

Yet, it didn't matter.

Compared to the bunks he had slept in during those first years of training, this was luxury.

The door opened smoothly, revealing a room in a style the Empire rarely used anymore. The limewashed walls caught the last light of the day. Terracotta tiles cooled the floor, their brick-red edges faded with age. Overhead, dark wooden beams crossed the ceiling, steady and unpolished, showing their natural strength.

There was no steel. No visible ferrocrete bones. No sheen of ceramic armor. The room felt unarmored in a way nothing in the Empire usually was. It was beautiful, welcoming, and, to someone who lived by redundancies and failsafes, precarious. Pretty, yes. Practical, no. Those who built it trusted the walls would never need to defend against anything.

The shower called to him like a minor miracle. With just a touch of a lever, hot water would wash the day away and erase the mask's mark from his face.

Yet the room felt full of eyes. A vase could hide a mic. A baseboard could carry a wire. Shutters might hold a lens. He imagined the quiet watch of palace surveillance and let the urge fade. The mask stayed on.

'This island is vast,' he judged, studying the little suite again before leaving it. 'There are enough rooms for every House, and all of it kept off the maps. Impressive.'

Rest could wait. Reconnaissance would not.

Outside, the roses in the courtyard seemed still. Past the columns, the dark lawn spread like velvet to the cliff's edge, where the sea broke in white lines against the black rock.

Although beautiful, no one else was outside the mansion admiring it.

The factions were meeting in private. They were making alliances, hiding threats behind polite words. Oliver anticipated that someone would come for him.

'Many will.'

He hoped Katherine wouldn't be one of them. She and Alan had seen him in too many ways; they might notice old habits even under a new name.

As Oliver expected, someone approached. Footsteps came closer, light, steady, without a trace of doubt.

He kept his gaze on the grass.

"I didn't picture you as someone interested in lawns," a voice said, amused without warmth.

"I live on Aquarius," he answered, keeping his attention on the lawn. "It's green, but not like this."

She came into the corner of his vision. Demi of Demeter, the militarist's spine wrapped in formal fabric. She had tried to soften her stance, but her eyes had not agreed to that. They were hard and straight to business.

"Aren't you going to join the other Great Houses?" she asked.

"Are they all talking in the hall?" he said.

"Not just the hall," she said. "They've scattered through the mansion. Everyone's trying to capture a little more patronage for their cause."

He made a slight sound that could have been a sign of consideration. "No. Not yet. It isn't my moment. None of you can help my cause."

"And what cause is that?" she asked, flat and curious.

"You'll find out over the next few days," he said, and let a smile tilt his mouth beneath the mask.

In truth, the path branched in a dozen directions. He had a few options up his sleeve. Each one led to a different outcome, but this was not the moment to show his hand. Oliver wanted a little more information, a little more conflict.

"Others won't be as receptive to your wish to remain outside the factions," Demi said. It wasn't a threat, merely a comment.

He turned to face her, the smile still there. "That's what I hope."