Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

The bearded man sighed.

He muttered under his breath, "That Xilun is unlucky too..."

The short-haired woman glanced at him.

"Say less."

She put away the documents in front of her and stood up.

"If the new CEO wants to establish his authority, let him. We just need to do our own jobs well."

She walked to the door and paused.

I glanced back at the blue marker for the North District on the map.

Then turned and left.

The door closed.

Silence returned to the meeting room.

Only the swaying oil lamp on the table cast flickering shadows on the stone wall.

On the map, the blank area between Moon Lake and the North District—

Under the lights, it appeared exceptionally spacious.

It was unusually quiet.

It's like the sky before a storm.

North District.

Brotherhood residence.

The twelfth day of Xilun's retreat.

The smoke from the purifying incense in the bedroom had thinned considerably—only half of the last stick remained, burning quietly on its bronze base.

Xilun sat cross-legged on the bed.

With eyes closed.

His breathing was extremely slow; if it weren't for the slight rise and fall of his chest, he would have looked almost like a stone statue.

Within the body, two distinct forces are flowing smoothly through the meridians.

The internal shock force of the Great Thunder Sound traveled up the spine, splitting into two paths at the cervical vertebrae. One path flowed into the arms, while the other disappeared into the depths of the cranial cavity.

The cold breath of the Xuan Yin breathing method originates from the dantian, permeates along the blood vessels to the extremities, and condenses into a very thin layer of white frost at the fingertips and toes.

The two forces go their separate ways and do not interfere with each other.

But in the location of the heart—

They briefly met for a moment.

Hot and cold.

Strength and gentleness.

Earthquake and condensation.

That instantaneous collision was like a hammer striking an anvil.

It emitted a deep, muffled hum that only Xilun himself could perceive.

hum-

His heart skipped a beat.

It's heavier than usual.

More powerful than usual.

Xilun slowly opened his eyes.

The frost on my fingertips melted quickly in the air, turning into a wisp of almost invisible white vapor.

He looked down at his hands.

Turn your palm over.

Turn your hand over.

A faint metallic sheen shimmered on his skin—the mark left by the continuous training with the Bone Forging Iron Armor.

He clenched his fist.

When the fist is clenched, the knuckles make a crisp cracking sound.

Its strength—is even greater than it was twelve days ago.

But not enough.

Balk is a senior second-order.

That kind of person—

They must have their own trump card.

It might be some extraordinary item.

It might be some kind of special combat method.

It could also be a signal that reinforcements can be summoned at any time.

Xilun didn't know.

So he needs more time.

dong dong.

A soft knock came from outside the door.

"Boss, it's me."

Rod's voice.

"Come in."

Rod pushed open the door and entered, carrying a tray as usual.

On the tray sat a pot of tea, two pieces of dry bread, a bowl of beef soup, and—a stack of documents.

Evening report.

Xilun took the teapot, poured himself a cup first, and then opened the documents.

The first report – Lena's surveillance report.

Balk's whereabouts have remained relatively stable over the past twelve days.

I would go to the liaison point in the morning, return to my residence at noon, occasionally go to the East Wharf in the afternoon, and drink at the Golden Leaf Tavern in the evening.

It's as regular as a clock.

But it is precisely this very pattern that makes Xilun wary.

A clandestine choir operating in the shadows for years, with such a fixed and transparent daily routine—

Either he is extremely confident in his own safety.

Either he deliberately made people feel like they were completely unsuspecting.

Neither possibility is easy to deal with.

Xilun flipped to the second copy.

A letter from the armed insurgent party.

The content is very brief.

The tone of voice had subtly changed compared to before.

The letter from Heinz when he was in office was worded equally and directly, showing the respect between partners.

But this letter—

Although the wording remained polite, there was a hint of condescension in the text.

"...Given that the end of the year is approaching, the organization will conduct a routine assessment of all its subordinate forces. As a partner in the Northern Region, your organization is also within the scope of this assessment. A formal notification will be sent at that time, and Governor Xilun is requested to make the necessary preparations..."

Subordinate forces.

Routine assessment.

Get ready.

After reading the letter, Xilun placed it on the table.

He picked up his teacup and took a sip.

His expression remained unchanged.

"Rhodes".

"exist."

"Is Heinz still alive?"

Rhodes shook his head.

"According to previous intelligence, Heinz has stepped down as general manager and retired to a secondary position. The new general manager of the Armed Insurgent Party is a man named Albert Casares, who took office just three days ago."

