Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Just those three words.

They did not express whether they would participate, nor did they show any excitement or eagerness, and they didn't even ask a single question.

Austin raised an eyebrow slightly.

He had expected that no matter how much the young man tried to restrain himself, he would still react when he heard the words "third-tier potion".

But Siren felt like he was listening to someone tell an irrelevant story.

"Okay," Austin smiled. "You're welcome anytime."

Xilun stood up and nodded slightly.

"If there's nothing else, I'll head back now."

"Go."

Xilun turned and walked towards the door.

Austin chuckled softly behind him, as if talking to himself.

"That's quite impressive...she even has no expression on her face."

Xilun did not turn back.

He pushed open the door and walked out of the study.

The footsteps echoed evenly and steadily in the corridor.

but--

After walking about ten steps from the study, he slowed his pace slightly.

Beneath his calm expression, his brow furrowed slightly for a fleeting moment.

Tier 3 magic potion, efficacious potion.

There are only three portions every three years—and all the second-tier extraordinary individuals in the entire Tusol family are vying for them.

Autumn Hunt!

If I can participate... If I can win...

Xilun took a deep breath, suppressing his turbulent thoughts.

Not urgent!

Austin's words today were no casual conversation; from the background on family history to the importance of cultivating extraordinary individuals, and then to the autumn hunt and the facilitator potion—the entire dialogue was meticulously designed.

There is only one purpose.

Let him know that the Tusol family has what he wants.

This is a radish, a radish hanging in front of the donkey.

But Xilun is not a donkey.

A family autumn hunt, with the reward of a third-tier magic potion—would it really be so easy for him, an outsider, to get his hands on it?

I'm afraid not, there will definitely be conditions, many conditions.

Perhaps it's to get him to take sides, or perhaps it's to get him to sign some kind of long-term contract.

Perhaps it requires him to give up some freedom—for example, to serve the Tusol family for the rest of his life.

Xilun had considered these possibilities.

But he doesn't need to make a decision yet.

A year or so is enough time for him to do a lot.

……

The next day.

Xilun arrived at the east wing to conduct the final checks.

Elder Campbell's mental state has recovered to a fairly stable level.

He sat on the bed, looking energetic, and even poured himself a glass of water to drink.

"You're here." Campbell waved to Siren when he saw him. "Sit down."

Xilun sat down by the bed and opened the reverberatory cavity to perform a full scan.

Clean.

The last trace of residual pollution at the edge of the spiritual core also dissipated on its own within the past two days—Camber's own recovery ability was ultimately at the level of a third-tier powerhouse.

"The contamination has been completely eliminated." Xilun withdrew his senses. "Maintenance can proceed according to the previously agreed medication plan."

"Okay." Campbell nodded.

The two chatted for a few minutes.

Campbell asked him what level of cultivation he had reached, and Siron gave a simple answer that did not involve core secrets.

Campbell then asked him if he was adapting well to life in the North District and if he was missing anything—his words carried a hint of an elder's concern for a younger person.

Xilun responded to each question with neither arrogance nor servility.

Just as he was about to get up and say goodbye, he seemed to suddenly remember something and casually said:

"Oh, by the way, the clan chief mentioned to me yesterday that the clan is having an autumn hunt."

Campbell paused slightly in the hand holding the water glass.

Then he laughed.

"Autumn hunting..." He put down his water glass. "It's an old family tradition that's been passed down for generations."

"What exactly is it like?" Xilun asked casually, as if he were talking about the weather.

"It's simple in a way," Campbell said, leaning back on his pillow. "The family owns a large woodland in the northern suburbs—occupying two hilltops. The autumn hunt involves putting the participating second-tier extraordinary individuals into the woodland, giving them three days to see who can complete the assigned task."

"Task?"

"It's different each time. Sometimes it's hunting specific exotic creatures, sometimes it's finding a marker deep in the forest..."

In short, they all test one's strength, intelligence, and survival skills.

Xilun nodded, as if digesting this information.

Then he casually remarked, "Speaking of which... I'm quite interested in these activities. I wonder if someone like me, an outsider, could participate?"

"After all, I'm only in my early twenties."

Campbell glanced at him.

That look contained scrutiny and weighing of options—but more than anything, it was the satisfaction of a third-tier powerhouse towards a capable junior.

"That's alright," Kamber laughed. "You saved my life, so I can still give you some face. Just tell the chief, and I'll put in a good word for you."

"Thank you." Xilun nodded slightly.

He stood up, politely said goodbye, and then left the quiet room.

