I'm fighting Kal'tsit? Really?

—Ring ring ring.

As McKee pondered the news, the phone on the table suddenly rang.

He knew who the other person was and answered the phone.

"McGee?"

“...Father,” McKee replied briefly.

The voice on the other end of the phone sounded like it had a grain of sand in it: "Yeah, that's good. It's been a long time since we talked on the phone. I hope you're doing well."

"Enough of the small talk. I received a report in the early hours of the morning saying that my assistant was shot dead by Platinum-level assassins yesterday... and with two very precise arrows, taking his life directly. It was clearly premeditated."

"Although that person was going to be eliminated anyway, I was very dissatisfied with his previous reporting and handling of the death of the director of Brilliant Shield. There is no need for an assistant who has no conflicts with other companies to stay in this position. I will select a new assistant later—it just takes time. Among his rivals, there are only some fools, no capable people who can control the situation."

"Therefore, the Rose Newspaper needs a temporary leader to take over more responsibilities. I think my son is very suitable for this position, and I also believe that after the experience of the past few years, you, whom I have trained, have a basic grasp of the Rose Newspaper."

The young scion of the conglomerate was silent for a moment before putting the microphone back to his lips: "I understand, Father, but I have a question."

“Speak freely, there’s no need for such reservations between us.”

McGee opened his mouth, as if he wanted to ask if the other person knew that after becoming the person in charge, he might be targeted by that platinum-level position.

Even Xuan Tie couldn't completely believe that continuing like this would undoubtedly push him into a potential fire pit. He didn't even know if Bai Jin's arrow would pierce his head in the next second.

He ultimately swallowed the question, the answer of which he already knew perfectly well, and instead asked, "Where...are you now?"

The voice on the other end of the phone seemed surprised that McKee would ask such a question, and there was a hint of relief in its tone, as if it were happy that the other person had grown to this point:

"Colombia."

McKee continued, "Aren't you planning to come back?"

"Don't just focus on the market right now, McGee. When you can grasp every word Kazimierz says, the initiative is in your hands. There's no point in clinging to territory you've already captured."

"Expansion, bloat, and eventual collapse—who doesn't know that? But if we spread our newspapers to every corner of Colombia and expand our markets beyond our sight, then you will find that we will eventually become the voice of the land."

"You still have a lot to learn."

However, McGee did not answer.

He seemed to sense something, and slowly raised his head, turning his gaze to the window.

Above the sky, a swift shadow swept across, and the next second, a shattering sound abruptly tore through the silence—

The glass shattered into tiny fragments under the violent impact, scattering across the floor and refracting a sharp light into the air. At the same time, a silver figure, like a spear of light tearing through the sky, rushed straight into his office at an unstoppable speed.

McGee didn't even have time to react.

His body jolted violently, a sharp pain exploding in his abdomen as something pierced his flesh. The object, wreathed in incantations, eroded every inch of his flesh, slowly nailing his consciousness to the depths of despair.

The curse quickly turned into shackles, locking his entire body in place.

The newcomer casually reached out a hand, took the still-shaking telephone receiver from McKee's hand, and pressed it to his own ear.

"...McGee? Can you hear me?"

The first words spoken by the other end of the phone after a period of silence came through the line.

“I heard you perfectly.” Gerald grabbed McKee and tossed him aside, then began to examine the emails received on his terminal. “Perfect timing to chat with you, Mr. Reporter. Would you mind if I visited your address? I have some gifts I'd like to give you.”

"..."

There was no sound from the receiver, but Gerald was not impatient. He quietly opened and read the letters in his mailbox one by one, and also locked the elevator at the office door with a fan.

The Platinum he captured earlier, or rather, Hinterlea, didn't offer him much help in terms of strength; her only real purpose was to help him.

This is also what Gerald currently lacks most.

Intelligence gathering.

With a total population of over thirty million in the Great Knight Territory, there are far too many people to exclude. The sheer volume of information makes it impossible to simply ask someone on the road for directions.

The term "related parties" meant that he had better not miss too many people taking advantage of the chaos to escape, and it was best to continue his actions only after ensuring that no rats could escape—he had indeed originally considered letting the situation and public opinion spread as they would, using the constant challenge of thresholds to divert attention.

But the presence of Cintraya relieved him of this worry.

After being captured, the hardworking woman told him almost without hesitation everything she knew, including details about the Rose Newspaper, its employees, and even her experience as the runner-up competitive knight of the group before she became a Platinum.

The Four Cities Sports Daily, the Central News Daily, the Red Wine Daily... all these propaganda machines belonging to the Rose Newspaper had a fatal flaw.

Once a small corner of the box is opened, allowing sunlight to expose the key components of the system, they will all become incredibly fragile.

Similarly, it is also very easy to control.

