Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

The North District has quieted down.

This quiet is not gentle.

It was like a thin layer of frost, pressing down on the streets, taverns, warehouses, and docks, so cold that people dared not speak loudly.

On the third day after the old freight route reopened, seven black carriages appeared outside the Brotherhood's mansion. The carriages had no coat of arms, and the boxes were covered with coarse linen. The wheels made a heavy thud as they rolled over the stone road.

Rod personally stood under the porch to inspect the property.

When the box was opened, it contained a brand-new short flintlock pistol, compressed ammunition, purification powder, hemostatic agent, and two tightly sealed metal boxes.

The metal box was sealed with a seal from the armed insurgents.

Albert's delivery was timely, but also glaringly obvious.

This means that from today onwards, many people in the North District must reassess the weight of the fraternity.

It wasn't because the Brotherhood had many gunmen, nor because they had swallowed up many small gangs, but because the Armed Insurgents, in their own name, had erected a boundary marker for Westren in this gray area.

Those who cross the line must first ask Albert's permission.

Of course, we also need to ask Xilun.

The training shed behind the mansion was filled with steam.

Seven large water vats were neatly arranged, and the clear water in the vats split to both sides at the same time, revealing a smooth, mirror-like bottom.

The water surface didn't splash much; it only formed fine ripples along the edge of the tank, as if gently pressed down by an invisible hand.

Xilun stood in front of the water vat, shirtless, with a faint mist swirling around his skin.

His breathing was very steady.

A chill seeped from his chest and abdomen into his limbs, then slowly spread deep into his bones. The internal vibrations from the Great Thunder Breathing Technique were like a low rumble of thunder, rolling inch by inch through his flesh and blood.

The chill tempers the bones.

Thunder Sound Forged Meat.

Water flowed around him.

The three forces are not docile; they still clash with each other frequently, like three wild beasts chained together, ready to turn on their master if not careful.

But Xilun has grown accustomed to this pain.

Pain can bring clarity.

Especially after their fame suddenly increased.

He slowly raised his hand, and the water in the seven water vats rose up at the same time, transforming into seven shimmering water snakes. After circling in the air once, they fell back into the vats.

The water made a soft sound.

Outside the shed, Kusuo's eyelids twitched as he watched.

He still couldn't understand when the young master had learned this skill.

However, there were too many things he couldn't understand, and thinking about them for too long gave him a headache, so he simply summarized them all into one thing—the young master is indeed the young master.

"Come in."

Xilun picked up a towel and wiped the water droplets from his shoulder.

Kusso pushed open the door and entered, his boots leaving a trail of footprints on the wet floor:

"Mr. Rhodes sent me to inquire that three gang leaders want to see you tonight, saying they are willing to hand over all their manpower, warehouses, and ledgers in exchange for your life."

"Who?"

"Gray scissors, iron boot tops, and a rat's nest."

Xilun draped the towel over the wooden rack, his tone flat: "Grey Scissors, leave the warehouse and ledgers. Send the leader to the South Warehouse as a porter. If there are no problems in three months, give him a minor supervisor position. Incorporate one-third of the Iron Boots Gang, and disband the rest. Don't bother seeing the Rat's Nest."

Kuso grinned: "Destroyed?"

"Send him to the patrol team."

"what?"

"They are familiar with the sewers, alleys, and black markets, making them better suited as informants than ordinary gunmen."

Xiren picked up his shirt and put it on. "Don't always think about killing people. Sometimes it's more valuable to change someone's profession than to shut them up."

Kusso touched the back of his neck, thinking that what he said made sense, but he also felt that the young master's tone did not sound like he was saving someone, but rather like he was changing the sheath of a knife.

He was about to nod when Rod walked in from outside.

The butler was as meticulous as ever, his black suit without a single wrinkle, holding several letters in his hands.

"Young Master, the Tusol family has sent an invitation."

Xilun paused slightly as he buttoned the shirt.

"Who delivered it?"

"The knights under the Second Elder were very respectful." Rhodes handed over the invitation. "They want you to go to Tusol's temporary base in the North District tomorrow morning to examine three polluters. The payment will be as agreed."

Xilun accepted the invitation.

Gold-stamped edges, thick parchment, printed with the Tusol family's double lion crest.

Nobles always know how to use a piece of paper to express a sense of distance.

The invitation was worded extremely politely, almost unlike the style of the Tussor family.

"Auston isn't here?"

"According to intelligence, he led his men to the northwestern border three days ago to hunt down a stronghold of the secret language choir."

"In the past two weeks, the Tusol family has been very active," Rod said. "They have dismantled four of the Whisper Choir's peripheral sites and taken over two of the Crimson Training Institute's potion production lines. Several neutral chambers of commerce in the North District have begun to align themselves with them."

Xilun looked down at the name on the invitation.

The person who invited me was not Austin.

It is Oin Tusol.

