Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

"You can call it that."

The old man said, "What the Black Death Cult wants is to create a new cradle for some old god, not to summon a god down from the sky. That's too far-fetched and too foolish. They want to create the soil suitable for His awakening first."

Siren said slowly, "Plague."

"The plague is just one of them."

The old man pointed with his cane to the edges of the south, east, and north districts on the map, as well as the densely packed factory chimneys.

"Smog makes lungs vulnerable, poverty makes people unable to leave, hunger makes people accept any medicine, overcrowding makes diseases spread, and fear makes people obedient."

Then, under the guise of charity, patients are gathered together for observation, screening, and recording. Those who die are fertilizer, and those who survive are seeds.

Xilun's knuckles tightened slightly.

"Carrier".

"Yes." The old man looked at him. "Ordinary people can't withstand the pollution; they die too quickly. Extraordinary people are too conspicuous; making a move would cause trouble. So they've been searching for a special bloodline that can survive the pollution and still maintain basic consciousness."

Lund.

Roy George.

A benign carrier.

At this moment, all the clues made a cold, snapping sound.

"Was that why Roy George died?" Siron asked.

"I don't know the details," the old man shook his head, "but I do know that before the retreat from the Southern Continent, a group of battlefield patients survived the plague. Later, the names of those people disappeared one by one. Roy George was one of them."

Xilun remained silent.

The old man poured himself a cup of cold tea and took a sip.

"If your teacher is really his son, then it's not surprising that the Black Death Cult is targeting him."

"They want to turn Lund into the first generation of the host?"

"Perhaps," the old man said, "perhaps worse."

Faint footsteps could be heard outside the meeting room, but they quickly faded away.

Siren whispered, "The wanderer camp, the rats, the homeless—it's all for this?"

"For the spread of the plague, for the chaos, for the production of enough samples."

The old man said, "The rats are the carriers, the homeless are the flowing river, and the camp is the sieve. Those medicines are not lifesavers, they are chains. Those who drink them may live temporarily, but they will find it even harder to leave."

Xilun suddenly smiled.

The smile was cold.

"Such a big thing, and nobody knows?"

The old man did not answer.

Xilun looked up: "Am I the only one in the entire lower city who can see these rats and smell those medicines?"

The old man put down his teacup.

"Many people saw it."

"Then why didn't anyone stop it?"

"Because many people don't want to stop it."

Xilun looked at him.

The old man also looked at Xilun, his eyes showing no evasion, only a weariness worn down by the years.

"Don't try to stop the poor from leaving the camp," the old man said.

Xilun's tone turned serious: "Why?"

"Because you can't organize it."

"I can burn that place down."

"And then?" The old man's voice suddenly became more forceful.

"You burn down a camp, and the sick run into twenty streets. You kill a few white-masked people, and the Black Death replaces them. You kick over the soup pot, and those who are starving will hate you first."

The Third Charity Hospital will produce documents, the police station will produce public order regulations, and the newspapers will say that you, a third-degree madman, attacked a charity.

The nobles will be pleased, because they will finally have a reason to point their guns at you again.

Xilun did not speak.

The old man said in a low voice, "More importantly, perhaps it was tacitly approved."

"Who gave their approval?"

You know the answer in your heart.

A chill slowly crept into Xilun's eyes.

The old man looked at the slums circled in black on the map.

"Sacrificing some poor people, some homeless people, some people without work cards, household registration, or tax bills will not affect their real interests."

It can even reduce security pressure and winter relief expenditures.

As long as the plague doesn't cross the line, and as long as the core of power doesn't fall into the hands of the cult, everything can be explained as a common disease in the lower city.

"What if the Black Death cult truly breeds a breeding ground for evil gods?"

"Then the big shots will step in," the old man said. "Quickly, ruthlessly, and cleanly. After they do, they'll claim they've saved the city."

Xilun remained silent for a long time.

He remembered what Midas had said.

It would only become a disaster that had to be dealt with if the fire spread into the upper city.

"So in their view, the deaths of people at the bottom of society are an acceptable cost."

"Yes."

The old man did not comfort him.

"Sirlen, you are no longer the young man who could rush into an alley and kill villains with just a gun and a burst of energy."

You are now at the third rank, and your enemies are beginning to become the rotten flesh left behind by systems, interests, and history. If you want to save people, you can't just think about dragging the people in front of you out of the fire.

"Then what should we do?"

The old man remained silent for a while.

"Live long enough first."

This sentence was spoken very softly.

But it is heavier than all the previous truths.

Xilun lowered his eyes, looking at the cold tea in his cup.

The tea noodles reflected the glow of the kerosene lamp, flickering like a tired eye.

He suddenly felt a strange tightness in his chest.

It's not an injury.

