When the second, even greater explosion erupted from the heart of Red Quarter, Morris, Layok, and the others had already hacked their way out through the Blood Bottle Gang members, who were unable to form up because of the chaos in their command. From afar, they saw Qinzha engaged in battle with the clown Kex.
Qinzha stood nearly two meters tall, yet he was not lanky. Instead, he was powerfully built and steady. His somewhat dark complexion, yellowish straight hair, and stern features made him look rather serious, but the old members of the Brotherhood all knew that "Uncrowned Fist" Cenza Myron, the foremost of the Six Titans, was the most reliable person in the organization aside from the Three Assassins—no, most of the time, he was even more reliable than the Three Assassins.
"You call this a psychic ability?"
Qinzha coldly watched the "Knife Jester" Kex leaping all over the roof and constantly firing throwing knives from the bottomless spatial pouch inside his ability. He spoke with contempt.
Morris, Edrionza, and Layok—one Transcendent Rank expert and two experts among the Mortal Tier—who knew how many more there were. Kex, one of the Blood Bottle Gang's eight Psychic Warriors, crouched on the roof and watched gravely as more and more Brotherhood experts gathered. He thought silently.
The Blood Bottle Gang's elites under his command had already been slaughtered to the last man.
And then there was Qinzha, who was close to the Extreme Realm.
The Blood Bottle Gang's reinforcements were nowhere to be seen. Song and Rube, the two Transcendent Rank experts, as well as Rolf, had still sent no word. Solo had lost contact ten minutes ago. That coward Tink was hiding in the shadows, probably waiting to see how things played out. As for Numino, he was the one responsible for dealing with Qinzha. Since Qinzha was completely unharmed, Numino had probably already met the Ferryman beside Prison River.
Worse still, after that explosion, the Air Wall had vanished, yet the Air Elementalist's orders had still not come through his earpiece.
Kex did not have long to think.
Behind Qinzha, one of the Thirteen Great Generals, the Northlander "Steel Spike" Edelionza, gritted his teeth and casually tossed the head of Song—the Transcendent Rank Psychic Warrior from the Eastern Continent, the Puppeteer from Suye Nation known by the nickname "Chaos Weapon"—whom Qinzha had just hunted down, onto the ground.
The clown pondered for a moment, then drew two throwing knives from his spatial ability. He bit an oxygen tube into his mouth to guard against Morris's ability, and made up his mind to leave at once.
Under these circumstances, even the Air Elementalist could not fault his choice.
But in the next moment, Kex was astonished to see Qinzha's fist slam toward his face.
When had Qinzha become this fast?!
Then he saw the fat figure behind Qinzha. It was Morris, gritting his teeth as he activated his ability.
He didn't drain the air around me, the clown thought in shock and despair. He drained the air around Qinzha instead?
When the first explosion caused the Air Wall to vanish, Morris knew that something unexpected had changed that night. When the second astonishing explosion rang out in the distance, Morris realized it: the chance to counterattack had arrived.
Without making a sound, he decisively drained the air along the path between Qinzha and Kex.
Qinzha sensed the change around him. This Fist Fighter, who had shared an unspoken understanding with him for years, instantly held his breath and struck. With no air resistance to hinder him, he threw a punch at several times his usual speed!
The battle did not last long.
When Qinzha effortlessly caught Kex's two throwing knives and used terrifying iron fists that never stopped, slowed, or missed to smash through the spatial ability Kex relied on to survive—using that spatial ability to block long-range attacks and, with foresight, store oxygen and throwing knives inside, which had always left Morris helpless—Layok had already silently landed behind him.
Morris bent over after using his ability, supporting himself on his knees as he panted. The fat on his face trembled. He did not look again at the clown, who was certain to become a corpse. Instead, he turned to Qinzha and said, "The second—the second explosion came from deep within Red Quarter. Something unexpected that we—we don't know about must have happened."
"But regardless, the Air Wall has failed. The Air Elementalist must have—might have run into trouble!" Although Morris had steadied his breathing, his face was still filled with hesitation as he stammered, "We... we..."
Qinzha turned his head and looked at his old companion with a resolute expression. "Fight our way back?"
