Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Silen paid the fare but did not go to Lund's mother's place immediately.

He first went to the small general store in town.

The shop owner was a plump middle-aged woman who was yawning and tidying up the counter. When she saw the pale-faced but well-dressed young man enter the door, she immediately perked up.

"Sir, what would you like to buy?"

Xilun looked at the shelves.

He wasn't good at buying gifts for the elderly.

Finally, he bought a can of fine black tea, a packet of fine white sugar, two boxes of soft cakes, a thick wool shawl, and several bottles of tonics available in town.

After thinking about it, I bought a bouquet of fresh flowers.

While packing things up, the shop owner asked curiously, "Sir, are you visiting relatives?"

Xilun paused for a moment.

"I've come to visit an elder."

"You're so thoughtful," the shopkeeper said with a smile. "The elderly in town love having someone come and talk to them; the gift is secondary."

Xilun did not respond.

He picked up his wrapped belongings and walked westward along the path indicated by the shopkeeper.

Lund's mother's place was not hard to find.

An old house with a small garden, the white walls are peeling, and there are several pots of well-maintained flowers on the windowsill.

A small iron cross ornament hangs by the gate; it is rusty, but it has been wiped very clean.

As Xilen stood in front of the door, he suddenly realized that it was even harder for him to raise his hand than when he was facing Fowles.

The urn was kept in my carry-on suitcase.

It is very light.

But the weight was so heavy that he could barely lift his shoulders.

He stood outside the door for a long time until he heard footsteps coming from inside.

The door opened.

An elderly man with gray hair stood inside the door.

She was not tall, her back was slightly hunched, her face was full of wrinkles, but her eyes were very gentle.

The morning sunlight shone from behind her, making her silvery-white hair appear soft and bright.

When she saw Xilun, she paused for a moment, then gave a polite but puzzled smile.

"Young man, who are you looking for?"

Xiren took off his hat and lowered his head.

"Hello, Madam."

His voice was hoarser than I had imagined.

"I am Siron, a disciple of Lund, and I have come to pay my respects to you."

The old man's eyes lit up immediately.

"Lund's disciple?"

She immediately opened the door wider and looked Xilen up and down, as if trying to find a trace of her son in him.

"Come in quickly, come in quickly. That child never tells me anything about the city. All I know is that he has taken on students."

"You came all this way, why didn't you write a letter beforehand?"

Xilun entered carrying gifts.

The room was very clean.

The tablecloth was washed until it was faded, an old rocking chair sat beside the fireplace, and several yellowed photographs hung on the wall.

Xiren spotted Lund as a young man at a glance.

The man in the photo was much taller than he remembered, with sharp features, standing in the middle of a group, holding a long gun, and with an impatient expression on his face.

It was almost the same as when he cursed people later.

The old man noticed his gaze and smiled, saying, "That was when he was young. He had a terrible temper, rarely wrote letters, and always said he was busy when he came back. But he was soft-hearted, just like his father."

Xiren placed the gift on the table.

"I came in a hurry and didn't know what you like."

"Oh dear, why did you buy so much?" the old man scolded, but his eyes crinkled with laughter.

"It's not easy for you young people to earn money in the city. Sit down, have a seat, I'll pour you some hot tea."

She moved swiftly, turning to go to the kitchen to start a fire.

Xilun sat at the table, his hands on his knees, his fingertips slightly clenched.

The sound of a kettle hitting the stove came from the kitchen, along with the old man's rambling voice.

"How is Lund doing lately? He wrote last time saying that his cough had flared up again on a rainy day. I asked him to come back and stay for a while, but he always said he was busy at the shop."

What are you so busy with? You're not a kid anymore, but you still think you're a teenager.

Silen's throat tightened.

"He...is always very busy."

"I knew it." The old man brought out a cup of tea and placed it in front of him. "He's been like this since he was a child. Once he's made up his mind about something, nothing can change it. What are you going to learn from him? Boxing or guns?"

"gun."

