Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Kuso stepped forward, his fist clenched.

Xilun raised his hand to stop him.

Cole looked at him, his voice trailing off: "I know this sounds disgusting, but that's how it is in the South. Some people weren't killed by us; they were dying before they even arrived. We just... we just took things they weren't going to keep anyway."

The temperature inside seemed even lower.

Xilun looked at the potion apprentice.

There was guilt, fear, and a stubbornness that bordered on self-deception in the other person's eyes.

Not all evil people feel that they are doing evil.

They will find excuses for themselves.

If you keep looking for reasons, they'll become ingrained, like a second layer of skin.

He even believes what he's saying!

"Where is your experimental facility located?"

Cole shut his mouth.

Kusso sneered, "Weren't you quite the talker just now?"

Cole shook his head, his forehead sweating even more.

"I don't know the complete route. I would drink a kind of medicine before each trip, and wake up inside. I would drink it again before leaving. I can remember very little."

Xilun opens the low-power reverberation chamber.

Cole's heart was racing, there was a murmur in his lungs, and something tiny and viscous seemed to be floating in his blood.

It's not just fear.

He was planted with something.

"Did the Black Death Cult place a restriction on you?"

Colley's pupils constricted slightly.

Xilun has the answer.

He didn't press further and turned to go to the second cubicle.

Morton is in much better form than Cole.

He was tall with a thick neck, his hands were chained behind his back to the chair, and his shoulders were still tense, as if he might break free and pounce at any moment.

He grinned when he saw Xilun.

The gaps between his teeth were all blackish-red.

"The Golden Knight?"

Siren looked at him: "You don't seem afraid."

Everyone dies.

Morton's voice was hoarse. "Dying from illness, being stabbed, being shot—it makes no difference. My mother will take away every piece of rotten flesh, every drop of pus and blood. If you kill me, you are sending me back to her embrace."

Kusso felt a chill run down his spine: "That's more like a madman."

Morton tilted his head to look at him, his smile widening: "You're very strong and have hot blood, so you should be able to hold out for a long time after you get infected."

Kusso's face darkened.

Suddenly, Xilun reached out and pressed Morton's shoulder.

The chill seeped into my palm.

Morton's smile froze, and his body began to tremble uncontrollably. A fine layer of frost quickly rose to the surface of his skin, and the fervor he had been forcing was extinguished as if doused with ice water, leaving only the spasms of pain.

"If your faith allows you to continue laughing without fear of pain."

Xilun said calmly.

Morton's jaw clenched.

A few breaths later, he let out a low laugh.

But the laughter had changed.

Xilun let go.

He won't waste too much time here.

Fanatics can provide limited information, especially those who are willing to regard suffering as glory.

They may be stubborn, but they may not know much about the truly essential things.

The third cubicle was the quietest.

Brian, an ordinary man, sat in the corner. He was short, with large freckles on his face, and his wrists were bound so tightly they turned purple.

He kept his head down the whole time, as if he was terrified.

When Xilun walked in, he even shivered slightly.

"look up."

Brian slowly raised his face.

It was a very ordinary face.

Grayish-white, exhausted, and terrified—these are the characteristics of every marginalized person in the South District who has been crushed by life.

Xilen looked into his eyes.

Brian's eyes were ordinary too, moist, panicked, and filled with a will to survive.

But his breathing was too steady.

His heartbeat is too steady.

An ordinary body mover shouldn't be so calm when he's taken over by a strange gang and could be interrogated or even executed at any moment.

Xilun did not expose it.

He simply asked, "What are you responsible for?"

"Moving bodies." Brian's voice trembled. "I don't know anything, sir. I was just doing this for money. I have two children at home. I really was just moving bodies..."

"Where to move from?"

"The Third Charity Hospital, Bone Lane, and a few shacks in the old saltworks."

"Where to send it?"

Brian's lips trembled slightly.

"incinerator."

"Coal prices in the South District have tripled. Do they even have the money to cremate corpses in a place like White Bone Alley?"

Brian choked instantly.

Kusso narrowed his eyes.

Xiren looked at him calmly: "I'll give you one more chance."

Brian's breathing became erratic.

His shoulders slumped down little by little, as if he could no longer bear the pressure.

"Some were sent to the crematorium, and some to the old maintenance station in the sewers," he said. "I don't know what's inside; I was just responsible for pushing the car to the door, where someone would pick it up."

"Entrance marker".

There is a black crow on the wall.

Xilun's gaze paused briefly.

Black crow.

Siren didn't reveal anything, but continued to ask, "Does the raven have its eyes open or closed?"

Brian paused for a moment, seemingly not expecting him to ask such detailed questions.

"Close your eyes."

Everyone in the room noticed Xilun's silence.

Rod whispered, "Young Master?"

