Enter Me! The Skillionaire Says In Parentheses

A humble office with a desk and a person. A pen disregarded for a quill.

Stood tall above most of the buildings within the Citadel. The window behind the chair that enshrined the Director was giving the view of numerous roofs that shelter the civilians without any combat capabilities.

Undaunted by the chaos and hellish scene outside—even the projectile that passed by the frame view of his window, crashing into the houses that were now debris really didn't even make him lose his focus.

The man with owl ears observed what was written through his glasses, his right hand moved the quill to fill the blank parchment into something that could help the Citadel in the aftermath.

He was a young Ferrowl from a prominent family. The ownership of Gaia Citadel was hereditary, he had no other choice but to lead and make every decision so his civilization could flourish. So far he's doing great.

Jarring, the intelligent and diligent Drin Djarrin. A man who seeked to establish as many decrees he could make to heal the wound of the clawed heart within the fortified city.

The quill wrote a decree about the death of the civilians, to ask for resources from the nearby Citadel to rebuild the their home after everything ends, to request as many volunteers and paid workers, food, water, seeds, not mentioning the land that was held by prominent family and organization that might've been badly damaged.

Many people might disagree and hate how the Director, the owner of this Citadel, was still inside the wall and not on the frontlines. Those people thought that Drin was in a bunker or a fortified room, safe from from the outside.

While in reality, his office was made of wood and rock. He never had any talent in cultivation, so he took his quill to do his own part.

'To the southern windmill, Mr. Rubbeg, I deeply apologize for the damage this unprecedented battle had caused. The authorities will send you more workers to heal the farm.'

'To Jubile Samford. I'm kindly requesting for more funds to repair the Citadel. In exchange, 30% of the West Gaia ownership will be given to you until we can pay it back.'

And on and on, his hand never stopped even for a millisecond. He was writing every second he was alive, flying debris could have ended up in his office but he didn't care.

He was still in the Hollow Orb stage. Utilizing his low quantity mana to the fullest, he casted a barrier to each and every decree he wrote. As the battlefield went on, he had already written 789 decrees.

So when he reached his end, his words would live on. Clearly, he was running out of time.

All of a sudden, the door to his office got slammed into the wall. He was too focused on printing down every thought he had into the parchments. The smell reeked from the evil that was barging in, Drin then channeled his senses only to find that four of his bodyguards had taken their last breath.

The perpetrator was a tall woman, mature red gaze, and sneering with a wide grin. Unknown race, she was wearing a neckwear with a thin patterned tie that slipped into the crevice of her bosoms, being windowed to reveal the upper part of her alluring assets.

The black dress made Drin wonder, who is she? Where does she come from? Is it from an evil sect? An organization? A hitwoman?

Drin only took a glance of her whole appearance once before focusing to write again.

He then noticed a huge killing intent from a tanomobi beside her, glaring as if she wanted to mutilate him in every horrendous way. But he couldn't care less.

Amused, MF slowly approached forward before constructing a knife using her object creation skill and thrusting it into the parchment he was currently writing. She moved forward her face until it was clearly encaptured within the frame of the Director's vision.

"Greetings," said the devil, eerily scrambling the blade to tear apart the parchment before throwing it into the wall. "Time's quill is quick to spill its ink onto a new page, but ignoring your guest will lead your blood to be printed onto the new chapter."

"If your target is me, then swiftly carry it on," said the ferrowl. As if his heart had hardened by multiples, his gaze remained firm when it met with the eyes of the devil.

Foel launched a sword from her pocket space portal, the projectile shredded his shoulder.

As if the tanomobi disappeared, the ferrowl immediately rotated his head 180° to the behind. Only to be met with a kick as his flexible neck got firm due to the twisting that came in response with his body being slammed against the wall. All in one move, the tanomobi then ended it with a low kick that dragged him across the floor.

Drin's glasses were broken, but not his will.

His hands twitched, blood was rushing to his head but stopped by the bottleneck of his twisted neck. Deftly, the degree of the clogging was enough for him to breathe although every air he crammed into his lungs were wailing in severe pain. His face became purple, until the kind MF hunched down to retwist his limp neck.

Coughing blood, he immediately knew what they were going to do. It must be something that had to do with his decree and decision.

"I know what you're thinking now, Director Drin Djarrin." MF whispered to his ear. While she is doing so, she prod Drin's temple to accelerate his body healing, not letting him die any moment. "And you're right, we want you to give us the ownership of Gaia Citadel."

Drin threw the bodily fluid that was clogging his throat before he replied, "Do you think a place where people band together to create a shelter from the mad world to be something you can just steal?"

MF grabbed his neck, bringing him into the air as he coughed more blood that landed on MF's ecstatic face and her porcelain-white skin of her bosoms.

"I know that you won't give in so easily, but we don't have a lot of time."

Foel casted a slave mark onto the poor ferrowl's heart. MF threw him back to his destroyed desk once again. His gaze was blurry, his right cheek was hugging the floor. Within the cloudy vision, he saw a parchment and his quill that was sprayed with his blood.

"Take the quill," Foel commanded. "And write down what I said."

"N-no!" He fought back the control as hard as he could, yet his arm was reaching for the quill as he wrote down his last decree.

Another projectile managed to slip past through the barrier when regenerating, destroying the infrastructure nearby.. The booming crash was deafening the cry of a young man.