The old man smiled.

"Then you're in for a tough time. His father used to be a marksman and was very strict with him."

When he couldn't practice well, his palms would swell up from being beaten, and he would secretly practice in the yard in the middle of the night.

I felt sorry for him, and he told me, "A real man shouldn't be afraid of pain."

She paused suddenly as she was speaking.

She looked at Xilun's pale face.

"Child, are you hurt?"

Xilun remained silent.

The smile on the old man's face gradually faded.

She is not a fool.

A disciple who had come all the way from Saint Laurent City, carrying many gifts, dressed in black, had a face as heavy as if a death knell was tolling.

Some answers are already in your mind before you even open your mouth.

"Where is Lund?" the old man asked softly.

Xilun lowered his head.

The sun was shining brightly outside, the dew in the garden was evaporating little by little, and birds were hopping on the fence.

The room was so quiet that you could hear the faint burning of the fire in the stove.

Xilun placed the suitcase on the table and opened it.

He held out the urn, wrapped in an old scarf, with both hands and gently placed it in front of the old man.

The old man did not cry immediately.

She was just looking at the scarf.

Looked for a long time.

Then she reached out, her fingertips trembling as she touched the patch.

"This is what I repaired for him." Her voice was very soft, as if afraid of startling something. "When he was young, he thought it was ugly and refused to wear it. Then one winter when he came back, he found it out himself and put it on, saying that it was windy in the city."

Xilun knelt down.

When his knee hit the wooden floor, the wound throbbed, but he didn't pay attention to it.

"Madam, I'm sorry."

The old man's lips trembled.

"How...did he disappear?"

Xilun looked up at her.

He had thought about this question many times on the way.

To put it more tactfully...

It can be said that it was due to illness, an accident, or an unavoidable disaster.

Krund should not be glossed over like this.

Xilun said slowly, "My teacher died for his ideals."

The old man closed his eyes.

Siren continued, "Someone in Saint Laurent is spreading plague, trying to use the lives of the poor and sick to welcome the arrival of an evil god. If they succeed, many people in the entire city will die. The teacher found their lair and went there even though he knew he would die."

His voice was low and steady.

"He drew his gun on the people of Victoria as a knight."

The old man swayed slightly.

Xilun immediately tried to help her up, but saw her hold onto the edge of the table and slowly sit back down in her chair.

She did not cry out.

Tears welled up and flowed silently down her aged cheeks.

"I knew it," she murmured.

"I knew he would do this. His father was the same way; when he was young, he always said that one shouldn't only think about oneself in life. But I'm just a mother; I don't understand such profound principles."

She hugged the urn as if it were a child finally returning home.

"I just want him to come back when he's old and sit in the yard basking in the sun."

Xilun knelt on the ground, his chest feeling as if something was slowly crushing it.

After a long while, the old man suddenly asked, "My child, was he brave when he died?"

Xilun looked up.

The old man's eyes were blurry with tears, yet he stubbornly looked at him.

This question, though seemingly minor, felt like a gun pressed against Xilun's heart.

He answered solemnly:

"Extremely brave!"

The old man's tears fell even faster.

Xilun said, word by word, "Faced with a fourth-tier extraordinary being and thirteen third-tier servants, he did not retreat. He destroyed the most crucial part of the plague cocoon, held off the enemy, and fired the first shot to prevent the birth of the evil god. Without his teacher, Saint Laurent City would not have received the subsequent rescue."

This is not a consolation.

This is a fact.

Lund is indeed dead.

But his death was not like dust that was crushed and forgotten.

He was the first person in that disaster to truly plunge a gun into the darkness.

The old man lowered his head and pressed it against the urn, choking back tears as he said, "That's good, that's good."

She cried for a long time.

Xilun remained kneeling.

They only helped the old man get up after he had caught his breath.

"You child, you're injured, why are you kneeling?" She wiped away her tears and helped him up. "If Lund knew, he'd scold you again."

