Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

When the carriage returned to the North District mansion, it was still dark.

The fog of deep winter flowed along the street, and the gas lamps shimmered into dim yellow gloom behind the fog, like eyes that had been soaked in water.

The iron wheels rolled over the wet, cold stone slabs, making a soft, crunching sound. Black water accumulated in the roadside drainage ditches, with one or two grayish-white bubbles occasionally rising to the surface.

Xilun did not get out of the car immediately.

He sat in the carriage, his sleeves still pressing down on his wrists.

The black mark had quieted down, leaving only a faint, almost imperceptible heat, like embers still hidden in burnt-out ashes.

Rod sat opposite him, a narrow leather suitcase across his lap, his face more somber than usual.

"Young Master, should we send someone over to the Third Charity Hospital tonight?"

"Need not."

Xilun's voice was very soft.

Rod didn't ask any more questions.

He had followed Xilun for so long that he knew those two words were not a sign of hesitation, but rather a sign that he had already made a judgment.

Outside the carriage, the mansion gate slowly opened. The gunmen behind the gate, wearing thick coats and carrying modern muskets on their shoulders, immediately bowed and saluted upon seeing the carriage return.

The remaining snow in the courtyard was trampled into gray, and the lights were still on in the direction of the training shed, where someone was patrolling at night with steady footsteps.

As Xilun got out of the car, a cold wind blew in his face, carrying the smells of iron, coal smoke, and damp wood.

He entered the hall, removed his top hat and black tuxedo coat, and handed them to the attendant beside him.

Rod followed behind and whispered, "The servants' shoes outside Tusol Manor definitely have a problem. The mud, hay, coal dust, and gun oil didn't all come from the same place. There must have been a large amount of weapons and fuel transferred underground from the manor."

"And the stables."

As Xiren walked towards the study, he said, "Oin's decision to bring the guards into the city wasn't just for the North District to see, but also for the people in the manor. It's to let everyone know that someone capable of wielding a knife is already standing behind him."

Rod pushed open the study door.

The fireplace inside was burning brightly, the flames flickering on the brass candlesticks and dark bookshelves.

On the table were three maps: the North District, the South District, and the area near Tusol Manor. Next to them were several silver coins, two glass medicine bottles, half a pencil, and a short gun that had been disassembled for maintenance.

Siren sat down at the table, picked up a pencil, and drew a diagonal line between Tusol Manor and the Third Charity Hospital.

The thread is very light.

But as he put pen to paper, his eyes turned cold.

Oin gave him two baits.

Lunar phase silver marrow, the old Brandon family.

Spinal fluid of a sleeper, lower level of the Third Charity Hospital.

The former was led by the nobility, the latter by the Black Death cult.

The two lines appear to be separate, but in reality they both converge towards the autumn hunt at Tusor.

"Young Master, do you believe the information Oin provided is true?"

"At least half of it is true."

Xilun put down his pencil.

"False information can't fool me; it's the truth that's most likely to lead people down the path he's prepared."

Rhodes was silent for a moment, then said, "He wants you to remain neutral during the Autumn Hunt."

"He wanted me to think I could remain neutral."

Xilun looked up out the window.

The fog clung to the glass, casting long shadows of the patrol lights outside.

"If O'In fails, as long as the Brotherhood and I don't make a clear move, Austin might not immediately settle accounts with me."

But if Oin succeeds, will he let go of someone who knows his plans, possesses purification abilities, is attempting to reach the third tier, and has a close relationship with Professor Lund?

Rod frowned slightly.

The answer doesn't need to be given.

A person like Oin would not tolerate a knife that he cannot control.

Even if the knife had never been aimed at him.

"Shall we help Austin?"

Xilun shook his head.

"I can't help."

He picked up a briefing from the table about the fighting at the front.

Austin has won three consecutive games on the Northwest front, and the noble council's commendation has already reached Victoria.

Chief Tusol is now a prominent figure in the army, surrounded by bodyguards, advisors, noble observers, and messengers.

Such a person would not change his itinerary based on a secret report from a gang leader in the North District.

Moreover, Xilun couldn't produce any evidence that would immediately convince the other party.

O'Indone is planning a coup.

That's too simplistic a statement.

So subtle it could be seen as provocation.

"Even if I go to the front lines in person, I might not see Austin. And even if I do, he might not believe me. And even if he does believe me, it might be too late for him to turn back."

Xilun tapped the table with his fingertips.

"Oin had this figured out. He knew I was smart, so he wasn't afraid I'd see through him. He just needed me to know that direct intervention would be very costly, while staying out of it would allow him to obtain the materials."

Rhodes whispered, "So this presents you with a choice."

"No."

Xilun's voice was calm to the point of being indifferent.

"That's what he wanted me to think there were only two answers."

The firewood in the fireplace crackled and popped.

A spark leaped up, then quickly fell back down.

Celen picked up another pencil and drew a circle next to the Third Charity Hospital.

"The Black Death Cult".

Rhodes' expression froze.

"Start with them?"