Morris struggled with the decision for a long time, unable to make up his mind.
Until his subordinate could not hold back any longer.
"Song and Kex have both fallen here. If they were bait meant to lure us in, then that bait is sweet enough for us to risk a fight!" Ignoring Kex's pleas, Layok coldly slit open his opponent's paint-covered throat. He found Morris's abnormal behavior baffling and thought:
"Once the road was clear, we found the corpse of Rolf the Wind Ghost ahead. Lord Lancer sent word from behind that Sbin and Dorno were dead. Adding Kex to that, most of the enemy's available forces in Everstar City have already been lost."
Layok nodded at the two Titans.
In response, Qinzha lowered his smoking fist. His answer was brief and clear:
He charged straight toward the heart of Red Quarter.
"Follow me!"
Thus, dawn in Red Quarter was welcomed in the color of blood.
When Nal Rick, Lancer's appointed logistics commander, saw Morris and Qinzha return covered in blood at the intersection of Lower City District and Red Quarter, the sky was already close to brightening.
Morris patted him on the shoulder, exhaled, and smiled. "Though the process was somewhat eventful, still—"
"—Red Quarter is ours."
"I expected as much. It was only right." Rick replied with a smile, while calculating how he would report the escape of the beggar from Ruined House and Quade's death.
At least that Ghost would not be coming again.
Rick thought this as his gaze passed over the crowd and landed on a figure in a mysterious cloak in the distance.
And with Lord Lancer's promise, I won't be demoted too severely.
The "Silent Killer" Layok did not even glance at Rick. He passed him and, ignoring the blood covering his face, embraced Belicia, the "Playboy," who was approaching from behind Rick.
"You're still alive?" Belicia said with a cough and a laugh, without the slightest sign of concern.
"Who else but you could make me die?" Layok snarled and fiercely kissed the woman on the mouth.
"Has anyone seen Edmund?" Qinzha's voice came from within the crowd. "Without him, I couldn't have taken down 'Chaos Weapon' so easily!"
"Damn cook." When no one answered, Qinzha could only curse angrily. "He runs off whenever it's time to drink!"
Erroel World, October 14, 672 of the End Era, before dawn. In Red Quarter, a bloody and brutal "One Night War" erupted between the two great overlords of the underworld of the Star Kingdom, the second-largest kingdom on the Western Continent.
It was an asymmetric battle. From the very beginning, the Black Street Brotherhood had stepped into the Blood Bottle Gang's ambushes and traps, yet the result of the bloodbath still shocked many people.
In this battle, the Black Street Brotherhood suffered fifty-four deaths and 167 wounded. Of the so-called Thirteen Great Generals, nine participated and five were lost. Of the Six Titans, Morris and Qinzha fought to the very end and survived unharmed.
The "Gangster Aristocracy," the Blood Bottle Gang, on the other hand, suffered its greatest defeat in history: ninety-five dead and 290 wounded. Ten of the so-called Twelve Supremes participated, and eight died in battle. Yet among the eight Psychic Warriors of the highest tier, none of the five who participated survived. There were even rumors that the Air Elementalist who had commanded the operation—and had appeared publicly for the first time in more than a decade—was also missing.
That night, the explosion in the center of Red Quarter nearly woke every Royal Capital Resident in Everstar City. Among the innocent civilians of Red Quarter, 729 were affected: seventy-five died in the explosion, 138 were injured, and 516 were left homeless.
Red Quarter, especially its central district, also suffered severe damage. The matter was even raised by the General Guard Commander at the Imperial Council the next day. It was placed just below the discussion of the Borderland Development Tax Exemption Case and arrangements for receiving the Ekster Kingdom envoy. In the end, the Imperial Council ordered the West City Vigilance Hall to act swiftly, "calm civil tensions and stop private fighting among the people."
Red Quarter changed hands from that day onward. It marked the Brotherhood's full intrusion into the West Ring District, and the balance of power in the Star Kingdom's underworld began to tilt completely toward the Black Street Brotherhood.
However, what many people did not know was that, at the same time as this night's events, another major event occurred—one that would overturn the future destiny of the Star Kingdom.