Xilun was helped to a chair, and for a moment he didn't know what to say.

The old woman placed the urn on the table, and as if to keep it warm, she covered it with a shawl. Then she turned and went to the kitchen.

"You haven't eaten yet, have you? We've come all this way, we can't let you leave on an empty stomach."

"No need for that."

"Sit down."

The old man's voice suddenly had a hint of Lund's cursing.

Xilun paused for a moment, then actually sat down.

Soon, the sound of chopping vegetables came from the kitchen.

This meal was very simple.

Hot soup, fried eggs, slightly charred bread, and a small dish of pickles.

While cooking, the old man kept asking Lund about his life in the city.

Xilun has said everything he could.

He said Lund's old house was always drafty, and Savi often scolded him for not fixing the roof.

He said Lund was a very good shot, and even though he was old, he could still deflect Lund's deadly attacks with a single shot.

He said the Iron Cross Fighting Club would continue to operate, and that there would be people to teach those poor kids how to box, stand firm, and avoid going astray.

There were some things he didn't say.

It doesn't mention the horrific scene of Lund being nailed to the clock tower.

It doesn't say how the Black Death coveted his blood.

He didn't mention that he almost lost his body after blowing the bone whistle, nor did he mention how the upper class of Saint Laurent City tacitly allowed the lower class to be used as a sieve.

The old man listened very attentively.

When Lund scolded her for having a gun that was too straight, she even smiled through her tears.

"His father also scolded him like that."

After finishing his meal, Xilun took out several checks from his inner pocket.

One hundred pounds each.

Not enough to invite malice, but enough to allow an old man to live with dignity.

"This is part of the legacy left by our teacher," Siren said. "Please accept it."

The old man immediately shook his head.

"I don't want it. He's not having an easy time in the city, and the club needs money too."

"The club has already made arrangements," Siren said softly. "This is what he owes you."

In fact, Lund left behind far more than that.

The old manor, the club, some secret accounts, and the favors he had accumulated in the past.

But those things have already been redistributed by Xilun and Rhodes.

Most of it will be used to maintain the Iron Cross Fight Club, provide retirement for Servey, and house the children Lund used to care for.

As for the elderly, too much money is not a good thing.

An elderly person living alone in a small town who suddenly acquires a huge fortune will only attract prying eyes, deception, and disaster.

A few hundred pounds of checks is enough.

The old man looked at the checks, his fingers trembling, but he finally accepted them.

It's not because of money.

Rather, it was because this was the last thing her son could pass on to her.

In the afternoon, sunlight streamed through the window and shone onto the table.

The urn sat quietly beside the small bouquet of flowers.

The old man sat in his rocking chair and spoke softly about his childhood.

Siren, listen.

Those trivial, mundane, and even somewhat rambling words, like tiny needles, stitched together a teacher who only existed in marksmanship, cursing, and sacrifice, back into the image of an ordinary son.

He used to steal candy.

He once broke his neighbor's window.

He once hid in the woodshed and cried all night after his father died.

When he first went to Saint Laurent, he wrote that the smoke was too thick and the people were too cold, but he wanted to stay because there were many people there who didn't even know how to stand up straight.

When Xilun heard the last part, he suddenly felt his eyes sting.

He didn't cry.

He simply lowered his eyes and gently stroked the rim of the teacup with his fingers.

Before evening, he got up to say goodbye.

The old man saw him to the door.

"Child," she called to him.

Xilun turned back.

The old man stood in the setting sun, holding an urn in his arms, his face still wet with tears, but his expression was much calmer than in the morning.

"You're also his student, so you're like my child too."

She said softly, "Wherever you go in the future, don't just think about revenge. Lund wants you to live, not for you to die with him."

After a long silence, Xilun said in a low voice, "I've got it."

The old man looked at him, seemingly knowing that his statement might not be entirely credible.

But she didn't expose it.

She simply stepped forward and straightened Xilen's collar.

Like a mother seeing her child off on a long journey.