"They and Oin both mentioned the Sleeper's cerebrospinal fluid. The fact that Oin could produce this clue means that he at least has some information about the Third Charity Hospital, and may even have been keeping an eye on the Black Death Cult for a long time. He told me the information, hoping that I would take action."

"May I borrow your hand?"

"They're also lending me their eyes."

Xilun stared at the circle, his gaze growing increasingly intense.

"If I go, it means I need the materials. If I succeed, he can confirm the accuracy of the Third Charity Hospital clues and also assess my combat capabilities, operational style, and bottom line. If I fail, he will have one less variable. If I'm afraid and don't go, he'll know I can keep him hanging on with the materials."

A chill ran down Rhodes's back.

O'In did not use the knife at the banquet.

But every word he said was like a knife.

"Should we still go?"

"go."

Xilun did not hesitate.

Rhodes looked up.

Xilun pressed his finger against the map, between a cluster of old pharmacies, warehouses, and drainage stations surrounding the Third Charity Hospital.

"But without touching the hospital itself."

He knew very well that the lower levels of the Third Charity Hospital held clues to the Mother Nest, the Sick Father, and the Holy Relics, and might also be related to Lund's father's old case.

That's not a place we can force our way in right now.

The old St. Mary's Bell Tower was just an outer node, yet it had already drawn out a large number of lesions and doctors in black robes.

The Third Charitable Hospital has been operating for many years and is backed by donations from the nobility, connections with the Pharmacists Association, and protection from the Southern District Police Department. Rushing in rashly would be like sticking your head through a closed iron gate.

"Find a base first."

Xilun said, "Pharmacies, transfer points, morgues, patient screening stations—anything will do. We don't want to smash them; we want to get a sufficiently useful set of materials."

Rod immediately understood.

"Sleep man's cerebrospinal fluid?"

"Or its storage records, transportation routes, and experiment lists."

Xilun looked at him.

"There is also evidence that certain members of the Tusol family had contact with the Black Death Cult."

Rhodes's expression changed slightly.

"You want to get leverage over Oin?"

"I don't like being led by a single thread."

Xilun leaned back in his chair.

"He asked me to remain neutral, so I first need to determine whether he has the authority to ask me to remain neutral."

The room fell silent.

Only the sound of flames burning could be heard.

Rhodes nodded slowly and took out his notebook.

"I'll have Rena re-screen the area around the Third Charity Hospital, focusing on partner pharmacies, medicine delivery trucks, nighttime hearses, and underground sewer entrances. We can't just storm the dark web in the north; it'll alert them. I'll use the homeless people, porters, coal dealers, and patients queuing at pharmacies in the south as eyes and ears."

"Don't use the newly recruited people in the manor."

Xilun said, "The mole hasn't been completely removed yet. All intelligence involving the Black Death Cult is passed down in three layers, and no one can see the complete picture."

"Yes."

"Also, compile a list of all the servants, knights, and attendants who appeared at Tusol Manor tonight. Especially those whose shoes had coal dust on the soles."

"Does the young master suspect they are connected to the underground storeroom?"

"more than."

Xilun closed his eyes.

Images flashed through my mind: Leo's gentle smile in the banquet hall, Oro's scrutinizing gaze, the stiff fingers of the white-haired old man, and the inconspicuous black ash on the sole of the wine-pouring servant's shoe.

Those details are scattered in my memory like shards of glass.

As long as the angle is right, it can reflect light.

"What Oin showed me tonight wasn't necessarily all a mistake. He might have deliberately let me know that the manor was moving weapons, deliberately let me know that he had material leads, and deliberately made me feel that I could exchange caution for safety."

Rhodes stopped writing.

Xilun's tone remained unchanged.

"Therefore, we cannot just focus on the path he has provided."

"clear."

A soft knock sounded on the study door.

Kusso pushed open the door and came in, still covered in night mist, with a thin layer of moisture on his shoulders. His rough face showed no signs of sleepiness; he simply placed a short note on the table.

"Rena brought it. Of the three groups that followed the carriage, two dispersed on the edge of the northern district, and the third group didn't go far, they looked like the people from Tusor."

Rhodes glanced at Xilen.

Xilun picked up the note and scanned it.

There were only a few lines of small text on it.

The informant from Tusol stopped on the west side of the old clock tower.

They did not approach the mansion.

Only the carriage entrance was confirmed.

"Tell Rena not to touch them."

Xilun placed the note on the candle flame and watched it curl and burn black.

"Oin wants to know what I'll do when I get home tonight. Let him know I'm waiting."

Kusso grinned.

"What are you waiting for?"

"Wait for the Black Death to make a mistake."

Xilun stood up, walked to the bookshelf, and pulled out an old wooden box.

Inside were Soul-Suppressing Nails, Cleansing Potions, several bottles of Tranquility Potions, and a piece of green scale taken from the little green dragon. The green scale gleamed coldly under the lamplight, like a blade washed with ice water.

He picked up the green scale and slowly rubbed it in his palm.

