Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Xilun went upstairs to the second floor and pushed open the bedroom door.

He didn't rush to lie down, but instead went to the window and opened it a crack.

Outside the window was the gray skyline of the North District, while a faint tinge of dawn was already appearing on the eastern horizon.

On the distant dock, the outlines of several chimneys could be vaguely seen, their black silhouettes standing silently in the approaching dawn.

Xilun raised his right hand, looking at the dormant black aura mark on his wrist.

It showed no unusual activity.

It showed no unusual activity even during the all-out battle tonight.

This reassured Xiren somewhat, but he knew that this thing would wake up again sooner or later.

He turned his gaze away and lit a stick of incense to purify his mind on the desk by the window.

Pale blue smoke rose in wisps, carrying a bitter yet serene scent of herbs and trees.

Xilun closed his eyes and activated the Moon Memory Meditation Technique. The Holy Sprout of Prayer in his spiritual world emitted a faint white light, filtering out the remaining turbidity of the battle from tonight, bit by bit.

He mentally reviewed tonight's battle.

The ambush at Nancang was a success; Grant was captured, and twenty elite smugglers were wiped out.

Old Bridge Street counter-ambush - successful. The field was shattered by Karl's equipment, the musketeers were wiped out by Heinz, two Tier 2s were instantly killed by themselves, and Victor was captured.

A total of five Tier 2 Extraordinary beings were defeated, and a large amount of weapons, ammunition, and field materials were seized. One member of the Brotherhood was killed.

The entire battle, from start to finish, lasted no more than half an hour.

The result was even better than he had expected.

But Celion did not relax because of this.

He opened his eyes and picked up a piece of paper and a pen from the table.

He wrote two letters.

The first letter was to Lund.

He gave a brief report on the battle that night, emphasizing that he had used Natan's master-level heavy gun technique in actual combat, and that the combination of the Great Thunder Breathing Method and the Profound Yin Breathing Method was becoming increasingly tacit.

He didn't mention any details of the danger—he knew Lund would be worried after seeing the letter, so he kept his wording as calm as possible.

At the end of the letter, he wrote: "The gathering point of the Red Star Spear has advanced to 45%. Please check it at our next meeting, teacher."

The second letter was to Reina.

The letter was much more detailed. He instructed Rena to immediately arrange for a thorough search of the old shipyard after daybreak, and to organize and archive all seized documents, ledgers, and communication records.

At the same time, he instructed Rena to contact the liaison of the armed insurgents and arrange a formal meeting three days later at the Brotherhood's mansion to divide the spoils after the war.

After finishing writing the letters, Xilun folded the two letters, placed them on the corner of the table, and then weighed them down with a paperweight.

He finally lay down on the bed.

My body is exhausted, but my brain is still working.

Victor's last words echoed in his mind.

"Biggren has someone backing him."

"It's not just us smugglers in the North District who want you dead."

Xilun stared at the ceiling and slowly squinted.

Who is behind Biglen?

How could the smuggling gang assemble five second-tier extraordinary individuals and a musketeer squad in such a short time? This scale of armed force would not be small for any faction in the Northern District.

It would be difficult for the three smuggling gangs to gather such a force in such a short time on their own.

Unless someone is pushing it from behind.

Xilun thought of several possible names.

Oin.

Secret Whisper Choir.

Even—Balk.

But he has no evidence now.

"Take it slow," Xilun murmured to himself, closing his eyes.

The smoke from the incense, meant to purify the mind, filled the room silently, gently calming all restless thoughts.

He fell into a deep sleep in the last hour before dawn.

……

In the early morning, sunlight streamed through the clouds into the bedroom.

Xiren woke up promptly at six o'clock.

He washed up, dressed, and went downstairs, where he saw Rod already waiting on the first floor.

A simple breakfast was laid out on the table—half a dark bread, a bowl of wheat porridge, and two slices of salted meat.

"Have you eaten?" Xilun sat down at the table.

"I've eaten." Rhodes had dark circles under his eyes, clearly having not slept all night, but he seemed to be in pretty good spirits.

"Speak."

Rod opened a thick notebook and began his report.

"The traces on Old Bridge Street have been basically cleared up. Three bodies have been removed; they were all musketeers, and the deaths were disguised as accidental deaths from a drunken brawl."

The bullet holes were covered with a layer of cement, but the cracks left by the collapse of the field were too deep, so they could only be filled with gravel. From a distance, it looked passable, but up close, the flaws were still visible.

"It doesn't matter." Xilun took a bite of his dark bread. "It's okay if they can tell."

Rhodes nodded and continued, "As for prisoners, there are a total of twenty-six people in the South Warehouse cellar, including thirteen members of the South Warehouse raiding team, including Grant, as well as eleven musketeers and two Tier 1 smugglers from the Old Bridge Street battlefield."