He was familiar with the name.

Third Elder.

The man who once apologized to him in front of everyone, seemingly giving in temporarily, but who was always an enigma.

"He's been very quiet lately," Celen said.

Rhodes nodded: "Too quiet. Austin's reputation is rising, the family is expanding outwards, and the Second Elder and several young knights are frequently appearing on the front lines, but Oin rarely goes out. People outside say that because he bowed to you last time, his prestige was damaged and he has been marginalized."

Kusso sneered, "Even nobles can be silenced by a few words?"

Xiren placed the invitation on the table: "Yes, but not forever."

He's seen far too many people like that.

A truly weak person, after being humiliated, will rush to defend themselves, rush to regain face, and rush to prove that they have not lost.

But O'In didn't.

He even went so far as to fade into obscurity, like a piece of iron thrown into the mud, letting others trample on it and forget it.

This kind of person isn't afraid of losing face.

Because all they care about is whether they can win in the end.

"Young Master, shall we refuse?" Rod asked.

Siren shook his head: "I won't refuse. The Tusol family is currently amassing power, and the number of polluters will only increase. They need me, and I need their resources."

"You are still missing two types of materials for your facilitating agent."

"Um."

Xilun walked to the table and opened the drawer.

Inside was a prescription sheet that had been folded many times.

Easily digestible agents.

A crucial stabilizing agent before advancing to the third-tier Aberrant, it reduces the risk of uncontrolled physical aberrations, making it especially suitable for individuals like Siron who possess multiple powers and external talents.

The water beast's heart is already in place.

Several auxiliary materials were also gradually gathered through the black market, the Link family, and the armed insurgent party.

There are only two missing.

"Lunar phase silver marrow".

"Sleep fluid of the dormant".

The two names were outlined by Xilun with fine black ink.

The former mostly comes from lunar contamination veins and is rarely circulated in the market, usually monopolized by churches, nobles and large schools of thought.

The latter is more troublesome, requiring extraction from the spines of certain long-dormant and not completely dead contaminated organisms. Preservation is extremely difficult, and it will quickly become ineffective if not handled properly.

This is not something that money can necessarily buy.

Rhodes whispered, "They're still searching the black market, but their answers are vague. The Link family is trying to find old channels for us, but Miss Daisy has only recently taken over the family, so things are progressing slowly. As for the armed insurgents... Albert is willing to provide weapons and common potions, but he might not be willing to let you reach Tier 3 too quickly."

"So the Tusol family is an option."

Xilun closed the drawer.

When the Link family was mentioned, he thought of Daisy.

The other party seems to have a significant conflict with me. Although they are willing to cooperate on official business, their attitude in correspondence is very poor.

After all, he was involved in both the deaths of Daisy's father and mother.

Hate me, though. If it makes you happy, I won't mind.

Xilun remained calm, only regretting that their past friendship had vanished like smoke.

……

The Tusol family has considerable resources, and their recent crackdown on the Whispering Choir and the Scarlet Retreat Society must have resulted in the seizure of a significant amount of contaminants and medicinal materials.

They only took things from nobles; there was never any simple buying and selling.

If you take a gold coin, there might be an invisible thread attached to it.

Kusso frowned and said, "Is that Oin planning to scheme against you again?"

"meeting."

Xilun answered quickly.

Kusso was taken aback.

Xilun had already walked to the weapons rack, picked up the golden spear, and slowly wiped the shaft with a dry cloth:

"That's why I have to go. Just because someone wants to scheme against you doesn't mean you have to stay away. Sometimes you have to get closer to see if what they're holding is a knife or a rope."

Rhodes bowed slightly: "I understand. Tomorrow I will prepare three carriages, two openly and one covertly. Kusso will accompany you with six gunmen?"

"Four people are enough."

"Isn't that too little?"

"Bringing too many to the Tusol base would be like a demonstration, bringing too few would be like distrust." Xiren continued cleaning his gun. "Four is just right. Have Reina's men scout the location beforehand, but don't get too close."

"Yes."

Rhodes noted down the arrangements and handed over a second letter: "There's one more thing; Mr. Lund has replied."

Xilun took the letter and opened it.

The letter was still written in the familiar handwriting—sharp, concise, and carrying the distinctively cold and hard feel of the Iron Cross Club.

Lund cursed him three times in the letter.

One person scolded him for fighting too hastily, another scolded him for always venturing into sources of pollution, and yet another scolded him for acting like a pharmacist and detective when he was learning how to use a gun.

After finishing his tirade, Lund wrote a final line:

"Come over here when you have time, let me see what tricks you've learned."

Xilun looked at the words and his lips twitched slightly.

It's very shallow.

But Rhodes saw it.

He hadn't seen such a relaxed expression on the young master's face in a long time.

"Reply to my letter." Xiren folded the letter neatly. "Tell the teacher that I'll be going to stay with you for a while in a few days."

