Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

He put the paper down.

"This is not an exaggeration."

Oro's Adam's apple bobbed.

"Nasilun..."

"Siron is no longer just a simple third-order mutant."

Oin's voice was very low.

"Whether he is a chosen one of the gods or a vessel for the descent of some deity, he is not someone Tusol can touch right now."

A look of resentment flashed in Auro's eyes.

"But Clement died at his hands."

Oin suddenly turned around.

"so what?"

Auro felt a chill run down his spine from being stared at by those cold eyes.

"You're going to lead the Tusol Guards into Lund Manor to demand justice from an unknown being who has just fought a demon god?"

Oro lowered his head.

Oin took a deep breath, suppressing the surging emotions in his chest.

He certainly hated Xilun.

From the moment the coup at the hunting grounds began, he realized that the young man was not a pawn, but a knife hidden in the shadows.

Later, Xilun seized the cold-type resources, killed Clement, and advanced to the third tier, causing the Tusor family to lose face.

Oin originally thought that as long as the situation stabilized, he would always find an opportunity to break the knife.

But things changed after last night.

A third-tier nouveau riche is not scary.

A rapidly growing, hardened-willed third-tier upstart is terrifying.

However, a third-tier upstart with an unknown deity standing behind him has already gone beyond the scope of a family feud.

"Starting today, withdraw all overt and covert operations against Xilun."

Oin Road.

Oro suddenly looked up.

O'Neill continued, "Stop investigating his residence, stop targeting the Brotherhood, and stop testing Lund's Old House. Seal all records, and redeploy anyone who knows the details of Clement's pursuit."

Oro's expression changed.

"Then the outside world will think we're scared."

"We're just scared."

"Oin said calmly."

These four words completely stunned Oro.

Oin walked to the broken window and looked at the gray sky in the distance.

"Power is not for proving one's bravery."

"Families that survive do not rely on drawing their swords every time."

"Remember, Oro, it is not shameful to bow your head in the shadow of the gods."

He paused, his voice growing even colder.

"But bowing your head doesn't mean you've forgotten."

Oro's eyes flickered slightly.

Oin said, "Go investigate Black Crow."

"Investigate the legends of the Old Gods, investigate the Southern Continent colonies, investigate the Duke of Storms, investigate all hidden records related to Ravenfeather, Nightfall, and Crimson Fear. Do not touch Siren himself, only investigate history."

Oro whispered, "Yes."

O'Inn added, "Also, send condolences to Lund Manor."

Oro was taken aback.

"Offer condolences?"

"In the name of the Tusol family, we mourn Mr. Lund's heroic act in fighting against the cult and are willing to bear the costs of the old house's renovation and subsequent medical expenses."

Oin's tone was completely flat.

"Maintain the right posture."

Oro finally understood.

This is a concession.

It was also a test.

If Siron dies, this condolence is of no use.

If Siren were alive, at least the Tusor family would not have continued to show hostility after the War of the Gods.

A chill ran down Oro's spine.

For the first time, he realized so clearly that his father's forbearance was more terrifying than his anger.

In the southern district, at the Ocelli family mansion, the patriarch read a piece of intelligence three times.

Finally, he put the paper into the candle flame and burned it.

The butler asked softly, "Clan leader, regarding the young master's death..."

That's all.

Chief Ocelli closed his eyes.

"Anyone in the family who mentions investigating Xilun from now on will be dealt with as a disobedient member of the clan."

The butler responded in a low voice.

Only ashes remained in the study.

The elderly nobleman, who had lost his son, sat in a chair, his face showing little sadness but rather weariness.

It's not that he doesn't hate.

You can be hateful depending on who you're dealing with.

If Siren were merely a Brotherhood leader, even at the third rank, he could wait, hire people, and make arrangements.

But not now.

The word "god" alone is enough to crush many so-called dignity and blood feuds.

The Hawke family also closed their doors to visitors.

Several young men were arguing in the hall, shouting that Xilun had only borrowed the power of the evil god and would sooner or later turn against them.

After listening for a while, the middle-aged clan chief ordered his guards to drag the two most disruptive individuals out and lock them up in confinement.

"From today onwards, anyone who dares to cause trouble in the North District will be expelled from the family."

He said coldly.

"If you want to die, don't drag your whole family down with you."

The Link family's old house is much quieter.

When the butler delivered the message to Daisy, Daisy was sitting by the second-floor window.

She hasn't left the house in a long time.

His face was paler than before, and he held a thin silver chain without a pendant in his hand.

That was the shadow of the old chain left by Susie's necklace.

The real seashell pendant has been given to Xilun.

After reading the intelligence, her fingertips trembled slightly.

Is he still alive?