"Be careful on the road."

Xilun put his hat back on, picked up his suitcase, and walked out of the courtyard.

The door behind me didn't close immediately.

He could sense that the old man was standing there watching him.

Xilun only stopped after turning the street corner.

The setting sun cast its warm glow on the stone streets of the small town, making it seem almost unreal.

He raised his hand and pressed it to his chest.

There, decay remains, chill remains, the black feather seal remains, and the low murmur of the storm continues.

But on this day, he was not swallowed by them.

……

On the other side, in Saint Laurent.

Inside the White Stone Hall, which is attached to the church, dozens of government officials, church representatives, noble agents, and special affairs investigators are sitting around a long table.

The sunlight outside the window was bright, but the room was filled with the smell of disinfectant and paper ink.

The files on the old textile factory incident were laid out.

Testimonies were transcribed, revised, and reclassified.

The information about Lady Black Crow was buried in the deepest secret files, leaving only the vague words "intervention by an unknown high-level force".

The records of Siron blowing the bone whistle, his physical transformation, and the manifestation of his mythological form were sealed by the church with red wax.

It cannot be made public.

They didn't dare to make it public.

In the center of the long table, a senior public official with neatly combed hair slowly began to speak:

"The current plague outbreak in the southern district of Saint Laurent City can be preliminarily identified as a major cult conspiracy orchestrated by the Black Death Cult after a long period of lurking in the shadows."

The quill pen scratched on the paper.

"The Black Death cult used the poor, the homeless, and the Third Charity Hospital to spread the disease, establish illegal camps, and attempt to create large-scale panic and death in order to complete the ritual of the descent of the evil god."

Someone frowned.

"The tacit approval from higher authorities and the dereliction of duty in the supervision of charitable hospitals..."

The senior public official looked up and glanced at him.

The man immediately shut up.

So the pen tip continued to fall.

"In the early stages of the incident, Mr. Lund, the knight of honor of the people of Victoria, discovered the core of the conspiracy through years of investigation. Without sufficient support, he resolutely attacked the headquarters of the Black Death Cult, firing the first shot to stop the cult's ritual with his personal sacrifice."

The church representative whispered, "Isn't the title 'Knight of Honor' too heavy?"

The Special Affairs Bureau representative said calmly, "He was a third-tier extraordinary being, and he's already dead. The dead don't fight for credit, nor do they ask for fiefdoms."

"Based on the current opinion, he may be granted the title of Honorary Viscount!"

The church representative fell silent.

"Subsequently, the Link family, some noble heroes, financial conglomerates, and the government's special affairs department intervened to control the spread of the situation."

Someone paused for a moment on the phrase "intervened in succession".

Because everyone knew that by the time they actually intervened, the situation had already been reduced to ruins by that unknown black crow.

But the records cannot be written that way.

The city needs an ending that can be understood, accepted, and proclaimed.

Instead of telling all the citizens that they had come within a step of the arrival of an evil god overnight, and were then saved by another unknown god.

The senior official continued, "Ultimately, through the combined efforts of the nobles, the church, the knights, and the government, the cult's chief priest Eli was killed, the headquarters of the Black Death Cult was destroyed, and the plan for the birth of the evil god Nurrus failed. Saint Laurent City averted a major catastrophe that could have engulfed all of Victoria."

The meeting room fell silent for a moment.

Some people breathed a sigh of relief.

Some people had no expression.

Some people lowered their heads to hide the sarcasm in their eyes.

But no one raised any objections.

This is the final verdict.

This is the truth that cities need.

As for why Lund went to his death alone, why the Black Death Cult was able to establish a foothold in the Lower City for six years, why the poor and sick became the sieve, and why the various forces did not truly enter the fray until the outbreak of the God War.

These problems will be buried in even thicker folders.

The senior public official finally picked up the final draft, looked at the last line, and slowly read it aloud:

"Under the combined protection of the nobility, the church, and the knights, Victoria once again ushered in peace."