Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Xilun moved to the second bed.

Oin stood still, his gaze fixed on Xilun's retreating figure, a faint glint of light flashing in his eyes.

He has seen many geniuses.

There is no shortage of geniuses among the nobility.

Some are born with resources, some have powerful bloodlines, and some are raised to the second tier by their families using gold and potions.

But West London is different.

This person lacked the impetuousness often seen in noble children, and also the arrogance of a powerful person from the lower class who suddenly gains power.

He was like a gun hidden in its sheath.

There is no light when nothing is done.

When making a move, only the result matters.

Oin gently stroked the silver handle of his cane.

It would be best if such a young man could be used by Tusor.

If not...

Then at least we can't let him stand on the other side.

Three hours later, the last person contaminated finally stopped breathing.

Xilun washed his hands, walked to the window, and took a sip of water.

Oin sent over a small wooden box.

The wooden box was opened, revealing neatly arranged medicine, gold notes, and two well-preserved gray-white crystals.

"remuneration."

Xilun glanced at it: "Too many."

"Tusol never mistreats his friends."

"I am not a friend of Tusol yet."

Oin smiled and said, "Then consider it a gesture of goodwill in advance payment."

Siren didn't accept it immediately, but asked instead, "You've been quite harsh on the Whispering Choir and the Crimson Retreat Society lately."

"The North District cannot be torn apart forever by a group of madmen hiding in the shadows."

Oin looked out the window. "Chaos only breeds more pollution, cults, and the dark forces of greed. Tusol has the power and the responsibility to restore order."

"unified?"

"order."

O'In corrected it very gently.

Xilun looked at him.

Their eyes met in the dim light.

A moment later, Xilun accepted the wooden box.

"If there are any more contaminated individuals next time, they can be sent here."

"I will."

Oin nodded slightly.

Xilun turned and left.

His footsteps faded into the distance in the iron corridor.

Only after that figure completely disappeared did the smile on Oin's face slowly fade.

An old knight emerged from the shadows and whispered, "Third Elder, he is very cautious."

"Caution is a good thing," O'In said. "A cautious person knows what they can and cannot touch."

"What if he gets in our way?"

Oin remained silent for a moment, then his gaze fell on the three knights who were gradually calming down in the treatment area.

"Then let him not have time to interfere."

The old knight bowed his head: "The list for the autumn hunt is being compiled. Patriarch Austin will be away from the manor for at least seven days."

"very good."

Oin, leaning on his cane, slowly walked to the window.

Outside, the Tusol family flag fluttered in the cold wind.

His voice was soft, yet colder than iron.

"Before dealing with external threats, first secure internal stability."

Oin dislikes rainy days.

The rain reminds him of many old memories.

Damp walls, moldy carpets, a lamp that's always on at the end of a dark corridor, and the gazes that peek through the cracks in the door.

There is compassion.

There was mockery.

It's more about scrutiny.

He lived in a small building on the north side of the old Tusol house during his youth.

The building was narrow, with windows facing the shade. In winter, the wind would seep in through the gaps in the wooden frames, making one's bones ache.

The servants addressed him as "Young Master" to his face, but behind his back they called him "the one who survived."

The name is like a needle.

Small and inconspicuous, if left untreated for a long time, the wound will grow into the bone.

His father had also once stood at the center of power in Tusol.

He was a gentle man with a low voice, kind and generous, who liked to sit in his study in the afternoon wiping his old pocket watch.

When Oin was a child, he always felt that his father knew everything and could solve everything.

Until the day the political struggle ends.

The father had a slight advantage and barely managed to control the situation.

But he did not kill his opponent.

That man was Austin's father's elder brother, and also the sharpest blade of another bloodline at the time.

The father said that it was all Tusor's blood that should not be shed.

My father said that the family needs to maintain its dignity and that internal strife should not turn into a blood feud.

My father said that giving others a way to survive is also leaving yourself a way out.

Three days later, the father died in the carriage.

The carriage overturned into a ditch. The driver and guards were all slit in the throat. My father was stabbed seven times in the chest, one of which pierced through his ribs and went straight through his heart.

When the body was returned to the old house, Oin hid behind the crowd and saw his father's pocket watch slip out of his blood-stained coat.

The watch cover is cracked.

The family portrait inside was wrinkled from being soaked in blood.

That year, Oin was nine years old.

He didn't cry.

Because he saw that many people were looking at him.

They wanted to know if the child would break down, go crazy, or say something he shouldn't.

From that day on, Oin learned the first thing—anger must be hidden.

Those who cannot contain their anger die the fastest.

After his father's death, he remained with the Tusor family.

It's nominally about taking care of someone.

In reality, it's surveillance.

His teachers would send daily lesson records to the main house, servants would read his letters, and even the food sent from the kitchen would be tasted by someone first.