It's like seeing a road, only to find it covered with human bones, and you can't even move the first bone.

The old man suddenly said, "You've cultivated the 'Breath of the Styx' from the Great Universe Dojo?"

Xilun looked up.

"You know?"

"We have informants in Fowles," the old man said casually. "He also has informants in Tusol. We're all watching each other; nobody's clean."

Silen did not deny it: "It's just the beginning."

"That breathing method isn't suitable for ordinary people, but it's suitable for you."

Why?

"You survived the water and rose through the ranks in the extreme cold. The chill you feel is not the chill of death, but the chill of life."

"If you master the Breath of the Styx, it will make your power more sinister and more stable." The old man paused, "but you lack the materials and the right environment."

Xilun's eyes flickered slightly.

The old man continued, "Victoria has fog, dirty rivers, and dead people, but no real River Styx."

Everything here is murky with coal smoke, factories, and aristocratic rules. Perhaps your breathing would be more comfortable on the open sea.

"The sea?"

"It's even more chaotic overseas," the old man said.

"But chaos also means opportunity. The Sea of ​​Chaos is the place where the radiance of the seven gods is the hardest to completely cover."

Pirates, colonial companies, exiled nobles, cults, heretics, and ancient ruins all huddle together there.

The law of the jungle is more pronounced and rampant. But as long as you don't die, you'll grow very quickly.

The Sea of ​​Chaos.

Xilun silently repeated the name in his heart.

The city seemed to be pushing him back into the sea.

The old man looked at him and said, "Of course, you can't leave yet."

"I know."

Xilun stood up.

Lund is leaving in two days.

The Black Death has already reached out.

Fowles is waiting in Wonderland for what he calls an accident.

Tusol is currently lying low, and the man in the grey hat has yet to make an appearance.

Of course he can't leave.

The old man also stood up: "We will continue to investigate the camp. Not out of mercy, but because if the Black Death cult really extends its influence too far, it will also threaten us."

"That's enough."

"Don't expect armed insurgents to be saints."

"I never expect it."

The old man smiled and said, "Very good. Those who rely on saints usually die quickly."

The door opened.

Albert and Colleen waited outside.

Albert did not ask what was discussed inside, but simply handed Siron a small leather bag.

"The materials you requested: rotten swamp wood and sediment from the dark river. Although they are of average age, they are usable."

Xilun accepted it.

"cost?"

Albert smiled and said, "Let's owe it to someone first. It's more cost-effective to have a third-tier person owe us a favor than to collect money on the spot."

Xilun glanced at him: "Politician."

"Thank you for the compliment."

The rain had stopped when Siron left the abandoned telegraph office.

The street surface gleamed with a wet, glistening light.

The smog in the distance pressed down even lower, as if the entire city of Victoria was being slowly simmered in an invisible pot.

He sat in the carriage, his fingertips tracing the cold, damp material in the leather bag.

Rotten wood in the cold marsh, sediment in the dark river.

We are still missing silver coins for the drowned.

We're still missing a more suitable place.

A wonderland.

The snowy mountain wonderland of the Da Yu Dojo might be just the right place for him to solidify his coldness and test his Styx Breath.

Of course, Fowles is also there.

Xilun closed his eyes.

Fowles wanted to know what he had gained in Wonderland.

Perhaps soon, the other party will come to ask in person.

Upon returning to his North District residence, Xilun did not rest immediately.

Rhodes and the others were in the study, where several copies of the latest intelligence reports were already laid out on the table.

The Tusol family remains quiet.

Security has been increased at the pharmacy outside the Third Charity Hospital.

The number of people in the homeless camp continues to increase. This evening, three more truckloads of patients were brought in, but only two bodies left the camp.

Lund was still nowhere to be found.

Neither did Servais.

"Sir," Rod said in a low voice, "should we send more men to the southern suburbs?"

"No."

Xilun put the note down.

"Ordinary people can't keep up with Lund, nor can they avoid the Black Death Cult."

"So we're not going to do anything?"

Rhodes, unusually, asked another question.

Xilun looked at him.

The housekeeper's eyes showed fatigue and suppressed worry.

Lund was not a member of the Brotherhood, but he was Siron's teacher.

For Rhodes, Lund's safety was not just a personal matter, but also a matter of what decision Siron would make next.

A Tier 3 leader who has lost his teacher may remain calm, or he may drag the entire lower city into a storm.

"Do it," Siron said. "Check all the homeless people, newspaper boys, shoemakers, and coal cart drivers near the old compound in the south suburbs. Don't ask Lund, ask if there are any strange doctors, white masks, unusual ravens, or sick vehicles. Tell them to only report the symptoms and not to go near them."

Rhodes nodded and noted it down.