The butler whispered, "There's no definite news."

Daisy looked out the window.

In the courtyard after the rain, white roses were scattered all over the ground.

"Has the government surrounded Mr. Lund's estate?"

"Yes."

"That means no one dares to go in and confirm."

Daisy's voice was very soft.

"Sometimes, the best news is when no one dares to go in."

The butler remained silent.

Daisy closed her eyes.

She recalled the moment she exchanged glances with Xilun at the corner of the corridor.

At that time, he had just advanced to the third rank, and he carried a cold aura that came from fighting his way through life and death.

She didn't call out to him.

He didn't say anything.

Many things have already been missed.

Once you miss it, you can only watch the study light come on and then go out from upstairs.

"Prepare a gift."

Daisy said.

The butler was slightly taken aback.

"Where to send it?"

"Send them outside the government's blockade line."

Daisy opened her eyes.

"Don't write my name. Just say Mr. Link Family, Mr. Rend."

The butler bowed his head in agreement.

The church's response was more cautious.

Near the Third Charity Hospital, several clergy members evacuated overnight, and all related files were sealed in an iron box.

A white-haired bishop stood outside the underground morgue, looking at the diseased rats frozen black and the corpses with bluish-black markings, and remained silent for a long time.

The young priest beside him asked in a low voice, "Your Excellency, should we apply for a holy judgment from the upper city?"

The white-haired bishop glanced at him.

"Whom shall be judged?"

The young priest choked.

The white-haired bishop slowly said, "The Black Death Church has been nesting in Saint Laurent for six years. Charity hospitals, drug channels, homeless camps, and the relocation of the poor have all happened right under our noses."

"Now that the evil god's descent has failed and an unknown deity has appeared, do you think the first thing to happen in the Upper City will be the Holy Judgment Cult?"

The young priest's face turned pale.

"Then they will..."

"They will investigate who acquiesced, who received money, who covered it up, and who failed to control the situation."

The white-haired bishop said wearily.

"As for the poor who died, they are the least important."

The young priest lowered his head, his hands trembling slightly.

The white-haired bishop looked towards the southern suburbs.

"Prepare to isolate and pray, but do not go near Lund Manor."

"That area is not a ward right now."

He paused.

"It is the dwelling place of the gods."

The government's special affairs office's blockade was fully in place by noon the following day.

The three streets surrounding the old courtyard in the southern suburbs were cleared out.

All residents were forcibly relocated under the pretext of a gas pipeline leak.

Iron fences were erected around the perimeter, with sheriffs stationed every ten steps. Steam armored vehicles were parked at the street corner, their guns lowered, but not a single cannon dared to point at the old courtyard.

Further inside were investigators from the Special Affairs Department, wearing long gray trench coats.

They wore silver-rimmed goggles, gloves coated with anti-pollution ointment, and had rune-inscribed copper bells and short guns hanging from their waists.

Even so, no one crossed the muddy line in front of the gate.

Because the black crow is still there.

It stopped from early morning until noon.

It stopped from noon until dusk.

It doesn't eat, it doesn't call out, it doesn't fly.

He would only occasionally tilt his head and glance outside with his dark eyes.

Unable to bear the silence, a young investigator whispered to his superior, "Sir, what are we waiting for?"

His boss was a middle-aged woman with burn scars on her face.

She looked at the old courtyard, her voice hoarse.

"Wait until the beings inside allow us to do the next thing."

The young investigator's throat was dry.

"What if it's never allowed?"

The middle-aged woman remained silent for a moment.

"Then we'll just keep waiting."

Inside the courtyard, there were no lights in the house.

The curtains were half-drawn.

Ms. Black Raven sat in the old chair that Lund usually sat in.

Her figure was even fainter than last night.

The black bone whistle lay on the table.

A crack appeared on the surface of the bone whistle.

Lund lay on the bed, his breath barely audible.

Siren lay on the other side, like a corpse covered in frost.

He did not wake up.

But he didn't die.

Lady Black Raven raised her hand, looking at the lingering black aura on her arm.

After a long while, she chuckled softly.

"I see."

The black crows outside simultaneously raised their heads.

In the distance, outside the government's blockade, everyone felt a chill in their hearts at that moment.

It was as if some enormous gaze swept over them.

There was no malicious intent.

There was no goodwill involved.

Just to make sure they are quiet enough.

No one dared to speak.

The light of dusk fell on the old courtyard wall, making it look as gray and worn as an old cloth.

Lower Victoria is still operational.

Black smoke billowed from the factory chimney.

The carriage drove through the muddy streets.

Inside the tavern, people were talking in hushed tones about the war of gods, then immediately fell silent when a stranger approached.

