Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

It was still dark at Tusol Manor.

The fog outside the courtyard wall was very low, and the grass was covered with cold water droplets. Occasionally, an uneasy snort or two could be heard from the stable, as if even the livestock had sensed the excessively oppressive atmosphere in the manor.

Only one lamp was lit in the study.

Oin stood by the window, holding an untouched wine glass in his hand, his gaze falling silently on the gray sky outside through the thin mist on the windowpane.

He didn't sleep all night.

The family purge following the autumn hunt was not yet completely over. Every hour, a new list would be delivered to his desk from the manor. Who should be replaced, who should be kept, who only needed a warning, and who had to be eradicated—he had to make all these decisions himself.

Now that he has taken that position, he cannot hesitate for even a moment.

Hesitation is a disease left by his father, and he will never allow himself to contract it again in his life.

Suddenly, a series of hurried footsteps came from outside the door.

His steps were unsteady, even a little unsteady.

Oin frowned slightly, but before he could turn around, the door was suddenly pushed open from the outside.

One of the guards fell to his knees with a thud. His armor was covered in white marks from mud and sea salt, and there was a frostbitten gash on his right cheek with white, chapped edges, like the belly of a dead fish.

He lowered his head, his shoulders trembled uncontrollably, and his voice was as dry as sandpaper.

"Third Elder... no, Clan Chief..."

Oin finally turned around.

His gaze first fell on the empty sleeve of the guard, then on the thing the man was dragging across the threshold.

It was a corpse.

The body was wrapped in coarse cloth, which had become stiff from being soaked in blood and seawater, but even so, Oin recognized it at a glance.

Clement.

The study suddenly became eerily quiet.

Even the dusty pendulum clock in the corner seemed to hesitate for a moment before continuing to emit a slow, muffled ticking sound.

Oin did not speak immediately.

He just stared at the corpse for a long time.

Clement had followed him for many years, from West Port to the North District, fighting his way out from the earliest remnants of the old guard, taking bullets for him and killing people for him along the way.

This person is not smart, and is even a bit rigid, but it is precisely because of his rigidity that he is useful and trustworthy.

Every trustworthy person who dies is one less trustworthy person to be found.

"explain."

Oin finally spoke, his voice flat, as flat as a still ice surface.

The guard's throat bobbed, his face turning deathly pale: "After the defeat off the coast of White Cliff Town, Captain Clement pursued them relentlessly for over twenty days... Finally, in the abandoned mine, Siron... Siron was promoted."

The wine glass made a very soft, crisp sound in Oin's hand.

A fine line was etched into the cup wall by pinching.

The kneeling guard suddenly lowered his head, his voice filled with barely concealed fear: "I saw it with my own eyes. The cold air sealed the sword, the reservoir froze, and Captain Clement's last sword strike... was caught by him with his bare hands. And then...and then..."

"What happened next?"

"Then he shot...through the captain's chest."

The air in the study felt like it had been slowly sucked out inch by inch.

Oin slowly closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes again, there was no longer any shock or anger in them, only a deep coldness.

But the more it's like this, the more frightening it becomes.

"Are you sure he advanced to the third rank?"

"Your subordinate dares not speak presumptuously," the guard said in a hoarse voice.

"But that oppressive feeling... and the captain's sword, the extraordinary rapier was cracked by the cold. Siren's wounds are healing rapidly, the chill is alive... I have never seen anything like that in my life."

Oin did not speak.

A crow took flight from a withered tree outside the window, flapping its wings through the mist, its cawing shrill and irritating.

He certainly knew what the third rank meant.

Because we know this, we understand even more how terrible this matter is.

Xilun is not one of those extraordinary individuals raised in a family estate, nor is he a hothouse flower who has been supported step by step by generations of collections, rituals, teachers, and bloodlines.

He crawled out of the streets, sewage, clock towers, piles of corpses, and chases; he was someone who, even when driven to the brink of despair, could still grit his teeth and tear a path through.

Once such a person truly steps into the third tier, they are no longer a weapon that can be easily manipulated.

Oin originally thought that even if this pursuit didn't kill Xilun, it would at least cripple him and keep him from showing his face for a long time.

But now, the result is completely reversed.

He personally drove an already dangerous wolf to the brink of transformation.

They even managed to get it out alive.

"Who else knows the news?"

"The people of Baiya Town know some things, and the survivors of the pursuit team all saw it... as well as the fishermen and cargo carriers by the sea, they probably heard the news too."

The guard pressed his forehead against the floor, cold sweat dripping down his face. "Before I got back, rumors were already circulating outside... that the Golden Knight had escaped death at sea, killed Clement, and advanced to the third rank."