"Also, prepare an inconspicuous carriage for our trip to the Daewoo Dojo tomorrow morning."

Rhodes looked up: "Wonderland?"

"Um."

"Fowles might make a move."

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

Rod frowned.

Xilun calmly said, "I need to stabilize my third rank now, and I also need to try the Breath of the Styx. If I give up all suitable places for cultivation just because Fowles is hostile, I will have to retreat with every step I take in the future. Besides, the dangers in the Wonderland may not only belong to me."

Rod paused for a moment, then asked, "Should we notify Fowles?"

"No notification."

Xilun looked at the black bronze token on the table.

That token was given to me personally by Fowles.

He was allowed to enter the wondrous realm for seven days.

Now that the rules are already in hand, there's no need to bow down and ask again.

"Go directly to the deputy curator."

"clear."

As night deepened, Xiren remained alone in the underground training room.

He took out the materials given to him by the armed insurgents.

A piece of dark brown, rotten wood.

A small bottle of fine gray-blue sand.

The surface of the rotten wood is covered with bubble-like textures and smells of aged silt.

The fine sand was unusually cold; even though it was in a glass bottle, thin droplets of water condensed on the bottle walls.

Xilun placed them in front of him and slowly circulated the Breath of the Styx.

Low respiratory pressure.

The chill no longer spreads outwards, but instead travels down the nasal cavity, throat, and chest cavity, sinking into the abdomen, and then slowly flowing back from deep within the spine.

The training room was so quiet that only the sound of heartbeats could be heard.

a bit.

a bit.

Each throb felt like a drop of water falling into a dark underground river.

Xilun tried to infuse the Dark Yin Coldness into the Breath of the Styx.

The moment the two touched, his brows furrowed.

The chilling aura was too sharp, like an ice blade, like a cold tide, like a murderous intent piercing from the bones when one is driven to the brink of despair.

The Breath of the Styx, however, is more like a silent, black river.

It refused to be torn apart by the blade.

It will swallow the blade.

Two forces collided briefly in his chest, and a slightly metallic taste rose in Xilun's throat.

He didn't stop.

Instead, he picked up the piece of rotten wood from the cold swamp and used the coldness to grind its surface into powder little by little, then mixed it with the sediment from the Yin River.

The gray-black dust floated in my palm, held up by a thin layer of moisture.

Xilun inhales.

Dust enters the nasal cavity through respiration.

Cold, decaying, silent.

It's like bending down to drink a mouthful of water from a grave on a cold night.

His vision went dark for a moment.

The sound of water seemed to come from afar.

The sound of the water was neither hurried nor slow, carrying the muffled thud of the corpse hitting the stone bank, and the fine ripples of the oars cutting through the Black River.

Xilun opened his eyes.

A drop of dark blue water condensed in the palm of his hand.

The water droplets remained suspended in mid-air, without falling.

Its color was darker than Xuan Yin Han Shuang, and its edges had no white mist, only a kind of chilling cold that made people instinctively uncomfortable.

Silen flicked his finger.

Water droplets fell on the iron target.

There were no cracks, no frost.

It simply seeps in silently.

A few breaths later, a slight creaking sound came from inside the iron target, and a ring of grayish-white spots appeared on the surface, as if it had been corroded from the inside out by some kind of invisible lesion.

Xilun reached out and knocked.

A thin crack appeared in the iron target.

His eyes flickered slightly.

The Breath of the Styx is not as fierce as the Dark Yin's chill, but it is more concealed.

If he can master this skill, it might compensate for his overly obvious weakness in attacking.

Lund once said that if murderous intent is revealed too early, it is easily seen through by experienced fighters.

The Breath of the Styx is the exact opposite.

It conceals its murderous intent within the sound of water.

Before dawn, Xilun finished his work.

His face was slightly pale, but his breathing was heavier than the night before.

There are only two days left until Lund's supposed departure.

He washed the remaining dust and sand from his palms, changed into clean clothes, and boarded the old carriage prepared by Rod to head to the Da Yu Dojo.

The Daewoo Dojo was much quieter in the morning than the day of the martial arts competition.

Only a few outer disciples were sweeping water in front of the courtyard gate. The bluestone slabs were scrubbed clean, and the air was filled with a faint scent of sandalwood and medicinal oil.

The gatekeeper recognized Xilun, his expression changed slightly, and he immediately bowed his head in respect.

"Mr. Celen."

"I have come to this wondrous place."

The disciple hesitated for a moment: "The abbot is in seclusion today and will not receive guests."

"I'm not looking for the curator."

Xilun took out the black bronze token.

The token gleamed with a dark, somber light in the overcast sky.

Upon recognizing the token, the disciple immediately stepped aside, saying, "Please wait a moment, I'll go fetch the deputy headmaster."