Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Lund frowned.

With the leader absent, the twelve brothers took the initiative to take over the Brotherhood's stronghold.

This suggests that someone within the Bonebreakers, possibly one of the leaders of the Twelve Brotherhoods, has taken it upon themselves to remove this newly emerged thorn in the side of the Brotherhood before Grossa returns.

Or perhaps, this was an instruction left by Grossa before he left.

In either case...

Lund closed his eyes briefly, then relaxed them a moment later.

"It's probably too late now."

His voice was calm.

"Let's wait for the results."

Savi was slightly taken aback, seemingly not expecting Lund to say that.

But he quickly nodded.

"Should the letter still be sent as usual?"

"Send as usual."

Lund pushed the envelope toward him.

Saiwei took the envelope and turned to walk towards the door.

He stopped at the threshold.

"Young Master."

"Um?"

"This Xiren..." Sevi didn't turn around, "Is he important?"

Lund was silent for a moment.

"He is my disciple."

This sentence has no unnecessary embellishments.

But Saiwei understood.

He asked no more questions, pushed open the door, and walked out, his footsteps fading into the distance in the corridor.

Lund sat alone in his study, the firelight from the fireplace flickering on his face.

He anticipated—

With Grossa gone, the twelve brothers, if they still want to live a normal life in the North District, shouldn't actually kill Siron.

At most, they would just plunder, seize some territory and resources, and give them a taste of their power.

If Grossa wanted to stay in the North, he probably wouldn't have taken Siren's life.

If Xiren loses—

Let's take it as a lesson.

Young people always need to stumble and fall a few times.

As for winning—

Lund found it hard to think that way.

No matter how gifted Xilun is, a young man who hasn't even officially entered the second tier yet, facing Grossa...

But then he remembered what Xilun had just said.

Ross died, along with a second-rank retainer.

Ang Lee and Desac, two key figures in the Silver Hand, have also failed to emerge from the shadows.

Dean and his son from the Shudalk family also disappeared in the Wonderland.

These people...

Lund's fingers tapped slowly on the table.

It's not impossible for Grossa to be defeated in a counterattack.

He shook his head, putting those thoughts aside for the time being.

The firewood in the fireplace was almost burned.

The firelight grew dimmer and dimmer.

Lund didn't get up to add firewood. He simply leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and listened to the sound of snow falling outside the window.

It's very quiet.

It was as quiet as the night he left home.

His mother stood at the door, clutching an old cotton-padded coat in her hand, intending to hand it to him but then putting it down.

Come back soon.

……

It was already dark when Xilun got out of the car.

The fine rain pattered against the metal awning outside the platform, making a soft rustling sound.

He pulled his hood up, hiding most of his face in the shadows, opened a black umbrella, and walked slowly out of the station.

As is customary, whenever he leaves the North District and returns, the branch office sends someone to wait for him here.

A black carriage, a silent coachman, and sometimes a pot of hot tea.

This is a rule set by the housekeeper.

Siren didn't think it was necessary, but the butler insisted that it was "decent."

However, there was nothing at the door today.

There was no carriage, no coachman, and even the young man the Brotherhood usually kept watch by the platform was nowhere to be seen.

Rainwater dripped down the umbrella ribs, splashing small water droplets on the stone pavement.

Xilun stood there and watched quietly for a while.

Those deep eyes slowly narrowed in the shadow of the hood.

He didn't think much of it.

Or rather, he thought about it a lot, but it didn't take long.

The housekeeper is a meticulous person, almost to the point of being obsessive.

Unless something happens that could bring the entire branch to a standstill, there is absolutely no way that something will go wrong in the matter of picking up people.

He raised his hand and glanced at the old watch face on his wrist.

Eight forty-seven.

The rain was getting heavier.

Xilun withdrew his gaze and turned to walk towards the street outside the platform.

The streetlights cast a dim, yellowish glow in the rain. There weren't many pedestrians, and a few horse-drawn carriages were parked along the roadside waiting for passengers. He walked to the nearest one and knocked on the carriage.

The driver opened the small window, and a face covered in stubble peeked out.

"Where to?"

Changqing Lake.

The driver's expression froze.

It felt like someone had stuffed a stone into my mouth; I couldn't swallow it or spit it out.

He stared at Xilun for two seconds, then looked away, his tone noticeably more cautious.

"Over there... sir, the Changqing Lake area, as you know, is now a gang-controlled zone."

"Know."

"At most, I can take you to the outer intersection."