Kuso hurriedly said, "Young Master, the North District has just stabilized. Are you leaving now?"

"That's why we should leave even more."

Siren placed the golden spear back on the shelf: "The Brotherhood can't rely on me sitting here forever. Rhodes can handle the accounts, Rena can handle the intelligence, and you can handle the patrols and training. It's time to teach the men below to walk on their own."

Kusso opened his mouth, but in the end he could only lower his head and say, "Yes."

Rhodes, however, understood another meaning.

Xilun wasn't slacking off; rather, he was actively withdrawing himself from the daily affairs of the North District.

The stronger he is, the less he should be tied down by trivial matters.

A fraternity needs a leader, but it cannot turn that leader into an accountant, a patrol captain, or a gang arbitrator.

Suddenly, a low, mournful whistle sounded from outside the window.

The morning in the northern district was shrouded in gray fog, with black smoke billowing from factory chimneys in the distance. Street vendors pushed their hot soup carts past the alley entrances, their copper bells jingling.

The city woke up as usual.

But everyone knows that some things have changed.

Xiren put on his coat and walked to the window.

Across the street, a newsboy was waving a newspaper and shouting that the Tusol family had once again defeated a Scarlet Religious squad in the Northwest.

Two dockworkers stopped to buy newspapers, glanced down at them, their expressions changed slightly, and they quickly began to whisper among themselves.

The secret choir has temporarily withdrawn.

The Scarlet Retreat Society began to shrink.

Tusol's flag was planted further and further away.

The ambitions of nobles are never written on letter paper; they are written in battle reports, tax bills, tombs, and newly built roads.

Xilun gazed calmly at the clock tower's spire, which was faintly visible deep within the gray fog.

The curtain has fallen on the North District.

But that was just the end of an old story.

A new stage is being set up.

The following morning, at the Tusol family's temporary residence.

This place was originally an old armory, which was bought and renovated by Tussol. Steam lamps are mounted on the high walls, and knights wearing black and red cloaks stand on both sides of the entrance.

Their armor was polished to a gleaming shine, and the double lion emblem on their chests looked like blood-soaked metal.

When I got off the bus in Xilun, there was a faint smell of medicine in the air, and an even deeper, irrepressible, fishy-sweet smell of pollution.

Someone was seriously injured.

more than one.

A middle-aged knight stepped forward and bowed, saying, "Mr. Siren, the Third Elder has been waiting for a long time."

Xilun nodded and followed the other person inside.

After passing through two iron gates, the view suddenly opened up.

The warehouse interior had been converted into a temporary treatment area, with a dozen or so beds arranged on either side. Several doctors in white coats were talking in hushed tones, while on the beds lay knights ravaged by the contamination; their skin was bluish, and their veins twisted like black earthworms in their necks and arms.

A man was tightly bound to the bed with a belt, his teeth crushing the cork, and a beast-like growl escaped his throat.

Oin stood at the very back.

He was dressed in a dark gray suit, his cane resting on the ground, his demeanor as gentle as a gentleman visiting someone in the hospital.

Upon seeing Xilun, he even took the initiative to walk over to him.

"Golden Knight, thank you for keeping our appointment."

His voice was low, carrying just the right amount of apology and respect.

If Xilun hadn't known that this person had once been at odds with him, he probably would have thought that the person in front of him was a kind and benevolent elder.

"Treatment is paid for; no thanks are needed."

Siren scanned the hospital beds. "Source of contamination?"

“An underground chapel of the Whispering Choir,” Oin said. “It housed a singing skull. When we destroyed it, nine knights were caught in the crossfire; three died instantly, and six returned alive. Now there are three left.”

"The other three?"

"It got out of control in the early hours of the morning and was dealt with."

Oin spoke calmly.

The young knights beside him looked slightly somber, but none of them spoke.

Siren walked to the nearest bed and reached out to press his hand on the knight's wrist.

Sensing the external force, the black pollution immediately surged like a living thing, attempting to drill into Xilun's body through his fingertips.

Xilun's gaze remained unchanged.

A wisp of white light rose silently.

The pollution was like oil meeting a raging fire, emitting a shrill hiss that could only be heard on a spiritual level.

The knight on the sickbed suddenly arched his body and let out a scream.

Xilun did not let up.

He pressed the white powder into an extremely fine powder, like a red-hot silver needle, and carefully inserted it little by little into the deepest part of the pollution.

The chill seeped in, freezing the surrounding raging flesh and blood, preventing the contamination from escaping.

The entire treatment area fell silent.

All the doctors stopped what they were doing and watched as the young scholar-like man stood by the bed, peeling away the contamination from the knight's body bit by bit with an almost cold calmness.

Half an hour later, black blood gushed from the knight's mouth and nose.

Xilun backed down.

The knight was breathing heavily, and the dark veins on his neck had faded considerably.

"He can live."