Tales was awkwardly held in Yordel's arms. Yordel was the Masked Weirdo—Masked Weirdo, Masked Weirdo, Masked Weirdo. Tales repeated the name three times in his heart as he sped through districts he did not recognize at all.
Tales felt he could not remain silent any longer.
"Say that again. Why did you come looking for me?" Tales asked painfully as he watched the dimly brightening sky in the distance.
"To reunite you with your father." Yordel spoke respectfully. He lowered himself, tapped the surface of a river with one foot, sending out a ripple, and passed through a bridge arch.
Tales rolled his eyes.
"So who are you, then?"
"Your father's secret guard." Yordel answered respectfully as he leaped over a tall watchtower. A man of his size carried a child past it, yet the guard inside the tower did not even blink.
Tales sighed.
"Did you get the wrong person? I'm just an escaped beggar!"
"Absolutely not. This is God's will." Yordel answered respectfully as he stepped onto a gilded shop sign. The sign, suspended by iron chains, did not sway in the slightest.
Tales felt he was going insane.
"Who exactly is my father?"
"A lord whom I respect immensely." Yordel answered respectfully as he dodged a white eagle hunting a swift. Their speed startled both the swift and the eagle.
Tales was utterly despairing.
What was with this way of speaking that revealed nothing important while making people think, Wow, so polite. I feel bad making things difficult for him?
Tales gave up.
When they realize they've got the wrong person, Tales thought silently, they shouldn't kill me to silence me... right?
Tales turned his head to wait for the sunrise and asked listlessly,
"Yordel."
"Yes."
"You weren't trained in diplomacy, were you?"
"No."
"That's a shame. The way you talk is really suited for it."
"Thank you for your recognition."
Yordel seemed unable to hear the sarcasm in Tales's words and continued speaking respectfully.
He vaulted over a high wall and landed soundlessly like a spider before a broad avenue lined with exquisite flowerbeds on both sides.
Then, to Tales's surprise, Yordel stopped.
A plain yet sturdy carriage stood before them.
In front of the carriage, a middle-aged man with gray-white hair carried a lamp and slowly walked toward them.
Yordel gently set Tales down.
The boy landed on the ground, then suddenly turned to look at Yordel. He felt that Yordel seemed somewhat—well, unhappy?
The middle-aged man approached. In the light of the lamp in his hand, Tales could not help noticing the man's plain yet dignified and timeworn clothing.
The middle-aged man had a broad chin that gave him a kindly appearance. His short beard was neatly groomed, suggesting respectability, but his high cheekbones made him seem somewhat stern. His slightly soft nose bridge, meanwhile, made him appear gentle.
This must be a very complicated person, Tales thought silently.
He raised his right hand, covered by a black glove, and lifted his top hat slightly before giving a small bow.
"Good morning." Unlike Yordel's hoarse, solemn voice, this voice sounded solid and reassuring.
He's a noble. A great noble, Tales concluded.
Could he be...?
But a sentence from Yordel behind him made him abandon the thought.
The masked man spoke calmly, but there was no deference in his tone.
"Why are you here?"
The middle-aged nobleman gently nodded and smiled. He did not take offense in the slightest as he replied, "To ensure nothing goes wrong."
"He doesn't trust me?" Even Tales could hear Yordel's displeasure.
"He trusts you very much. He is even willing to entrust his life and fortune to you," the middle-aged nobleman slowly said. "But I do not trust you, and you know why!"
Tales seemed to feel a current of lightning pass between Yordel and the middle-aged nobleman!
Yordel fell silent for a moment. Unexpectedly, he did not answer.
The middle-aged nobleman no longer looked at Yordel. Instead, he slowly crouched down, a moderate smile appearing on his face.
"Child," he said to Tales, "I know you've had a difficult journey."
The middle-aged nobleman looked at the injuries and blood on Tales's body. He removed the glove from his right hand and reached out to touch the wounds. Each time his fingers passed over one, his brow creased slightly.
"I'm sorry, but believe me, child. After one final procedure, your misfortunes will come to an end."
Tales, somewhat unaccustomed to this, was just about to say something when the middle-aged nobleman set down the lamp in his hand and grabbed the boy's right hand.