The three Tier 2 members—Victor, Chester, and Monica—were kept in separate isolation cells in the innermost compartments, their hands and feet chained.

"How is Victor's injury?"

"The chill in his chest has mostly dissipated. He can speak, but he can't stand up. He's very cooperative and hasn't caused any trouble."

"Where are Chester and Monica?"

"Chester's right arm is shattered; it might be permanently damaged if left untreated. Monica's frostbite is more severe, but her life isn't in danger." Rod paused.

"Neither of them is willing to cooperate, especially Monica, who is very stubborn."

Xilun took a sip of his porridge but didn't respond immediately.

"Has Kusso set off?"

"They left with their men half an hour ago to pick up someone from the old shipyard."

"Okay." Siren put down his bowl. "Where's Lena?"

"She's sorting out the list of seized supplies at Nancang, and she said she'll send it over before noon."

Xilen leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes for a few seconds, and then opened them.

"Wait for news from Kusso."

……

At 10 a.m., Kuso returned with his men.

His face wore a complex expression—a sense of relief mixed with barely suppressed anger.

"Eleven people, all alive." Kusso stood at the study door, his voice somewhat muffled.

"But their condition isn't good. They've been locked up for almost two weeks, eating spoiled food and drinking dirty water. Three people have high fevers, and another has a leg injury that's already starting to get infected."

Xiren sat behind his desk, his fingers tapping lightly on the surface.

"Did you bring the person back?"

"I brought them back and put them in an empty room in the east warehouse. I sent someone to fetch a doctor." Kusso hesitated for a moment.

"A lot of things were also found in the old shipyard—ledgers, letters, three boxes of rifles, and half a box of ammunition."

"Move everything back."

"They've been moved; they're all locked up in the warehouse in the east warehouse."

Xiren nodded, picked up a piece of paper from the table, wrote a few lines, and handed it to Kusso.

"Go to the pharmacy and buy the medicine according to this list for the rescued people. The expenses will be covered by the public account."

Kusso took the note, glanced at it, and hesitated to speak.

"What do you want to say?" Xilun asked.

"Those smugglers..." Kusso's fists clenched involuntarily. "Victor said no one was hurt, but when I saw the state of those brothers..."

He didn't finish his sentence, but the meaning was clear.

Xilun remained silent for a moment.

"Victor did not take lynching against them." His tone was flat.

"Locking them up for two weeks with spoiled food and dirty water is the usual way smugglers treat prisoners; it's nothing new at the docks."

Kusso gritted his teeth and said nothing more.

"Go," Siren said. "Take good care of them first."

Kusso turned and left.

The study fell silent again.

Xiren leaned back in his chair and opened the list of captured supplies that Rena had brought that morning.

His gaze swept across the lines one by one—

Seventeen rifles, six pistols, over three hundred rounds of ammunition, and several daggers and short knives.

One box of site material fragments, according to Carl's preliminary assessment, can be recycled by about 30%.

Forty-seven gold coins, a number of silver and copper coins, and six large boxes of various smuggled goods, including spirits, tobacco, and medicine.

In addition, there was a set of documents recovered from an old shipyard—

There were three account books, more than twenty letters, and a hand-drawn map marking the locations of several warehouses in the North District.

Xilun opened the top ledger and began to carefully examine each page.

The accounts were hastily recorded, but the contents were clear—this was the Iron Anchor Group's smuggling record for the past three months, including the sources of goods, the recipients, and the profit-sharing ratio.

Xilun's finger stopped on a name.

"K"

These two abbreviations appear repeatedly on the last few pages of the ledger, each time accompanied by a substantial "special expense".

K!

Xilun stared at the two letters for a long time.

He closed the ledger, placed it on the corner of the table, and picked up the stack of correspondence again.

Most of the letters contained routine communications between smuggling rings—trivial matters such as meeting times, delivery locations, and disputes over the division of spoils.

However, two of the letters caught Xilun's attention.

The first letter was unsigned, written on much better quality paper than the others, and the handwriting was neater. It contained only two short lines:

"The new governor of the North District is in the way. Get rid of him, and the expenses will remain the same."

The second letter was also unsigned, but the handwriting was from the same person as the first letter:

"The site manager has made arrangements: the middle section of Old Bridge Street. Don't let him live past this month."

Siren placed the two letters on the table, side by side.

His expression remained unchanged, but a faint chill was slowly gathering deep within his eyes.

"K!" he murmured the two letters.

This is not how smugglers communicate.

The paper's texture, the tone of the words, and even the condescending manner all point to a behind-the-scenes figure far above the smuggling ring.

Someone is using smuggling gangs to kill me.

Biglen, Victor, and others were merely used as pawns.

Xilun folded the two letters, put them in a hidden compartment in his desk, and locked it.

He stood up and walked to the window.

The northern area outside the window appeared hazy and gray under the midday sun.

