Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

"...As expected of the Golden Knight," Victor said in a low voice, a trace of blood oozing from the corner of his mouth.

His gaze passed over Siron's shoulder and fell upon the figures that had disappeared into the rain at the end of Old Bridge Street—John, Old Bate, and his brothers who had been with him for many years.

They should have run far away by now.

Victor closed his eyes.

……

The entire Old Bridge Street fell silent.

The sounds of rain, wind, and the faint echoes of gunfire in the distance—the final notes of Heinz's men's mopping-up operation against the musketeers on the rooftop.

Daphne sheathed her sword, walked to Xiren's side, glanced at Victor kneeling on the ground, then at Monica whose arm was frozen and Chester slumped against the wall not far away.

"You didn't kill him," she said.

"His men laid down their weapons and left." Xiren held the golden spear upright beside him, its butt resting on the ground. "He didn't run away himself."

Daphne did not ask any further questions.

She turned and walked towards the rooftop, the gray vortex remaining on her longsword leaving a faint trail behind her.

Heinz emerged from the shadows of the side alley, a few drops of blood splattered on his body. His breathing was steady; clearly, the fight on the rooftop was no challenge for him.

"Take care of all the musketeers." He walked up to Siren, his gaze lingering on Victor for a moment.

"Fourteen men, three died, and the rest surrendered."

Xilun nodded.

"Where is Carl?"

"While tidying up the site materials, he said that some of the things Old Bate left behind are still usable."

Xilun didn't say anything more.

He walked up to Victor and squatted down.

The frost on Victor's chest had stopped forming—Sirlen had held back his strength in that palm strike; the cold only temporarily blocked his blood circulation and did not truly invade his heart meridian.

"Victor," Siren called his name.

Victor opened his eyes, his cloudy gaze meeting Siren's calm, black pupils.

"Your men ran south," Siren said. "I didn't send anyone to chase them."

Victor's Adam's apple bobbed.

Why?

"Because when you let them go, you left the knife in your own hand."

Siren looked directly at him. "A person who lets his brothers go first and stays behind to take the blows is not a purely evil person."

Victor remained silent for a long time.

Rain dripped from his chin and splattered on his knees.

"What do you want to ask?" he finally asked.

"Who initiated this three-way collaboration?"

"Biggren," Victor paused, "but Biggren has someone backing him. It's not just us smugglers in the North who want you dead."

Xilun's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Where are your men who seized the Brotherhood's goods?"

Victor coughed, and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.

"In the old shipyard, on the basement level, there were eleven people locked in the innermost iron cage."

He looked up at Xilun and added in a hoarse voice, "They weren't hurt, they're all alive. Smugglers who kill cargo owners are cutting off their own path."

Xilun stood up.

He took one last look at Victor, then turned and walked toward Heinz.

"Tie him up, don't let him die."

Heinz raised an eyebrow, but didn't ask for the reason. He simply waved behind him.

Two insurgents stepped forward and pinned Victor, who was kneeling on the ground, up by twisting his arms behind his back.

Victor did not resist; he didn't even make a sound.

He only glanced one last time at the direction south of Old Bridge Street as he was being led around.

That was the direction John and the others had gone.

……

Siren stood in the middle of Old Bridge Street as the rain gradually subsided.

He carried the golden spear on his back and looked around.

The old buildings on both sides of the street stood silent in the night, their walls riddled with bullet holes and ice cracks.

The pale blue light spots that remained after the field collapsed were still slowly drifting in the air, like a swarm of fireflies that had lost their way.

Several corpses lay on the ground—the musketeers who had fought to the last, and had been dealt with by Heinz's men.

Further away, Chester had completely lost consciousness and was dragged to the roadside by the insurgents.

Monica huddled in the corner, her frostbitten right arm hanging limply at her side. She looked around with a terrified and bewildered gaze, but she no longer had the strength to resist.

The battle is over.

From the moment the field was activated until now, only twelve minutes have passed.

Karl walked over from the origin of the field collapse, carrying an iron toolbox.

The box contained field materials abandoned by Old Bet, and faint spiritual energy fluctuations still lingered between the metal parts.

"The core of the field is completely shattered," Karl said, placing the box on the ground and dusting off his hands.

"But there is still residual energy at the outer anchor points. If we go back and dismantle them, we can recover at least 30% of the materials."