In the slums, the patient is still coughing.

The ruins of the wanderers' camp were covered with layer upon layer of lime.

But all perceptive people know that many things have changed since last night.

Tusol no longer makes any moves.

The armed insurgents remained silent and watched.

Church archives.

The government surrounded the area but did not enter.

The tycoons and nobles began to re-evaluate a young man from the lower city who had once been seen as a pawn by many.

Some people are afraid.

Some people were shocked.

Some people find it hard to believe.

Some people are wondering if there is still a chance to win them over.

After all, Xilun's cultivation was too fast.

It's faster than anyone could have imagined.

In the past, they thought it was a miracle created by talent, ruthlessness, luck, and resources.

Now, they have a new explanation.

Perhaps from the very beginning, the Black Raven God was watching him.

Perhaps all his amazing progress came from some kind of divine protection.

Perhaps the rise of the Brotherhood, Tusol's failure, Clement's death, and the unexpected events at the Daewoo Dojo were all just dust kicked up when the black crow made its move.

Suspicion began to fester.

Awe followed.

At the heart of all suspicion and awe, Siron still lies quietly in the old house.

His consciousness sank into the depths of darkness.

……

Darkness, like a thick cloth soaked in ice water, pressed down on Xilun's consciousness layer by layer.

The first thing to return was not pain, but heaviness.

It felt as if countless rusted iron nails were driven into the cracks of his bones, or as if someone had pressed an entire frosty abandoned mine against his chest.

It took him a long time to break free from that stagnant, viscous, and almost endless darkness, creating a sliver of light.

Then, he opened his eyes.

My vision was blurry at first.

The yellowed ceiling from the leak, the mold in the corners, the old curtains hanging askew, and the faint smells of medicine, blood, and damp wood slowly seeped into his senses.

It was quiet outside, unnaturally quiet, as if the whole street had held its breath. Only the occasional clanging of metal sheets and the soft clatter of horses' hooves over muddy water from afar proved that the city was not truly dead.

Xilun twitched his fingertips.

His finger bones felt like they had been forcibly broken out of frozen soil; they were stiff, numb, and for a moment he even doubted whether they were still his own hands.

"You're awake."

A woman's voice came from beside the bed.

Xilun's pupils contracted slightly, and he turned his head with difficulty to see the person sitting by the bed.

Daisy was wearing a dark long dress with a thin blanket draped over her shoulders, and her face was paler than he remembered.

She had clearly been sitting there for a long time. Her fingertips, which had been resting on the edge of the bed, flashed with an undisguised surprise the moment he opened his eyes. The surprise was as bright as a ray of sunlight suddenly breaking through on a rainy day.

But the next second, as if suddenly reminded by something, she suppressed that emotion and returned to her usual calm and indifference.

"Looks like he's not quite dead yet," she said.

Xilun glanced at her, his throat as dry as if it had been sanded, his voice extremely soft, almost as if squeezed from his ruptured lungs.

"I'm alive?"

"I came here to see if you're dead or not."

Daisy's tone was indifferent, as if she were saying something completely ordinary: "If you were dead, I would just take a look and leave. Since you're not dead, then sit a little longer."

She spoke harshly, but there was an unconcealable weariness in the corners of her eyes, as if she hadn't really slept for days.

Xilun did not respond.

Only then did he see the situation inside the room clearly.

Yuri stood near the door, his back against the wall, arms crossed, his face buried in the shadows.

This burly man, who was usually the most impatient and whose emotions were most easily written on his face, was unusually quiet at this moment. He didn't say a word, but just looked at him from a distance, his eyes bloodshot, as if he had been waiting for a long time.

Looking to the other side, Xilun's gaze suddenly stopped.

On another simple wooden bed in the room, a person was lying.

The person was covered with a white sheet, which was stretched out flat and remained perfectly still, like the first snowfall in an abandoned courtyard in winter—light, yet so cold that it made one pause in their breath.

Underneath the white cloth, a rough, aged hand was visible, with large knuckles and calluses on the tiger's mouth and palm from years of holding a gun.

He should have been young, energetic, and full of vigor.

Now, the body is weak and skeletal, the shell decaying, the flesh rotting, and the blood dried up...

Xilun's gaze gradually fixed.

The air in the room, which had been moving slowly, seemed to freeze completely at that moment.

He didn't ask who it was.

Because he recognized that hand.

His Adam's apple bobbed laboriously, and a dull ache, as if someone had slowly struck his chest with a blunt instrument, made him unable to utter a sound.

Daisy was looking at him, but when his gaze fell on her, she remained silent for a moment before speaking in a low voice.

"They left just before dawn."

There is only this one sentence.

The room then fell silent again.