"fine."

Xilun turned and left the cubicle.

Deep down, however, a tension was quietly building within him.

Tusor's Third Elder, Oin.

Mysterious closed-eye crow.

The Black Death Cult of the South District.

If these things are just passing by, he can put them aside for the time being.

But if they are connected into a network, then tonight's escort will not only be Albert's test, nor just the Black Death's ambush.

Perhaps someone had already placed him in this game.

Back in the storeroom, Rod had already ordered his men to carry the two wooden crates to the center of the open space.

The box was sealed with lead, and the wax seal was imprinted with the dark patterns of the armed insurgents.

Albert's two guards immediately approached.

One of them said coldly, "The chief executive ordered that physical evidence should not be opened arbitrarily."

Xilun looked at him.

"I need to make sure what's inside won't kill my people on the way."

"We've checked."

"Your transport route has been exposed."

The guard looked grim.

Without waiting for his consent, Xilun raised his hand.

Kusso stepped forward and pried open the seal with a knife.

The guard instinctively gripped the gun strap.

Kusso glanced back at him.

That look was fierce.

Xilun opened the reverberation chamber and looked down into the box.

The first box contained a sealed glass jar, blood-stained surgical drapes, several bone needles, a charred bird-beak mask, and half a moldy experimental record book.

The jar contained chunks of grayish-black meat, covered with tiny black scabs.

Even when sealed with wax, a faint sweet and fishy smell still seeps out.

The second box was heavier.

Inside were several iron plates with runes, a small blood pump, several bottles of gray-green potions, and something wrapped in black cloth.

Xilun reached out and pulled back the black cloth.

A section of dried-up hand bone was exposed.

The hand bones are long and slender, with black lines covering the bone surfaces, as if they have been gnawed by some kind of lesion, or as naturally grown runes.

The moment the hand bones were exposed, the incense flame in the room flickered violently.

Several fraternity members turned pale.

The black mark on Xilun's wrist also twitched slightly.

It's very light.

Like a sleeping insect turning over.

He immediately covered it with a black cloth.

"Intermediate pollutant certificate?"

Siron turned to look at the guards of the armed insurgents.

The guard's expression changed slightly: "The list says it's on the verge of intermediate level."

Xilun's eyes turned cold.

Albert was referring to the range from low to medium.

But this hand bone is definitely not just a simple piece of intermediate-level evidence.

It reacts to the black markings.

This was enough to make Xilun wary.

"Reseal it," Siren said. "Wrap it with three more layers of lead cloth on the outside, and line the bottom with purifying powder. Everyone who has come into contact with the box must drink half a bottle of tranquility potion before we set off tonight."

Rhodes made the arrangements immediately.

Kusso asked in a low voice, "Young master, something's not right with this thing?"

Something's not right.

Xilun looked at the wooden box that had been resealed.

He suddenly understood why Albert had to find a temporary variable.

The Black Death cult wasn't just after prisoners.

It's not ordinary evidence either.

That severed hand bone might be the real reason they're willing to risk exposing themselves to retrieve it.

6:40 PM.

At the back gate of the Brotherhood's mansion, three wagons were harnessed to horses in a row.

Three other empty cars were waiting in the front yard to depart from the open road.

Xilun changed into a long gray overcoat, under which he concealed a pistol, Soul-Suppressing Nails, potions, and two thin blades. The iron spear had been disassembled in two and placed in a specially made compartment at the bottom of the truck.

When he walked out of the main building, Rod was already waiting there.

"The letter has been sent to the Iron Cross Club."

"What was the teacher's response?"

"The messenger hasn't returned yet. Mr. Lund will understand if he sees this."

Xilun nodded.

He didn't intend to drag Lund into every danger.

Informing others is to prevent no one from knowing the way if I go missing.

Kusso put on his hat, stood by the car, and whispered, "Young Master, everything is ready."

Xilun looked into the distance.

At the street corner outside the mansion, Albert's men were watching the empty carriage in the front yard.

Further away, in the evening mist, there seemed to be a few pairs of eyes.

The North District is very quiet.

But this quiet is like the low-hanging clouds before a storm.

Xilun boarded the truck.

"Set off."

The wheels rolled over the wet, cold stone pavement, making a dull thud.

The convoy on the main road left through the front door.

The convoy, operating from the back alley, silently slipped into the fog.

No one knows exactly when the real prey and the hunter switched places.

Albert stood behind a second-floor window across the street.

The gas lamps were not lit, and the room was very dark.

He held a cold coffee in one hand and rested the other on the windowsill, quietly watching the convoy slowly drive out of the Brotherhood mansion's front gate.

Three trucks.

Twelve accompanying gunmen.

The route was the safest one he had envisioned.

That's too safe.