He paused, then looked up at Xilun.

"The way you dealt with those two second-tier opponents just now," Karl pushed up his round-framed glasses, his tone unusually curious.

"Simultaneously operating two completely different energy systems?"

Xilun did not answer.

Carl didn't press further, but simply muttered to himself, "Interesting."

Daphne jumped off the roof, her boots leaving a shallow dent on the slippery stone slabs.

She walked up to Xiren and handed him a blood-stained dagger.

"Found on the rooftop, taken from the musketeer captain; the hilt of the knife has an anchor mark on it."

Xilun took the dagger, glanced at it, and then put it into a hidden pocket inside his trench coat.

"Have you finished counting the people?"

"There are eleven surviving prisoners in total," Daphne reported, "plus the three second-tier prisoners you left behind—"

"Keep Victor," Siren interrupted her. "Chester and Monica, lock them up."

Daphne nodded without asking any further questions.

Heinz walked back from the alley entrance, followed by eight fully armed insurgents.

The soldiers' clothes were splattered with blood and rain, but their formation was neat and their breathing was steady, indicating that the battle had not been too taxing for this well-trained team.

"The escape routes to the north and east are blocked," Heinz said in a low, steady voice as he walked up to Xiren.

"No one escaped from the area of ​​the field. That field master, Old Bet, ran away. My men chased him for three blocks but couldn't catch him. He knows this terrain better than we do."

"No need to chase after them," Xilun said.

Heinz frowned slightly: "He knows all the details of tonight's events."

"A field master without field materials can't cause any trouble."

Xilun's tone was calm. "Besides, it's not a bad thing to let him spread the word about tonight's events."

Heinz was silent for two seconds, then suddenly chuckled softly.

"You're thinking ahead."

Xilun didn't reply. He looked up at the sky and saw a small patch of dark blue night sky peeking through the gaps in the clouds, with a few dim stars faintly visible.

The rain is about to stop.

"Clean up the battlefield." Xilun withdrew his gaze. "All captured weapons, ammunition, and field materials must be registered, nothing can be missing. The prisoners will be temporarily held in the South Warehouse cellar until dawn for interrogation."

He paused, then looked at Heinz.

"What are your casualties?"

"Two minor injuries, one was grazed on the arm by a stray bullet, nothing serious."

Heinz's tone held a hint of approval. "Your plan was clean. Once the area was breached, the firepower was unleashed, giving them no time to react."

Xilun did not take credit.

He turned and walked south along Old Bridge Street, his trench coat fluttering in the night wind.

"I'm going to Nancang to check on the situation with Rod."

"Do we need someone to accompany us?"

"Need not."

Xilun's figure disappeared into the night after the rain.

Heinz stood there, watching the figure gradually disappear into the distance, and remained silent for a moment.

Daphne stepped forward, her longsword already cleaned and sheathed on her back.

"He's stronger than I thought," Daphne said, her tone devoid of any politeness.

"Victor's slash was fast; even I might not have been able to catch it so easily."

Heinz remained silent.

He simply stared in the direction where Xilun had disappeared, thoughtfully stroking the rough stubble on his chin.

This young man is even more dangerous than described in the letter.

No—it's not dangerous.

It is something that deserves serious attention.

……

The iron gate of Nancang was riddled with bullet holes.

When Xilun arrived at 3 a.m., the battle was already over.

A dozen or so rifles and short knives were scattered haphazardly on the open ground in front of the warehouse, and bloodstains mixed with rainwater formed dark red puddles on the ground.

Rhodes stood at the warehouse entrance, his black coarse cloth coat stained with blood and mud, but his back was straight. He quickly walked up to Xiren upon seeing him.

"Governor."

Siren nodded: "Casualties."

"We lost one person and had four lightly wounded." Rod's voice was steady, but his eyelids twitched when he mentioned "lost one person."

"Who?"

"Old Tom, the one at post number two, was the first to fire a warning shot when Grant's gang rushed in, and he was shot down by three guns at the same time."

Xilun was silent for a moment.

"Has the body been properly stored?"

"We've collected it and put it in the cold storage inside, covered with a clean cloth."

"Arrange for someone to deliver it to his home tomorrow. The compensation will be tripled, and the brothers will take care of his family matters from now on."

Rhodes nodded emphatically.

Xilun strode into the South Warehouse.