Then he pulled a delicate sheathed dagger from inside his robe!
Tales instinctively tried to draw back, but the middle-aged nobleman held his right hand firmly!
"What are you trying to—" Tales asked anxiously, but the middle-aged nobleman merely stared at him resolutely without releasing his hand and slowly drew the dagger.
"Smack!"
It was Yordel.
He bent down and clamped a hand hard onto the middle-aged nobleman's shoulder!
The mask hid Yordel's face, but Tales felt an inexplicable surge of gratitude toward his "father's secret guard."
There was no other reason. He had already seen too much blood and too many blades that night.
"Yordel!" The middle-aged nobleman seemed very displeased. He raised his head, furrowed his brows, and spoke in a low but unquestionable voice:
"You know this must be done!"
Tales looked up at Yordel, a little flustered, though he vaguely knew that the middle-aged nobleman did not intend to do anything harmful to him.
"Then use his own dagger!" Yordel said coldly.
The middle-aged nobleman stared at Yordel. In that moment, his eyes seemed filled with frost.
After a long while, the middle-aged nobleman relented. He nodded and put the dagger from his robe away.
Only then did Yordel release the middle-aged nobleman's shoulder.
"Don't be afraid, child." The middle-aged nobleman shifted his gaze back to Tales, his tone returning to gentleness. "I'm only taking a blood sample."
Tales looked at him.
The middle-aged nobleman's gaze was gentle, but also firm.
So the boy nodded.
He waited for his fate.
The middle-aged nobleman removed the unsheathed JC Dagger from Tales's leg, where it had been wrapped in cloth. He drew it and heated it over the lamp.
Then Tales barely felt any pain before the middle-aged nobleman used the JC Dagger to prick his right middle finger and draw out a drop of blood.
What is this for? Given this world's level of technology, can they even perform a DNA test?
What if it reveals my true identity?
Under Tales's curious yet uneasy gaze, the middle-aged nobleman gently let the drop of blood fall onto the ground.
The next moment, Tales felt that familiar burning sensation surge from his chest, his blood vessels, his muscles, and every part of his body!
"Ah!" He could not help crying out.
But the middle-aged nobleman's eyes were not on him.
Tales turned his head and followed the middle-aged nobleman's excited gaze toward the lamp he had set down beside them.
"Whoosh!"
The previously calm flame now burned rapidly and explosively! The fire grew larger and larger, its core changing from orange-yellow to a blood-red crimson!
The flame leaned toward him.
Tales suddenly understood.
The blood that had fallen onto the ground.
The lamp flame's core turning red and growing larger.
A surge of fear suddenly rose in Tales's heart. He turned toward Yordel for help.
The masked man reached into his robe and pulled out a glass bottle containing a tiny flame.
It was a fire seed.
At that moment, the flame core inside the glass bottle was blood-red, and it leaned slightly.
Tales turned to look at the lamp on the ground, then at the fire seed in Yordel's hand, and finally at the blood on the ground. His face went pale.
The flame took a long time to return to normal.
"Impossible," he murmured.
"It took quite some time before I could finally confirm that it was you." Yordel's voice was hoarse.
The middle-aged noble seemed extremely agitated. He carefully put away the JC Dagger in his hand and said respectfully, "Now—"
But the boy interrupted him with his actions.
Tales gritted his teeth, suddenly gripped the middle finger of his right hand with his left, and squeezed the tiny wound hard, forcing out several more drops of blood that fell to the ground!
"Pfft!"
The flame of the lamp on the ground grew larger once again, turning crimson.
"This is the Divine Art High Priest Licia set up twelve years ago. As long as your blood drips onto the ground of the Royal Capital, the Lamp of Bloodline will ignite from the darkness," the middle-aged noble said, trembling.
Tales suddenly understood.
The day Quade beat him, his blood had dripped onto the ground.
The day Quade slaughtered the beggar children, his blood had dripped onto the ground.
When he had run into the Air Wall, his blood had dripped onto the ground.
When Ashida had tried to kill him with demonic energy, his blood had also dripped onto the ground.
Tales helplessly let out a sigh.
He suddenly felt like laughing.