On the distant dock, the long arms of cranes slowly rotated, and the figures of porters moved back and forth between cargo ships and warehouses like ants.

Business as usual.

But Xilun knew that from today onwards, the landscape of the North District had quietly changed.

Three major smuggling rings—Black Sail was destroyed, Iron Anchor crumbled, and the remnants of Deepwater disappeared without a trace. Of the five Tier 2 Extraordinary individuals, one was killed and the other four captured. A musketeer squad was completely eradicated. A Field Master fled with a tattered toolbox.

And the person who accomplished all of this—

He is a second-tier extraordinary being in his early twenties.

Xilun withdrew his gaze and sat back down at his desk.

He picked up a pen and wrote several names on a piece of white paper.

Oin.

Balk.

K.

Then he drew a horizontal line under the "K" and wrote a question mark next to it.

……

The news spread throughout the entire North District within three days.

No one knows where the news first came from. Perhaps it was the escaped field master, Old Bet, who said a few words while drowning his sorrows in a tavern, or perhaps it was a released first-tier smuggler describing the events of that night to his fellow workers at the docks.

Or perhaps, the bullet holes and cracks on the walls of Old Bridge Street that were never fully repaired are the best evidence of their own.

In short, by the evening of the third day, the entire North District knew one thing—

On a rainy night, the Golden Knight Siren simultaneously thwarted a joint ambush by three major smuggling gangs in the North District.

Of the five second-tier extraordinary individuals, one died and the other four were captured.

The fourteen-man musketeer squad was completely wiped out.

A level 2 containment area was destroyed in less than a minute after it was activated.

The Golden Knight himself was completely unharmed.

Dockworkers whispered amongst themselves between loading and unloading cargo, drunks in taverns banged on tables and embellished the stories, and even shoe repairmen and pot menders on the streets were talking about the name.

"Have you heard? The Golden Knight single-handedly broke through the field, taking down two Tier 2 opponents in just four seconds!"

"Four seconds? I heard it was two seconds!"

"Nonsense, the entire field shattered and he's still standing there like nothing happened? Is that something a human could do?"

"Where's Victor? Victor of the Anchor is no pushover. Back in South Harbor—"

"Victor? Pshaw, he was pinned to the ground before he could even land a single blow. I heard his chest even cracked from the cold."

Rumors inevitably get exaggerated and distorted as they spread, but the core facts remain unchanged.

The three major smuggling gangs in the northern district were eradicated overnight.

The young man who accomplished all of this lived in the fraternity mansion on Wellington Street.

……

Secret Whisper Choir, North District Dark Hall.

The person in charge, Halvis, sat in the dark basement, a handwritten intelligence summary spread out on the table in front of him.

He stared at it for a long time.

Then push the paper to the other side.

Isabella took it and glanced at it, her slender fingers pausing on the line "Five Tier 2 individuals, one dead and four captured".

"It's even more outrageous than the last time in Klein Alley." Her voice carried a hint of coldness. "Last time it was one against three, this time it's one against five. Despite the cooperation of the armed insurgents, he took care of all the core second-tier combatants by himself."

Marcus sat in the corner, his thick arms crossed over his chest.

He was the choir's main combatant in the North District, a genuine second-tier peak extraordinary individual.

He was silent for a moment before speaking, "I said last time that I was no match for him in a one-on-one fight. Now I take back what I said."

Halvis looked up at him.

"It's not that I can't beat them one-on-one," Marcus said in a low voice, "it's that even if three of me came at me together, I might not come out on top."

Isabella frowned slightly.

Are you afraid of him?

"It's not fear," Marcus said, without a trace of anger.

"It's about respecting the facts. That young man's growth rate has already exceeded the range of a normal second-tier extraordinary individual. Half a year ago, he was just a newcomer who had just stepped into the second tier, and half a year later, he can already crush strong individuals of the same tier in head-on combat. If he were given another half a year—"

He didn't continue.

But everyone understood what he meant.

Give him another six months, and this young man will be more than just a problem in the North District.

Halvis tapped his fingers on the table and said slowly:

"The warnings from headquarters and the Ironblood Society have not been lifted; Tier 3 is not allowed to make a move. This means we have no means to directly contain him in the short term."

"Then let's keep waiting," Isabella said. "He can't be without flaws."

"When?" Marcus frowned. "When he advances to the third tier?"

There was a moment of silence in the room.

Halvis finally waved his hand: "Continue to shrink back. Don't provoke him, don't give him any excuses. At the same time, strengthen intelligence gathering. I need to know what he does every day, who he meets, and what kind of skills he practices."

He drew a circle on the table with his finger.

"This young man's biggest weakness is not his ability, but that he does not have enough foundation. He has too few people and limited resources. His foundation in the North District is still very shallow. As long as we do not make mistakes, time will be our friend."

Marcus and Isabella exchanged a glance but said nothing more.