The inside of the warehouse was even more chaotic than the outside. Several rows of shelves had been knocked over, and shell casings and wood chips were scattered on the ground. The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and rust.

Near the back wall, a dozen or so prisoners of the smuggling gang were bound hand and foot and pressed to the ground.

Some of them were still groaning softly, while others were so frightened that they lost their senses and instinctively huddled together at the sound of footsteps.

Grant, the leader, was tied to an iron post. His chest wound was roughly bandaged, and blood was still seeping out. He looked like a dead fish that had been pulled ashore, his head drooping half-dead.

Xilun walked up to him and squatted down.

Grant felt that gaze and struggled to lift his eyelids.

He saw the young face in front of him clearly, and his pupils suddenly contracted.

"you……"

"You brought twenty men to attack my warehouse," Xiren said in a light tone, as if it were a trivial matter. "One of my men died."

Grant's lips trembled, unsure of what to say.

"I'll interrogate you when it's light." Xilun stood up, not looking at him again.

He went deep into the warehouse and inspected the damage to the walls and windows.

Several windows were shattered, and bullet holes were concentrated at the front and side doors—Grant's men chose the most direct approach, ramming the doors under cover of fire.

If Rod hadn't laid an ambush beforehand, this tactic could indeed have taken down the defensively weak Nancang in a short time.

But Grant didn't expect that he would be met not by a few panicked warehouse guards, but by crossfire from three directions.

After inspecting the scene, Xilun walked towards Rhodes.

"Where are the rioters?"

"As planned, they withdrew after the battle. They took their wounded and half of the captured weapons, very efficiently."

Rod paused for a moment, then said, "But before they left, their leader said something."

"What did you say?"

He said, "The Golden Knights do have rules."

Xilun didn't show any particular expression.

He walked out of the south warehouse and stood on the steps at the entrance.

The rain has completely stopped, and the air is filled with a damp and chilly atmosphere.

The streets in the distance were deserted, with only a few streetlights stubbornly burning, casting fragmented reflections in the puddles with their dim yellow light.

"Rhodes".

"exist."

"Notify Rena to clean up all traces on Old Bridge Street before dawn. Remove everything that can be disposed of, including corpses, shell casings, and bloodstains. The traces of the site collapse cannot be erased, but they can be disguised as a construction accident."

"clear."

"Also," Siren said, taking the dagger with the anchor mark from his trench coat pocket and handing it to Rhodes.

"This was taken from the musketeer. Lock it up somewhere; we might need it later."

Rod took the dagger and carefully put it in his pocket.

“There’s one more thing,” Siren’s voice deepened slightly, “Victor said they’ve imprisoned eleven Brotherhood members in the basement of the old shipyard.”

Rhodes' expression suddenly turned serious.

"He said everyone is alive and unharmed," Xiren said calmly. "But whether we can believe him or not, we'll have to see for ourselves after dawn."

"I'll go myself," Rod said.

"No, you stay here and oversee the cleanup of Nancang and Laoqiao Street. As for the old shipyard, let Kusso take some men."

Xiren thought for a moment and then added, "Bring guns and medicine. That old shipyard is the smuggling ring's hideout, and there might still be some remaining people inside. Don't be careless."

"clear."

Xilun stood on the steps for a while.

The wind blew from the river at dawn, carrying a slightly salty and damp smell.

He took a deep breath, slowly suppressing the remaining adrenaline from his bloodstream after the night battle.

His body was not injured, but his mental energy was greatly depleted.

The two instances of Tiger and Leopard Thunder Sound, the two instances of Profound Yin Condensation Meridian, and the continuous use of the Echoing Cavity caused a dull ache in his temples.

"Let's go back," Siren said. "It'll be busy after dawn."

……

At five o'clock in the morning, Xilun returned to his residence.

Kuso was waiting at the door. After seeing him, he carefully examined him and only breathed a sigh of relief after confirming that he had no wounds.

"The spear." Xilun took the golden spear off his back and handed it to him.

Kusso took it with both hands and weighed it in his hand.

There was no blood on the gun, not even a scratch—the golden gun was made of a material far more durable than ordinary weapons, and the entire night's battle had left no mark on it.

"Take six men to the old shipyard after dawn. There are eleven Brotherhood members being held captive on the basement level," Siren said as he went upstairs. "Bring potions, bring weapons, and be careful."

"Yes."