Three days ago.

Xilun repeated it.

"He sent this letter just three days after taking office."

He put the letter down.

"Very efficient."

It's impossible to tell whether this statement is praise or criticism.

Rhodes waited quietly to the side.

He had followed Xilun long enough to know that the young man didn't like being interrupted when he was thinking.

After a long pause, Xilun said:

"What's the background of this Albert?"

Rhodes flipped through the booklet.

"There isn't much information available at the moment. In his last private letter before stepping down, Heinz briefly mentioned this person—saying that he came from a family of dockworkers in the South Harbor, joined the Riot Party when he was young, worked as a liaison officer at the grassroots level, and was later promoted by the organization's higher-ups for his outstanding performance in an important operation."

"Where is the strength?"

"Unknown. But to be able to sit in the position of Chief Executive... one must be at least at the second rank."

"Possibly an extraordinary individual at the second-tier extreme level."

Xilun hummed in agreement.

He picked up the letter again and read it once more.

"The plan to support subordinate forces... tests for each force..."

He folded the letter and put it in the drawer.

"A new broom sweeps clean."

His voice was flat.

"It seems—this new CEO wants to use me to establish his authority."

Rod's eyelids twitched slightly.

"Boss, you mean...?"

"It doesn't mean anything."

Xilun picked up the beef soup and took a sip.

"The end of the year is still a long way off, let's focus on doing the things in front of us well first."

He put down the bowl.

"Balk, keep an eye on him. Wait until I've confirmed all his cards—"

His gaze fell on the mark on the map for Old Mill Street.

"Take another shot."

Rhodes nodded.

He packed up the tray and prepared to leave.

He suddenly stopped when he reached the door.

"Boss."

"Um?"

"Should we reply to that letter?"

Xilun thought for a moment.

"Return."

He said.

"Be polite and respectful, so that the other party feels that I value this evaluation."

Rhodes responded.

He pushed open the door and left.

Silence returned to the room.

Xiren sat alone at the table.

Outside the window is the night view of the northern district—chimneys, smog, and the constant roar of machines from factories in the distance.

He picked up the notebook Susie had left behind.

I turned to page thirteen.

The second level of the soothing technique is "immersion".

A state of mental relaxation that goes even deeper than "tranquility".

During "immersion," the practitioner's consciousness will descend to the deepest level of the spiritual world.

That was an area that was almost unconscious.

There—

All senses will be blocked.

I can't hear it.

It's invisible.

I can't feel it.

Only the spiritual core itself remains.

And—those most fundamental things surrounding the core of the spirit.

memory.

will.

instinct.

The notes say—

The mental recovery speed in the "submerged" state is three times that in the "tranquil" state.

In other words, it is more than ten times that of ordinary meditation.

Moreover, breathing exercises will also happen naturally, following the body's muscle memory.

This kind of cultivation efficiency is much faster than natural cultivation.

But the price is—

During the "immersion" period, the practitioner's perception of the outside world is almost zero.

If someone launches an attack at this time—

He will be powerless to react.

and so--

It can only be used in an absolutely safe environment.

Xilun finished reading this page.

Close the notebook.

He did not attempt to "submerge".

It's not because he doesn't want to.

But -

In the North District.

If Balk were still alive.

Before the spies of the Whisper Choir have been completely eliminated.

There is no such thing as "absolute safety".

He put the notebook back into his bag.

Then he stood up.

I walked to the window.

Open the window.

The night wind carried the smell of sulfur and coal ash.

Xilun stood by the window.

Looking at the night sky.

His gaze swept over the gray rooftops and chimneys.

The autumn hunt more than a year later.

The armed insurgent party will face a test at the end of the year.

as well as--

Balk.

three things.

The distance varies.

Different degrees of severity.

But essentially—

They all point to the same thing.

strength.

Only with greater strength can we solve all problems.

Xilun closed the window.

Go back to bed and close your eyes.

Perform a soothing technique.

Enter a state of "tranquility".

In the soft light of the spiritual world—

The sacred buds shone quietly in prayer.

The dark red dot of the Red Star flickered silently in the distance.

The black mark on his right wrist—

It remains dormant.

Like a sleeping wild beast.

I don't know when I'll wake up.

Xilun ignored it.

He let the white light slowly envelop the core of his spirit.

Then--

Empty your mind of everything.

The room was extremely quiet.

Only the last half of the incense stick, meant to purify the mind, slowly burned out on the bronze base.