The driver rubbed his hands together. "It used to be run by the Brotherhood inside, or rather, it seems like that's changed now—anyway, I can't afford to mess with those guys."

Xilun nodded slightly.

"Just deliver it to the door."

As he spoke, he took a shilling out of his pocket, held it between his index and middle fingers, and handed it over.

The coachman's eyes lit up immediately.

One shilling is enough for him to make three long-distance trips.

He quickly took it, took a bite to check its quality, and then carefully examined the young man.

The hood was pulled low, revealing only the lower half of his face—sharp features, tightly pursed lips, and a clean, sharp jawline, as if carved with a knife.

Unbelievably young.

But the heavy aura emanating from him made the coachman feel as if he were facing a quiet, lurking beast.

"hurry up."

Xilun's tone was not heavy, but it carried an undeniable air of authority.

The driver quickly put away the shilling, turned around, and shook the reins.

The carriage clattered along in the rain.

The interior of the carriage was cramped and dimly lit, with only the occasional glimpse of streetlight filtering through the gaps in the curtains. Xilun leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.

The driver secretly sized him up in the rearview mirror.

Brotherhood... Evergreen Lake... Just who is this young man?

The driver swallowed hard, his mind racing.

The Brotherhood is the fastest-rising force in the North recently, a fact that is almost common knowledge among the lower classes.

First, they swallowed up the Seven Seas Processing Plant, and later they took over the remaining forces of the Iron Fist Gang.

The dockworkers, the warehouse managers in the port, and even the night watchmen had all vaguely heard of this name.

The Brotherhood's governor is said to be a very young extraordinary individual.

So young it doesn't seem real.

The driver glanced at the rearview mirror again.

The young man still had his eyes closed, his breathing even and slow, as if he were asleep.

But his hands remained on his knees the entire time, his fingers slightly curled, as if he were about to grasp something at any moment.

The driver shuddered and obediently turned his head back, not daring to look any longer.

The carriage sped along in the rain.

Iron hooves pounded across the wet stone pavement, splashing mud and water.

The gaslights on both sides of the street receded one by one, the outlines of the buildings became sparser, and the lights became dimmer.

When the road surface changed from stone slabs to gravel and mud, the driver knew that they were approaching the outer edge of Changqing Lake.

twenty minutes.

The carriage stopped.

"We're here, sir," the driver said, pointing to the dark iron gate ahead. "I won't go any further in."

Xilun opened his eyes.

He opened the car door, held up his umbrella, and stepped onto the muddy ground.

The rain was heavier than before.

The dense raindrops pounded against the umbrella, making a dull thud.

The air was filled with a damp, rusty smell, mixed with earth and some deeper, more pungent odor.

Xilun's expression darkened.

He was all too familiar with that smell.

blood.

Not many, but very fresh.

He didn't look back at the driver, but walked straight toward the iron gate.

The sound of a carriage turning around abruptly came from behind; the driver had clearly been impatient to leave.

The iron gate was half open, with the chain hanging down to one side, as if it had been torn off by brute force.

There was a deep knife mark on the door frame, the fresh cut gleaming with a dull metallic sheen after being washed by the rain.

Xilun folded his umbrella and squeezed through the iron gate.

Inside was a narrow alleyway, with low brick walls and sheds piled with miscellaneous items on both sides.

There were scattered footprints on the ground—many people, hurrying, heading in the same direction.

Between the footprints, he saw a few drops of dark red that had been diluted by the rain but were still glaringly bright.

Xilun squatted down and touched it with his finger.

It's cooled down, but it hasn't completely solidified yet.

More than an hour.

No more than two hours.

He stood up, his gaze stretching forward along the alleyway.

Evergreen Lake is one of the Brotherhood's three permanent strongholds in the North District. It is usually guarded by a small squad under Kusso, with a Baptized Extraordinary as its core combat force.

In addition, there was a batch of supplies that had not yet been transferred—medicinal raw materials, ores, alloy blanks for forging, and a small amount of prohibited firearms that had leaked from the military.

If someone were to make a move against the Brotherhood, this might not be the most valuable target, but it would be the first place they could take down.

Because it is the furthest from the main stronghold and has the weakest defenses.

Xilun pondered as he slowly walked through the alleyway.

Rain dripped from the edge of his hood, pattering onto the shoulders of his black trench coat.

His footsteps were very light, almost silent, like a night cat patrolling in the shadows.

At the end of the alleyway was a wide open space.