As he walked back to his room, Xilun's expression remained calm and composed.

But his mind was racing.

Campbell agreed to put in a good word—meaning that participating in the fall hunt shouldn't be a problem in itself.

But participating doesn't guarantee a win.

Winning doesn't guarantee you'll get the potion.

Obtaining the potion doesn't come without a price.

Xilun was well aware of the intricacies involved.

and--

He suddenly remembered something.

Austin called him over this morning.

The structure of that dialogue.

Let's start by talking about family history—as a prelude.

Let's talk about the war situation again—the sense of urgency.

The text then mentions the importance of extraordinary individuals to the family—an implication.

Finally, the autumn hunt and the facilitator—the hook—were mentioned "casually."

The entire dialogue flow is designed to be natural and smooth, like a gentle slope that leads people to the destination without them even realizing it.

If Siren hadn't been alert enough, he might have genuinely thought it was just a casual conversation.

But it is not; every word it utters has a purpose.

The ultimate goal was singular—to let Xiren know that he needed the Tusol family.

Know what you want most, and hold it in the other person's hands.

"Very purposeful," Xiren thought to himself.

Then another question came to his mind.

Will we really let him get the Tier 3 potion so easily?

The answer is no, Austin is a businessman.

A businessman doesn't do business at a loss.

The value of a single dose of sedative is astronomical, both in terms of money and strategic significance.

Why would you just give something like this away to someone who doesn't even know you?

Unless Xilun can offer an equivalent return.

As for what that reward would be—Auston would probably only reveal that when he actually participated in the autumn hunt.

There will definitely be many conditions.

There are many conditions that he might not be willing to agree to.

Xilun took a deep breath and temporarily suppressed these thoughts.

A year or so is enough time for him to continue to grow stronger.

It was enough for him to see the whole picture of the game, and enough for him to find his own path.

He pushed open the door to the guest room, walked to the table, and sat down.

The books I brought back from the archives yesterday were spread out on the table.

He opened "A Study of the Pure Mind Lineage of the Ancient Order" and continued reading from where he had left off last time.

Outside the window, the evening light is slowly fading.

The soft sound of pages turning filled the quiet room.

Siren's gaze fell on a certain page:

"...The core of the ancient order's lineage of purification is not the technique itself, but the 'purity' of the practitioner's spiritual world."

The higher the purity, the stronger the spell.

However, excessive purity is a double-edged sword—if one purifies the pollution of others for a long time, the practitioner's own spiritual world will inevitably suffer a backlash…

……

The carriage slowly drove into the street in the rain.

The wheels rolled over the puddles, splashing up murky mud.

Xilun sat in the carriage, his gaze passing through the rain curtain as he looked at the gradually familiar street scene outside the window.

He hadn't been back for over a month, and the changes in the area under the jurisdiction of the Brotherhood of Steel's North District branch were even more pronounced than he had anticipated.

The streets were sparsely populated, with only a few workers occasionally seen hurrying along in worn-out coats.

Most of the shops were closed, and the shop windows were empty, with even the most basic daily necessities not filling the shelves.

The effects of war have permeated every corner.

The carriage turned into the neighborhood of the manor, and Xilun saw two people standing at the door.

Rhodes and Cousseau.

Both of them were wearing thick coats and stood under the eaves, rain dripping from the tiles to their feet.

When the carriage came to a stop, Xilun pushed open the door and got out.

"Young Master." Rhodes stepped forward and took the iron spear from Siren's hand. "You're back."

"Hmm." Xilun nodded, his gaze sweeping over the two of them. "Has anything happened at the manor?"

"Everything is normal," Rod said in a low voice. "Miss Reina came to ask you yesterday when you would be back, saying that there were some things she needed to report to you in person."

Xilun entered the mansion, shook the rain off his coat, and took off his soaked boots.

The maid immediately brought hot water and a clean towel.

"Have Rena come over tonight," Xiren said, wiping his face. "Also, send all the backlogged documents to the study."

"Yes."

Xilun went upstairs to his bedroom and changed into some dry clothes.

He stood in front of the mirror, carefully examining himself.

More than a month of intense training left its mark on him—his facial features became more defined, his eyes more composed, and he exuded a restrained sense of pressure.

He raised his right hand, and the black aura mark under his sleeve remained quietly dormant.

It neither spread nor subsided.

It's like a time bomb that could wake up at any moment.

Xilun took a deep breath and rolled down his sleeves.

Now is not the time to think about this.