“I spoke with your staff, and they are all quite good,” Gerald said, his voice sounding different from his usual self, with a distinctive accent. “They are opportunistic and sycophantic, just as described in the documents about their past experiences, although they don’t seem to like talking much.”

"However, things might be a bit chaotic over there right now. You see, you work in the newspaper industry, so you should know that there are sometimes personnel changes like this."

Tenma quietly made sure his voice reached the other end of the microphone through his lengthy speech, then sat down and opened the official websites of several newspapers.

Perhaps their loyal subscribers are now wondering why they haven't updated in so long, or perhaps these newspapers are holding back some big stories, waiting to reveal them all at this moment.

However, the director on the other end of the phone could not possibly know any news at this moment.

"...Who are you? What do you want?"

Kane maintained his calm tone, speaking as peacefully as possible: "Whatever you want to do, we can cooperate, my friend. There's no need to escalate things to a point of conflict; you and I both understand that this wouldn't do any good for the situation."

"For example, what you did to the Supervisory Council in the early hours of this morning, the Rose Newspaper will issue a notice to everyone to stop publishing news about the incident and to remove all related discussions from its publicity channels."

“You seem to have misunderstood a lot of things.” Gerald glanced slowly at the clock on the wall, ignoring the other’s logical guess: “For example, the Rose Newspaper of Casimir is no longer yours.”

"I wish you a happy life in Colombia."

……

The phone melted away in my hand, and the sound was cut off.

Pegasus sniffed the air and then shook his head... Up until now, he hadn't detected anything special.

Getting subordinates up to the spokesperson's office might require some kind of authorization, but in any case, the person he's waiting for probably won't be taking the stairs.

So Gerald took advantage of this time to write a letter on a piece of paper in peace.

Beginning with the esteemed Muels and ending in a remote town in Colombia—to deal with a rat lurking in the shadows, one must wait for it to reveal a flaw by following the clues.

A somewhat intelligent person, a self-proclaimed detail-oriented person, would feel immense shame for his defeat, yet dare not return to the place he once controlled. Thus, at this moment, he can only rely on the accent of that specific region of Colombia to pinpoint any possible information about the culprit.

What else could he say? Thank you, prison.

All you have to do now is wait quietly for the mouse to fall into the trap.

And at the very moment he put down his pen.

A cold light emanated from a distant high-rise building, carrying immense force across a distance of thousands of meters, hurtling towards the Pegasus seated in his place.

The arrow, as long as a spear, covered half the distance in an instant before encountering its first obstacle.

The wind began to change its trajectory. The invisible airflow had already spread out in a net around it, quietly touching the surface of the arrow and gradually stripping away its rapid propulsion until the arrow's speed visibly slowed down, as if it were being entangled in a swamp, no longer as swift as it had been at the beginning.

Then comes the second layer.

A sudden surge of air rose from below, changing its trajectory almost silently and landing in a place far from where it was originally intended.

The third obstacle has arrived as expected.

—An obstacle for the archer himself.

In the instant the archer held his breath, waiting for the moment of impact, the surrounding sounds seemed to be instantly pulled away, followed by a low, explosive sound.

No afterimage could be seen; only the sudden, enormous impact resounded across the sky. Those who had been watching were still in shock, only able to see the trail of light that swept across the heavens.

And moments later, a deafening roar came from another tower a kilometer away.

Beneath the hood, the silver-haired Pegasus shed its disguise; beneath the mask, the Sarkaz with its broken horn revealed its true face.

The sword flashed.

too fast.

So fast that the Sarkaz archer didn't even have time to react before the second arrow, which hadn't even been nocked, was suddenly torn apart, and his entire movement was brought to a complete halt.

He only belatedly realized that his hands, which he used to draw the bow, had lost all strength, and blood splattered through the air along with his severed limbs. A chilling incantation pried open his mouth, checking for any objects used for suicide.

Finally, the Sarkaz with the broken horn, "Black Iron" of the Unarmored Alliance could only watch as the Pegasus in front of him squatted down, began to carefully examine his appearance, and asked a question.

“I think we can skip the normal interrogations and go to the ‘I’ll tell you everything’ stage to make things more efficient.”

"Do you agree?"

Chapter 5 Drip Village (4K)

5:31PM，卡西米尔四城联合，泰拉历1097年6月16日。

For the people in the Great Knight's Territory who greeted the morning of the second day, human joys and sorrows were not shared.

After experiencing their own team's games yesterday, which were either big wins, crushing defeats, or games where they didn't even play, Cavaliers' fans were met with a deluge of scandals the following morning.

The three newspapers from the Rose Newspaper were quiet for a moment, then began reporting all sorts of news about Kasimir.

However, it's different from before.

This newspaper features a celebrity who couldn't control his lust and got into some sordid affairs, a racing knight who was caught having illegal transactions with certain companies and then tried to kill the reporter to silence him, and even a Rose Newspaper employee who thoroughly denounced his own newspaper, somehow got through the review process, and was only taken down by an outsourced team an hour later.