No one is empty.

Several wall lamps hung crookedly on the wall, two of them already out, and the remaining one swayed precariously in the wind and rain, emitting a flickering light.

Overturned wooden crates and broken bottles were scattered on the ground. The warehouse door was wide open, and the inside was dark and mostly empty.

There was a larger pool of blood in the corner.

There are still a few spent cartridge cases.

Xilun bent down, picked up a piece, and smelled it. The smell of gunpowder was still strong.

He discarded the spent cartridge and glanced at a row of dormitory buildings in the distance.

That was a place for the stationed personnel to rest; it was a two-story brick building with closed windows and no lights.

But his ears twitched.

The "Far-Aware Listening" talent immediately detected an extremely subtle sound—coming from the ground floor of the first row of dormitories, near the door.

Breathing sounds.

It was very shallow and restrained, almost completely masked by the sound of rain.

But this deliberately suppressed breathing rhythm is precisely what reveals its presence.

A person.

The fluctuations of Qi and blood at the level of baptism.

It was hidden in a blind spot behind the door.

Xiren showed no extra change in expression.

He walked slowly toward the dormitory, pushed open the half-closed door, and went straight in.

The room was pitch black.

Rainwater seeped in through the cracks in the door, forming a thin stream on the ground.

There were still unwashed bowls and chopsticks and a half-cold pot of tea on the table. Xiren sat down at the table, picked up the pot, and took a sip.

grunt.

grunt.

The cool water slid down my throat.

The moment he put down the kettle, the air behind him seemed to tear apart.

A sharp, cold light burst forth from the shadows behind the door, the blade of a dagger aimed straight for the back of his neck.

The angle was tricky, the timing was precise, and it was clear that the predator had been lying in wait behind the door for a long time, waiting for the moment when its prey sat down and relaxed its guard.

An ordinary person could never defend against it.

Even among baptized individuals of the same level, at this distance and angle, there is only a 50% chance of them being able to make an effective response.

But this is Xilun.

He didn't even turn his head.

He stretched his right hand back, fingers spread, precisely positioned to block the path of the dagger as it was about to pierce the back of his neck.

The dagger pierced his palm.

It didn't pierce through.

The thin blade pressed against his skin, producing a slight metallic clang, like a knife striking an anvil.

Xilun's fingers slowly closed.

Hold the blade firmly.

Then he reached out with his left hand and grabbed the attacker's wrist.

Hard.

哢哒.

The crisp sound of bones cracking was particularly jarring in the quiet room.

"ah--"

The man screamed in pain, his whole body arched, and his knees buckled, almost causing him to kneel down.

But Xilun's hand gripped his wrist tightly, preventing him from breaking free or falling down, leaving him suspended in an awkward position.

Xilun turned his head.

He casually tossed the dagger onto the table, making a dull thud.

He looked at the person in front of him.

He was in his thirties, with an ordinary appearance and a medium to thin build. His clothes were the dark gray short-sleeved shirts typical of the Shattered Bone Gang, with an inconspicuous skull pin at the collar, a mark of the gang's outer members.

Levels of baptism.

His qi and blood were not weak, but in front of Xilun, he was no different from a piece of paper.

"What happened?"

Xilun opened his mouth.

The voice was soft and calm, as if asking whether it would rain today.

The man clenched his teeth, his facial muscles contorted in pain, and the veins on his forehead bulged out.

But he didn't say anything.

"Kill me if you want," he spat out through gritted teeth.

Xilun nodded, seemingly unsurprised by the answer.

He released the man's wrist, and the man staggered back a step. His right hand was completely useless, and his wrist was hanging down at an odd angle.

Before he could catch his breath, Xilen had already grabbed his left hand again.

To be precise, it was his left thumb.

Then Xilun casually picked up a bamboo skewer from the table, probably left behind by one of the garrison members while eating barbecue.

He aimed the tip of the bamboo skewer at the edge of the man's thumbnail.

"you--"

The man's pupils contracted sharply, and his face turned deathly pale in an instant.

The man's body began to tremble violently.

His face went from deathly pale to ashen, and from ashen to contorted.

His teeth were grinding together, and a suppressed groan, like that of a wounded wild animal, came from his throat.

Xilun's expression remained unchanged.

The man's eyes instantly turned bloodshot, as if they had been pierced by a red-hot iron.

He was trembling all over—not just shaking, but shuddering, an uncontrollable spasm emanating from the depths of his bones.

"Kill me!"