The children in the tribe, knowing he had fallen out of power, began to test how many teeth the young beast had left in various ways.

They poured ink into his bed.

He stuffed the dead rat into his schoolbag.

He deliberately hit his knee with a wooden sword on the training ground, then laughed and said it was just a friendly spar.

Oin always smiled.

He would bow his head and apologize, saying that he was too slow to react.

They will proactively pick up the torn pages of the book.

After being pushed into a mud pit, she would wipe the dirty water off her face and continue to attend etiquette class.

Everyone thought he was weak.

Even those who were monitoring him gradually relaxed their vigilance.

Until his father's former subordinates came to him.

It was a winter night.

The fire in the fireplace was small, and Oin was copying the family code.

Someone knocked softly three times outside the window, paused, and then knocked twice more.

He opened the window and saw a middle-aged man with a full beard kneeling in the snow.

The man took off his hat, revealing his forehead, which was red from the cold, and his voice was as hoarse as sandpaper.

"Young Master, we're still here."

At that moment, Oin's fingers gripping the window frame almost crushed the wood.

He still didn't cry.

They simply let the person in, gave him a cup of hot water, and then asked, "How many people are left?"

Seventeen.

"Where's the money?"

"rare."

"What about the relationship?"

"Most of it is broken."

Oin nodded.

He said, "That's enough."

After that year, he began to truly live.

During the day, he continued to play the role of a docile, dull, and harmless young master from a collateral branch of the family, while at night he practiced the incomplete breathing technique brought by his old subordinates until his fingers cramped.

If there are no medications, use ice water to stimulate the body.

Without a teacher, they repeatedly dismantle the traces left by others during training.

If there are no resources, they will gradually recover the money that the servants have embezzled and then secretly replace it with the cheapest supplements.

He endured it for many years.

He endured until the children who had bullied him grew up, married, gained power, and began to forget the past.

He endured until the watcher grew old and began to see him as nothing more than a useless but safe pawn.

He endured until one late night when, in the empty training room, he shattered the force-measuring copper pillar with a single punch, and the distorted power in his chest surged like a black tide.

Third tier!

His former father's followers, barely surviving like stray dogs, supported his spiritual practice.

Finally, he completed his third baptism and advanced to the third-tier extraordinary being.

That night, he stood before the fragments of the bronze pillar, motionless for a long time.

He remembered his father's gentle face.

I thought of that cracked pocket watch.

I also recalled the lesson my father hadn't learned before he died.

Kindness cannot soften a knife.

It will only make it easier for the knife to plunge into your chest.

"Father," O'In whispered, "you're wrong."

The sound of rain outside the window grew louder.

Now, Ao Yin stands in his study at the temporary residence in the North District, his fingertips lightly tracing an old pocket watch.

The pocket watch has been repaired, but the crack on the cover remains.

He didn't replace it.

People need to remember pain.

Pain will teach him what words he shouldn't believe and what mistakes he shouldn't make.

There was a knock on the study door.

"Enter."

The old knight pushed open the door and entered, followed by a young man.

The young man was tall and had a face that resembled Oin's by about five or six points, but his eyebrows and eyes were sharper and his eyes held an uncontrollable restlessness.

Oro Tusol.

Oin's son.

A second-tier extraordinary being is also a blade he has personally honed over the years.

"Father," Oro bowed, "After Xilun left, he didn't go straight back to the manor. He went to the southern suburbs."

Oin closed his pocket watch: "Where's Lund?"

"Yes."

"As expected."

Oro frowned: "He's getting close to the armed insurgents now, and he has a third-tier gunslinger like Lund backing him. If he sides with Austin during the autumn hunt, it'll be very troublesome."

"So don't let him stand there."

"Win them over?"

"trade."

Oin corrected, "A man like Siren won't be easily won over by anyone. He's too clear-headed, so clear-headed that he won't hand his neck over to any family. But being clear-headed has its advantages; he knows that exchanging benefits is more reliable than loyalty."

Oro paused for a moment: "But he does have a good relationship with Austin after all."

"Having a good relationship doesn't mean you'd risk your life for someone." Oin looked at his son.

"You must remember that most relationships in the world are not as solid as you think. So-called friends are just people who haven't encountered a big enough conflict of interest yet. So-called enemies may be sitting at the same table because of a bigger enemy."

Auro said somewhat resentfully, "I don't like him."

"I don't like it either."

Oin said calmly, "But disliking it doesn't affect my judgment."

Oro pursed his lips.

He was young, strong, talented, and had also endured hardship.

But he didn't have his father's patience to crawl out of the mud inch by inch.

He prefers to simply throw a punch and smash anyone who gets in his way.

Oin saw through his son's thoughts.

He didn't scold them; he simply walked to the table and pushed a list over.

"List of attendants for the autumn hunt"

Oro took it, quickly scanned it, and his expression changed slightly.