Of course, some people also placed small, unnoticed acts of kindness in the corner of the column, and surprisingly, they received a lot of clicks.

Perhaps it was because the competitive knights, who were originally regarded as villains, were exposed to a new side, and the discussion level was raised amidst a large-scale wave of questioning.

Regardless of whether the impact is good or bad, it cannot be denied that the original concept of the journalistic profession was to depict the events completely and truthfully, and to reveal the truth behind them.

The chaos brought a temporary standstill, and also allowed some young people who were already prepared to reveal part of the truth they knew—while most of the key figures in the newspaper had died mysteriously.

For most tourists, this unexpected turn of events brought them considerable amusement, prompting them to praise Kazimierz for living up to its reputation as a city of commerce and chivalry, praising its excellent marketing. They were largely unconcerned about last night's fire and this morning's attack on the Rose Newspaper headquarters.

When entertainment becomes a mainstream economic channel in a country, everything that happens in that country becomes part of entertainment, and this principle also applies to the companies that have cultivated this environment.

Employees in some companies began to gradually increase their workload, the families behind the Supervisory Council chose to remain silent, and only a small number of Kasimir people sensed that a storm was brewing.

……

"Dead? And there's even a trace of the Unarmored Alliance? The dog is starting to bite its master?"

At the end of Golden Feather Avenue, a bar had already opened for business. Bald Martin, the owner and bartender, was wiping the glasses in his hands while greeting an old knight who was passing by.

"Who knows? The more dogs the Business Federation dies, the better. The more people die, the more cowardly they become."

"According to rumors, many directors of Rose Newspaper have been removed, as have the spies they planted. Either the Unarmored Alliance has betrayed them, or an organization comparable to the Unarmored Alliance has suddenly launched an attack in Kazimierz."

The old knight walked to the jukebox and stared blankly at the songs on it, pondering which one to choose for the day: "However, what happened with the noble knights yesterday has kept the Supervisory Council completely busy, and the Commercial Federation has also taken this opportunity to demand an explanation from those knights... The waters are now very muddy."

"Sigh, even in my shabby place, you can see the fire burning."

Old Martin raised his mechanical hand, feeling his movements become a little more sluggish. "If something really happens, I don't know if we old guys can protect Maria."

"You still think of her as that child? As long as she doesn't come to worry about us, we can handle some trouble." The old knight replied casually, then quickly added, "But... to be honest, I think this matter is somewhat similar to what happened a few years ago."

"Regarding the matter of taking that popular conglomerate from existence to non-existence three years ago? Indeed, I feel that Rose Newspapers is almost there too."

Old Martin astutely avoided the deeper meaning in the other person's words, put down his glass, and instead began reading the morning's news with relish on his terminal: "You know what, while headquarters is suffering, the branch office is doing quite well today. If the newspapers weren't always full of this and that about the Knights Sports, I might actually subscribe to this stuff every day."

But the old knight was completely unconvinced by the other party's ambiguous attitude. He slammed his hand on the jukebox, turning the music down to drown out their voices, then walked to the table and whispered:

“You know what I mean, Martin.”

“I don’t like to talk about my origins, about my old name that I haven’t used for half a century.” The old knight grabbed his black hair and said in a very low voice, “But it feels so similar, you know? The Nightmare race, I’ve said it before, I’ve never seen another one in my life besides myself, and I’ve always felt that way.”

“Until three years ago, when Gerald returned to Kazimierz.”

Old Martin subconsciously raised his head and looked at the other person again: "What's wrong with you? How did we end up talking about your bloodline? What does this have to do with that child?"

“Let me finish. It’s a feeling.” The old knight shook his head and continued his story. “Even though we are thousands of meters apart, and I haven’t even appeared in front of you, this premonition has been lingering around me, as if I have returned to the battlefield.”

“I feel a calling,” the old knight said in a deep voice, “like an invitation to enter the battlefield, but I don’t think it’s a blood connection, but rather a… shared consciousness.”

"It was like this three years ago, and just last night, this feeling came back to me and has continued ever since."

"For an entire day... I could smell blood."

Old Martin silently put down his terminal and looked directly into the other person's eyes.

After confirming that his old friend hadn't gone mad, he finally relented: "You can go relax for a while and find a place to recover your strength. After all, we're getting old, and even if something really needs our help, we only have one chance to risk our lives on it, so we have to make the most of it... Are you listening, old buddy?"

Old Martin, who had been rambling on and on, reached out and patted the old knight on the shoulder when he saw the old knight suddenly become thoughtful: "What's wrong?"

Only then did the old knight snap out of his daze and reply, "It's nothing, I'm just suddenly feeling a little out of sorts."