It was so safe and reliable, it seemed like it was deliberately set up for show.

Colleen, the short-haired woman, stood behind him and whispered, "Chief, the convoy has already departed from the front gate. Our men report that Siren himself did not appear from the front gate."

Albert was not surprised.

"What about the back door?"

"There was some noise in the back alley, but the Brotherhood blocked the view with a makeshift moving crew. The two of us who stayed behind are still near the truck, but the warehouse was opened earlier, and for a while they couldn't see the dispatching inside."

The bearded man, Bud, sneered, "He really did use underhanded tactics."

Albert took a sip of coffee.

It's so cold it tastes bitter.

"It's not about using tricks, it's a normal reaction."

Bard frowned: "Isn't the Chief Executive angry?"

"I will only be disappointed if he does nothing and obediently follows the path I give him."

Albert put down his cup.

The gray fog flowed outside the window, and the Brotherhood's empty convoy gradually disappeared at the street corner.

His face showed neither anger nor appreciation, only a calm, almost cynical, assessment.

"If someone Heinz approves of can't even make this kind of judgment, then he's not worth my time."

Colleen paused for a moment, then said, "You still don't like him."

Albert turned around.

Why should I like him?

Colleen did not answer.

This question does not need an answer.

Everyone within the armed insurgent party knows that the previous leader, Heinz, left a very high impression on the Brotherhood before his transfer.

Especially West London.

Young, strong, trustworthy, resourceful, and willing to cooperate with them.

These words appeared more than once in Heinz's report.

This is not good news for Albert, who has just taken over the Northwest region.

The biggest taboo for a new CEO is having a predecessor leave behind a very beautiful legacy.

Moreover, this area is already complex enough.

Moon Lake, the South District Plague, the North District Gangs, the Tusor Family, the Whispering Choir, and outside there's war, pirates, and military conscription.

Each faction is like a thorn stuck in the flesh.

Albert could not allow himself to be led around by a North District gang favored by his predecessor so soon after taking office.

He needs to remeasure everything.

Who can use it?

Who should be pressured?

Who must pull it out?

"Silen is too difficult to control," Albert said calmly.

"He is neither a pure greedy person nor a simple ambitious person. Money can sway him, but it cannot buy him."

Threats might make him back down, but they won't make him kneel. Such a person, without a clear sense of purpose, will inevitably become a problem sooner or later.

Bard said, "Then we should get rid of them as soon as possible."

Colleen glanced at him: "Can you remove it?"

Bard's face stiffened.

He certainly knew about Xilun's record.

The Old Bridge Street was wiped out overnight by three major smuggling gangs, Balk disappeared after the Ironscale incident, and the Pirate King Beard suddenly became more subdued—these intelligences had no direct evidence, but each thread eventually circled back to Siron.

This kind of person can't be eliminated so easily.

If it's not cleaned properly, the backlash can be very troublesome.

Albert sat back in his chair: "That's why we need to evaluate it."

Colleen asked softly, "What if he fails tonight?"

"That means Heinz misjudged the situation," Albert said. "We'll follow the rules, reduce support, take back channels, and cultivate new agents. If the Brotherhood objects, we'll have the North District find someone more compliant."

Budd then asked, "What if he succeeds, but his performance is mediocre?"

"Maintain superficial cooperation, reduce resource allocation, and let him consume resources in the North District on his own."

"What if they perform very well?"

The room fell silent for a moment.

Albert tapped his fingers lightly on the armrest.

"That's going to be interesting."

His gaze traveled across the dimly lit room and landed on the huge map of the Northwest region on the wall.

"The Black Death cult in the South is expanding, and the Whispering Choir hasn't truly fallen silent. The Tusol family is expanding through war, and both the nobility and the military are leeching off each other. We need people who can get things done on the dirty ground, not orators who just shout slogans from safe houses."

Bard understood something: "You want to use him?"

"The premise is that he is worth using."

Albert said, "And we must make him understand that he is not an ally of the armed insurgents; he is a local armed force recognized by us. Recognition can be given, and it can be taken back."

Colleen thought for a moment: "But Siren might not accept this positioning."

"Therefore, we need to give him an even bigger enemy."

Albert's lips finally curved into a very faint smile.

"I heard he offended the Whisper Choir."

"Yes, the Dark Hall has suffered losses and has been shrinking recently," Colleen said.

"If he passes the assessment tonight, I can personally shield him from external pressure from the secret choir as the Northwest Chief Executive of the Armed Insurgent Party."

Bard was taken aback: "Speak out publicly?"

"If necessary."

Colleen frowned slightly: "That will push him even higher."

"It will also push him into a brighter place."

Albert said softly, "Those who stand in the shadows are hard to control, but those who stand in the light have shadows to tread upon."