"The Golden Knight..."

Oin repeated it in a low voice, his eyes momentarily turning so dark they seemed to be dripping with water.

This name was originally intended for use when erecting a tombstone for the dead.

But now it has become a crown on the heads of the living.

Snapped!

The wine glass finally shattered in his hand.

The shards cut open the tiger's mouth, and blood dripped from the palm onto the carpet, a glaring crimson.

But Oin seemed oblivious to the pain, staring only at his own blood. After a long while, he suddenly smiled.

The smile was faint and cold.

"Good, very good."

He turned and walked to the table, sweeping a stack of names awaiting approval onto the floor. The papers scattered everywhere, like bones blown about by the wind.

Oro burst in through the side door upon hearing the noise, his face grim: "Father, I heard—"

"Shut up."

Oin didn't even turn his head.

Oro paused, his face flushing with anger and resentment, but he forced himself to suppress it.

Oin was silent for a moment before slowly saying, "Take Clement away and bury him according to the standards for a captain of the Royal Guard. The old flag, the military salute, and the pension—nothing should be omitted. He wasn't a useless man; he died fighting for his family."

The kneeling guard's eyes reddened, and he responded heavily.

Oro couldn't help but grit his teeth: "But Xilen—"

"Sirlen is no longer someone who can be easily crushed by a few guns and a few men."

Oin finally turned to look at him, his eyes as cold as knives. "If you take men now, you'll only bring back a second and a third corpse. The Tusol family has just been stabilized; I can't let the manor be further engulfed in flames."

"So, we'll just leave it at that?"

"Forget it?" Oin looked at his son, his lips slowly pressing down. "Who told you I was going to forget it?"

He slowly wiped the blood from his hands onto the white cloth on the table, his movements slow yet exuding a chilling restraint.

"It's precisely at times like these that we mustn't panic. The third tier isn't the end. Xilun's advancement was too hasty; his foundation will never be stable. He still needs time, resources, and to figure out how to proceed after the third tier. Someone who has just stepped into a new level may not be more composed than someone who has been preparing for a long time."

Oro paused, a fierce glint finally returning to his eyes: "Father means..."

"Keep an eye on him," O'In said, "but don't touch him. At least not now."

He paused here, his gaze returning to the pile of scattered papers on the ground.

Clement is dead.

Those in the family who originally wanted to use his remaining influence to intimidate outsiders should now learn to behave themselves.

This composure, however, did not come from Tusol, but from the name of another person.

Thinking of this, the suppressed anger in Oin's chest finally surged up again.

But hidden deeper beneath the anger was a chill that even he himself was unwilling to admit.

Xilun has truly crossed over.

The young man who crawled out of the mud in the North District actually stepped on the knife's edge and reached the same height as him.

too fast.

It was fast enough to be alarming.

……

The news couldn't be suppressed in the end.

By noon that day, several bars in the North District were already in an uproar.

The smells of coal smoke, beer, barbecue, and sweat mingled together, and the crowded long table was surrounded by people banging on the table and glaring.

Some people said it was fake, how could someone survive being chased by a third-tier enemy for more than twenty days and then turn around and kill someone to advance in rank? Others were certain that their relatives were transporting goods in Baiya Town and had personally witnessed Tusor's guards carrying a corpse back, their faces turning pale.

"You guys don't know anything! That's Xilun!"

"We can't call him Young Master Siron anymore, we should call him Lord Siron..."

"What 'Lord'? It's all over the place, they're calling him the Golden Knight!"

"The Golden Knight has advanced to the third tier...tsk, the North District is probably about to undergo a major change."

The clamor in the tavern was like fire; a gust of wind would carry it all the way out of the streets and alleys.

By evening, even the southern district knew about it.

Inside the Ocelli family mansion, the patriarch sat before the fireplace, a cigar burning softly in his hand, the flame flickering on his aged face.

The butler stood to the side and whispered, "Should we continue investigating that lead from before? Didn't you always suspect that the young master's death was related to Xilun?"

Chief Ocelli remained silent for a long time before slowly exhaling a puff of smoke.

"check?"

He chuckled, but the laugh was as bitter as ashes.

"So what if they find out?"

"……master."

"My son is dead, of course I want to know who did it. But when you're alive, you have to prioritize."

Chief Ocelli stubbed out his cigar on the silver tray, and when he looked up, the obsession in his eyes was gone. "A third-tier extraordinary being is not someone a Southern District family like ours can touch. Even if it really is him, this is the end of it."