"I need to continue practicing until they make mistakes."

Kusso's eyelids twitched.

He had seen Xilun practicing during this time.

That's not practice.

It's like putting yourself on an anvil and being hammered away.

"Young master, you just returned from Tusol tonight."

"So we only practice for two hours."

Xilun closed the wooden box, his expression calm.

"Starting tomorrow, the manor will be placed on covert combat readiness. Rhodes, you'll be in charge of intelligence and supplies. Kusso, you'll pick twelve men—they need to be steady marksmen, tight-lipped, and preferably have seen something like the Old St. Mary's Bell Tower."

Kusso nodded.

"Should we bring heavy firepower?"

Prepare, but don't reveal it.

Xilun turned to look at the map.

The area in the south district was circled with a pencil, like a wound peeking out from the fog.

"This time it's not a frontal escort, nor is it guarding the truck. We're going to ambush them, intercept them, take what we need, and leave."

"What if we encounter a second-order opponent?"

"kill."

"What if it's tier three?"

Xilun was silent for a moment.

Then he picked up the pistol on the table and checked the bullets one by one.

"Hold them off, retreat, and notify the teacher."

Rod's brow twitched slightly.

"Should we tell Mr. Lund?"

"The Black Death Cult has its eye on him."

Xilen loaded the bullets into the cylinder and closed it with a click.

"Keeping it from him will only make him investigate on his own."

He knew Lund too well.

The man usually appeared lazy, rude, and prone to cursing, and his house was a mess as if it had been swept by a storm. But whenever it came to old matters, the Black Death cult, or the marksmanship and bloodline left by his father, he would become a silent spear.

It didn't make a sound.

But it will pierce to the bottom.

"Send him a letter first, without details. Just tell him that I will check the outposts around the Third Charity Hospital and ask him not to venture into the Southern District alone in the near future."

Rod hesitated, "Will he listen?"

"Won't."

Xilun's tone was indifferent.

"But at least he'll know that I saw it too."

Outside the window, a sliver of gray-white appeared on the horizon.

The mornings in Victoria are cold, only a thinner fog and a damper chill.

Xilun walked to the window and watched the streets outside the mansion slowly awaken.

In the distance, a coal seller pushed his cart past, the wheels sinking into the mud and making a heavy creaking sound.

Further away, chimneys in the southern area spewed black smoke, which mingled with the fog like a dirty cloth slowly unfolding.

He suddenly remembered the look in Oin's eyes when he spoke in the side hall.

Gentle and patient, like waiting for prey to walk into the forest on its own.

Xilun doesn't dislike this kind of person.

Because he knew that Oin was neither a madman nor a fool who could only roar.

Oin has fear, old grudges, a family he wants to protect, and the cruel lessons he learned from his father's death.

Such people are the most dangerous.

They won't draw their swords out of anger, only for the sake of results.

"Rhodes".

"exist."

"From today onwards, all information about Oin will be compiled into a separate book."

Xilun looked at the sky gradually brightening through the fog.

"Don't treat him as an enemy."

Rod was slightly taken aback.

Xilun's voice was deep.

"Treat him as another person who is winning."

Lund's house was even messier than before.

As soon as the door was pushed open, a mixture of smells—alcohol, old leather, gun grease, damp paper, and stale roast meat—was wafting out.

There was no fire in the fireplace, and three empty bottles lay overturned beside the ashes. On the table were newspapers, yellowed files, a disassembled tin box, half a moldy loaf of bread, and an upside-down teacup.

Tea dripped down the corner of the table, forming a small, dark brown stain on the floor.

An old spear leaned against the wall, its tip polished to a gleaming shine.

The brightness clashed sharply with the overall messiness of the room.

Xilun stood at the door, silent for a moment.

Lund lay in the wicker chair, an old blanket draped over his left arm, a piece of paper clutched in his right hand, and didn't even look up when he heard footsteps.

"Come in, then. Why stand there like a noble young master?"

Siren stepped over the two books on the ground.

"I thought this place had been searched last night."

"Anyone who has searched wouldn't leave things so messy."

Lund snorted.

"They'll pretend they were never here."

Xilun glanced at him.

Lund threw the paper in his hand onto the table.

"Don't look at me. I'm not stupid enough to let the Black Death Cult sneak up here. There are two layers of sentries outside. The two groups of kids you sent were poorly hidden. The one behind the south wall coughed three times, and the one next to the stable had coal dust from the north district on the soles of his boots. You could smell it from twenty paces away."

Xilun sat down opposite him.

"I had them watching from a distance, not so they could fool you."

"You're quite good at saving trouble."

Lund sat up straight, his complexion was a little worse than a few days ago, but his eyes were very bright.

That's not a bright light that's in good spirits.

It was as if some kind of fire that had been suppressed in the bones had been stirred up again.

Xilun's gaze swept across the table.

He saw the old copper piece.

The copper plate is engraved with closed eyes, the edges are badly worn, and the remaining characters below are only two blurry syllables.

George.