He turned and walked out of the bedroom, heading straight to the study.

The table was already covered with documents, and Rod was sorting and classifying them by date.

"What are all these?" Xiren sat down in the chair and casually flipped to the top of the list.

"Most of them are reports on the movements of various forces in the Northern District," Rhodes said as he sorted through the information. "There's also some intelligence about the war situation, and..."

He paused, then pulled out a few sheets of paper from the pile of documents.

"This is the latest investigation into those smuggling rings that Miss Rena asked me to pass on to you."

Xilun took it and quickly scanned the contents.

Three large smuggling gangs.

They are "Black Sail", "Anchor" and "Deep Water".

Each gang is backed by at least one Tier 2 Extraordinary, with a number of subordinates ranging from a dozen to more than thirty.

Their main business is smuggling weapons, medicines, and contraband from overseas, transiting through docks and warehouses in the northern district.

The Brotherhood's supply lines happened to overlap with their territory.

"Was the conflict intense?" Xiren put down the documents and looked up to ask.

"It's still in the probing phase," Rhodes said in a low voice. "Miss Rena instructed her men to avoid direct confrontation as much as possible, but last week a shipment was seized by the 'Black Sail' group, resulting in a significant loss."

Xilun tapped the table, lost in thought.

The emergence of smuggling gangs is not surprising.

When war breaks out, smuggling will run rampant—this is an ironclad rule.

The problem is that these gangs arrived too quickly and were too well-organized.

It was as if it had been prepared all along.

"When you bring Rena over, make sure she has detailed information on all three gangs," Siren said. "I need to know who's backing them up."

"clear."

Rod continued organizing the documents.

Xiren picked up another report and began to browse through it.

This is intelligence regarding the recent activities of the Tusol family.

After the outbreak of war, the family stockpiled large quantities of weapons and supplies, ostensibly to meet wartime needs, but in reality, it was more like preparing for a larger plan.

Moreover, according to Reina's informant, the Tusol family has recently been sending people to probe the area where the Whispering Choir is active.

Combining Austin's earlier mention of "missing persons incidents" and "lives lost," Siron sensed something unusual.

What is the Tusol family looking for?

Or rather—looking for a way to get somewhere.

Xiren put the report aside and continued flipping through the pages.

Just then, Rhodes suddenly spoke:

"Oh, right, young master, there's one more thing."

"explain."

"During the time you were away, someone came to the mansion looking for you."

Xiren looked up. "Who?"

"A middle-aged man who claimed to be a dockworker," Rod recalled. "He said he had information about Mr. Balk that he wanted to sell to you."

Xilun's fingers paused slightly.

Balk.

He hadn't heard that name in a long time.

"What did he say?"

"No." Rod shook his head. "He only left one sentence—saying that if you want to know what Balk did at the docks, you can find him at the 'Rusty Hook' tavern near Warehouse No. 7."

Xilun squinted.

At this point in time, someone suddenly offered news about Balk.

It's either a coincidence or a trap.

But no matter which one it is, he has to go and see.

"What does that person look like?"

"In his forties, tall and thin, with half of his left index finger missing," Rod described in detail. "He spoke with an East Coast accent, and his clothes smelled of coal dust and engine oil."

Xilun nodded, making these characteristics a memory.

"I see."

He stood up and walked to the window of the study.

The rain was still falling, and the gray sky seemed endless.

Xilun's gaze fell on the distant, indistinct direction of the dock.

Balk, the death of Finn.

That "accidental" shipwreck.

He remembered these accounts perfectly.

But now is not the time to take action.

He needed to first understand Balk's background—his strength, his connections, and his weaknesses.

Only in this way can a fatal blow be delivered.

Xilun took a deep breath and turned back to his desk.

"Rhodes, go and get things ready."

"What are you preparing?"

"Investigate Balk," Siren said calmly and firmly.

"I want to know everything about him from childhood to adulthood, his family background, his extraordinary abilities, his daily routine, and everyone he has ever met."

"The more detailed the better."

Rhodes paused for a moment, then nodded.

"I understand, young master. I will arrange for the most reliable person to handle it."

"Hmm." Xiren paused. "Also, have Kusso get ready to practice shooting with me starting tomorrow."

"yes."

Rod left the study.

Xilun sat back down in his chair, picked up the pen on the table, and wrote three names on a blank sheet of paper:

Oin, Hawke, Balk.

There are three accounts, and not one can be omitted.

He stared at the three names for a long time, then folded the paper and put it in the deepest part of the drawer.