The butler lowered his head and said no more.

On the other side, the gates of the Hawke family's courtyard were also tightly closed.

The portraits that were originally covered with black gauze in the hall were still there, but the libation wine on the table had gone cold.

Several young men in the clan had gloomy faces and their fists were clenched so tightly they cracked, but the middle-aged man sitting at the head of the table simply raised his hand.

"Put them all away."

"Uncle, he killed so many of us—"

"So what?" The middle-aged man suddenly looked at him, his eyes filled with barely suppressed exhaustion. "You're going to seek revenge? To take your whole family to die?"

The young man's face flushed red, his lips trembled a few times, but he ultimately said nothing.

The hall was deathly silent.

Only the evening breeze outside the window caused the black veil to sway gently, like a room full of lingering, restless spirits.

In stark contrast to this silence is the Brotherhood.

As dusk fell, lights were already on in the southern outpost, long tables were set up one after another, corks were pried off barrels, and beer foam gushed out. Even the men on guard at the entrance had smiles on their faces.

"Young Master Xilun has reached the third rank!"

"What young master? You have to call him boss now!"

"Damn it, our Brotherhood has finally produced a top-tier figure!"

Laughter, swearing, clinking glasses, and loud shouting nearly lifted the roof off.

One of them, his face flushed from drinking, wiped his mouth and shouted, "Who will dare to mess with our brotherhood now?"

Immediately, someone slammed their fist on the table: "Try moving one! Those bastards will have to walk around our door from now on!"

In the steaming lamplight, everyone's eyes shone with light.

They were excited, ecstatic, and even somewhat incredulous—the young man who had painstakingly climbed out of the quagmire of the fraternity had actually come this far.

They couldn't possibly be unaware of what a Tier 3 Extraordinary meant to a gang.

It's not just a title or a matter of face; it's territory, a voice, business, and a backer. More people will come to us with awe and greed, and more people who were originally wavering will willingly stake their lives and futures on the Brotherhood's ship.

This boat is no longer the old wooden raft that once waded in the river.

It began to qualify to sail into deeper waters.

As night deepened, at the southern suburban manor, Lund slowly placed the old bronze piece engraved with a closed-eyed raven back onto the table.

The oil lamp cast his long shadow on the wall, like an old gun leaning against the wall.

The old servant, Savi, placed the freshly warmed wine on the table, hesitated for a moment, and then finally smiled and said:

"Young Master, you should be happy. That kid is really something, he actually survived and became a third-tier cultivator... In Master's time, that would have been a remarkable achievement."

Lund hummed in agreement and tapped his fingers lightly on the table.

I am happy.

"Then why do you still look so upset?"

Lund looked up at the pitch-black night outside the window.

"Because what I recently investigated wasn't good news."

His voice was soft, yet heavy and muffled. "The Black Death Cult is a bunch of lunatics. The more we investigate, the deeper it goes, like a bottomless well. I was originally only afraid of getting involved myself, but now... I'm a little afraid of dragging him down with me."

The smile on Saiwei's face slowly faded.

The room was quiet for a moment, and the flame of the oil lamp flickered gently in the night breeze.

Lund reached out and pressed the copper sheet into the drawer, as if temporarily pressing down some old blood and debts as well.

"But since he has become a third-tier cultivator—"

At this point, a very faint smile finally appeared on his lips.

"There are some things he needs to know, and we can't delay any longer."

The sea breeze, carrying the salty smell of the tide, wafted from the end of the pier all the way into the southern district.

The morning fog had not yet dissipated, and the shadows of masts, cranes, and steamships in the distance were all shrouded in gray and white. An occasional whistle would shake those blurry outlines even further away.

As Xilun stepped onto the slippery wooden boardwalk, a thin layer of water glistened on the soles of his boots.

He did not return to the North District.

After leaving the abandoned mine, he made a large detour along the river and coastline, taking advantage of the fog and waterways to travel south until this morning when he quietly entered the South District Wharf.

This place is closest to the Brotherhood's stronghold in the South District.

It's also the best place for him to stay for the time being.

It's not because I'm afraid.

Rather, it's unnecessary.

Now the entire northern region knows that he has returned alive, and the people of Tusol are even more likely to know.

Xilun had just stepped into the third tier. Although he had suppressed the chill in his body into order, the unfamiliarity brought by the new power was still there. It was like a ferocious beast that had just been tamed but had not completely collapsed, and it would occasionally turn over deep in its flesh and blood.

At times like this, going back to the North District would be too conspicuous.

Staying in the South District and settling down first would be more suitable.