A wisp of pale blue smoke rose gently into the air.

Dissipated into the darkness.

……

Secret stronghold of the armed insurgent party.

late at night.

Albert sat alone in his office.

The office is small.

An iron table.

A wooden chair.

Several boxes of unopened documents were piled up in the corner.

There was only an oil lamp and an open file on the table.

The cover of the file reads—

"Northern Brotherhood - Siren Tusol (outside the family name)."

Albert has read the file three times.

Every time I watch it—

His facial expression would then undergo a subtle change.

His expression was one of disdain when he finished reading it the first time.

A young man born out of wedlock, relying on his brute strength and a bit of luck, made a name for himself in the North District.

That's it.

Upon reading it a second time, my disdain turned into caution.

He single-handedly defeated five second-tier extraordinary beings.

Three major smuggling rings were wiped out overnight.

It received high praise from Heinz.

These achievements—any one of them alone—are not something a person could accomplish by "relying on luck."

The third time—

Albert closed the file.

He leaned back in his chair.

The gray-green eyes appeared particularly deep in the dim light.

"interesting."

He was talking to himself.

Then he took a letter out of the drawer.

It was a reply from Xilun.

He opened the envelope and unfolded the letter.

The letter was very brief.

The tone was respectful.

Modest words.

It even carried a hint of—just the right amount of compliance.

"...Siren is deeply honored to receive the organization's attention. He will dedicate himself fully to the year-end evaluation and will not slacken his efforts. He earnestly requests Your Excellency's guidance during that time..."

After reading the letter, Albert folded it and put it back in the envelope.

The corners of his mouth—

It twitched slightly.

It's not a laugh.

It's more like a confirmation.

I'm sure my judgment was correct.

This Xilun—

Very smart.

So smart that they know when to back down.

But precisely because of this—

He absolutely cannot stay.

A person who is both capable and knows how to assess situations.

A person who had a close relationship with the former CEO.

A person who possesses an independent armed force and intelligence network in the northern district.

If this person isn't one of your own—

Then he is a potential threat.

Albert stood up.

I walked to the door.

Open the door.

In the hallway outside the door, the bearded man was dozing against the wall.

"Cole."

The bearded man suddenly woke up.

"General Manager".

Albert handed him the envelope.

"The plan for the year-end test needs to be adjusted again."

Cole took the envelope and asked cautiously, "Adjust what?"

Albert turned and walked back to his office.

He paused when he reached the door.

There was no turning back.

"Raise the difficulty level by one notch."

He said.

"I want to see just how much pressure this Golden Knight can withstand."

The door closed.

Cole stood in the hallway, clutching the envelope.

He sighed.

Then he turned and walked toward the document room.

At the end of the corridor, an old flag hangs on the stone wall.

The flag was embroidered with the symbol of the armed insurgent party—an upside-down hammer.

Hammer head down.

Like a guillotine that could fall at any moment.

In the flickering light of the oil lamp—

The shadow of the guillotine blade flickered on the stone wall.

It was as if they were waiting for something.

……

Time seemed to pass very slowly in the North District.

Also very quickly.

Slowly, every morning, coal ash, like an old ailment, would accumulate on the windowsill; wiping off one layer would only result in another falling at night.

The iron stakes in the training shed were slowly pierced by the tips of guns, the wooden floor was worn dark by the soles of boots, and the cold air condensed into white frost in the corners of the walls, which was then slowly melted away by the afternoon dampness.

The reports that Rhodes was sending daily were getting thicker and thicker.

Quickly, those trivial matters that once required Siron's personal judgment were gradually handled properly by the lower-ranking members of the Brotherhood, eventually becoming just a few thin lines of text, quietly placed on his desk.

Winter in the North District is over.

Spring has passed.

By the time the humid, hot winds of late summer blew into the old streets from the ocean pier, West London had been closed for a full six months.

In the past six months, the outside world has never stopped moving.

The Tusol family began to expand their territory to the northwest.

The war provided the nobles with the perfect excuse.

Some of the minor lords on the border were worn down by war, some were strangled by debt, and some simply signed an agreement, exchanging their ancestral manors, mines, villages, and farmlands for a few chests of gold coins and a safe retreat to the interior.

Austin's name was gaining increasing prominence in aristocratic circles.

Those who had previously dared to underestimate the Thor family began to re-examine this silent and enormous beast.

Lund's letters became more and more frequent.

His left arm injury has not fully recovered, but he seems to be in much better spirits than before.