"Are these all relatives of the Austin family?"

"There are also a few collateral members who support the conservative faction of the Presbyterian Church."

"They'll all go?"

"Yes," Oin said. "The autumn hunt is a Tussol tradition. With Austin absent, the main family members are even more expected to attend. They need to demonstrate to the outside world that the family is stable."

Oro's eyes lit up slightly: "We're making our move during the autumn hunt?"

Oin did not answer immediately.

He walked to the window and watched the rain trickle down the glass.

"Auston is too dazzling."

His voice was as calm as if he were commenting on the weather.

"Young, brave, and with a distinguished military record—the noble circles love this kind of person. The elders also like him because he represents the most beautiful side of Tusol. As he wins battles abroad, the family banner will be planted further and further, and everyone will cheer for him."

Oro said coldly, "But you are the one who truly cleans up the family's dirty laundry."

"Dirty things shouldn't be brought into the open to claim credit."

"That's not fair."

Oin finally turned his head and looked at his son.

The gaze wasn't harsh, but it made Oro instinctively straighten his back.

“Fair?” O’In said softly. “Your grandfather believed in fairness, so he died. Your father didn’t believe in fairness, so we are still alive.”

The study fell silent.

The sound of rain tapping on the windowpane was dense and numerous, like countless tiny finger bones.

Oro's Adam's apple bobbed. "I understand."

“No, you don’t understand.” O’In approached him. “You think I’m trying to seize power because I hate the Master’s family, I hate Austin, and I hate that the Elders once looked down on us.”

Oro remained silent.

Because that's exactly what he was thinking.

Oin shook his head: "Hatred is just kindling. Kindling can start a fire, but it can't determine where the fire will burn."

I need to take control of Tusol because this family is being pulled in the wrong direction by too many people.

Austin wants glory, the elders want balance, the conservatives want stability, and the young knights want war merits.

Everyone says they're doing it for the family, but they only see what's right in front of them.

He reached out and tapped the list.

"The Whisper Choir has been rooted in the North District for many years, the Scarlet Retreat Society controls the pharmaceutical supply chain, the Black Death Cult is cultivating the plague in the South District, and the Armed Riot Party is expanding in the shadows."

The next few years will not be peaceful in Victoria. In such times, there can be no dissenting voices, much less a group of old men sitting behind a long table, hesitant and indecisive.

Oro whispered, "So you need to get the elders to relinquish power."

"It's not about letting."

Oin's eyes finally turned cold.

"It's to hand it over."

He had waited too long.

When the hair of my father's former subordinates turned white.

When those who once bullied him begin to forget what they did.

When everyone got used to him bowing his head, they assumed he had lost his teeth.

His public apology to Siron last time certainly damaged his reputation.

Many people say he's old.

He was said to be timid.

He said he was pinned down by a young outsider.

When Oin heard these words, he almost laughed.

The more people think that way, the safer he is.

It's always easier for a wolf that's perceived as weak to approach a flock of sheep than to bark and howl.

"On the day of the autumn hunt, Austin will be in the northwest," O'In said.

"The main family and relatives will gather at the hunting grounds and manor, with at least four elders accompanying them and two remaining at the main residence. We will take control of the hunting grounds, cut off communications, capture enough people, and then let the old guard take over the defense of the main residence."

Oro's breathing became slightly heavy: "What if they resist?"

"Then let them understand that resistance will lead to death."

"What if Austin comes back?"

Oin smiled.

There was no warmth in that smile.

"By the time he returns, Tusol will have a new head of the family. If he is willing to continue as the family's sword, I will bestow upon him sufficient honor. If he is not..."

The second half of the sentence was left unfinished.

But Oro understood.

He gripped the list tightly, the restlessness in his eyes gradually turning into fervor.

"Father, I will be ready."

"Don't rush."

Oin walked back to his desk and sat down. "First, find out what Xilun needs. When he came to treat the polluters, his gaze lingered on the materials warehouse twice. Rhodes has also been buying up some rare auxiliary materials on the black market recently, and I always suspect..."

Oin lowered his voice, pondering to himself, "Could he be collecting formulas for facilitating potions? That's rather unbelievable."

"Although there are many formulas for the 'Easy-to-Cure' potion, no matter which one, it requires an extremely rare main ingredient, plus several precious medicinal herbs."

Oro frowned: "Should we stop it?"

"Why should we stop it?"

O'In asked a counter-question.

Oro was taken aback.

"The more he wants to get promoted, the more resources he needs. The more resources he needs, the more he can trade." Oin took out another piece of paper, which listed the names of several polluting materials.

"Have the warehouse check for lunar phase silver marrow and the slumber fluid of the sleepers. If not, look for it among the spoils of this extermination. Don't let the news get out."

"Give it to him?"

"No."

Oin gently shook his head: "Let him know we might."

Footsteps suddenly came from outside the door.