A Letter Home

Iron Hammer, a burly man with a thick beard, barged into the tavern. He was incredibly tall and strong, almost as wide as the tavern's doorway. Clad in a heavy black bear-pelt coat, Iron Hammer's bald head steamed. A deep scar marred his ugly face, twisting like a centipede whenever he moved.

Hearing Lin Qi's call, Iron Hammer, stronger than any Northern Ice Bear, let out a booming laugh and strode towards Lin Qi. He swept Lin Qi up in a bear hug and tossed him upwards. Lin Qi yelped, and Iron Hammer nearly sent him crashing into the ceiling. Luckily, Lin Qi was agile and reacted quickly, bracing himself against the ceiling with his hands. Otherwise, his head would have surely been split open.

"Young Master, it's great to see you here!" Iron Hammer grunted, wiping his nose. He turned and roared at the bar, "Wenches, bring me some good wine! I warn you, if any of you dare to water down this drink, I'll smash every bone in her body!"

The maids inside and outside the counter paled. They worked at The Cripple's Shop and were accustomed to all sorts of characters from the dock district. But Iron Hammer, both in size and presence, was undoubtedly more terrifying than anyone they had encountered before. They had no doubt that this imposing figure, who clearly wasn't a kind soul, would make good on his threat to smash their bones.

Lin Qi and Iron Hammer embraced tightly. Lin Qi laughed heartily and turned to introduce Enzo. "Enzo, this is Uncle Iron Hammer, my Combat Technique mentor. Uncle Iron Hammer, this is Enzo, my good brother, my second-in-command, and a very skilled swordsman!"

Enzo stared at Iron Hammer in shock. He felt a fiery power radiating from the burly man in the bear-pelt coat. Even as the wind and snow howled through the open door, Enzo, standing before Iron Hammer, felt his body grow hot, as if he were standing before a red-hot iron ingot.

Iron Hammer gave Enzo a deep look. Enzo felt a surge of heat in his chest, as if struck by a heavy hammer. He stumbled, nearly falling backward, but his muscles tensed, and he held his ground. Iron Hammer nodded approvingly, clapped his bald head forcefully, and laughed, "Young Master, your brother is good. Heh heh, this much strength at such a young age, not bad!"

Turning, he kicked the heavy wooden door shut with a resounding thud. Iron Hammer roared at the bar, "Wenches, are you deaf? Good wine, bring me good wine! It's this cold, and a guest arrives. Especially since I'm an old friend of your boss, and you haven't even served a drink?"

Iron Hammer's roar was like the howl of a beast. Bottles and glasses on the bar rattled. Several maids trembled, nearly collapsing to the floor. The bravest maid, with trembling hands, grabbed a large wine goblet capable of holding a liter of strong liquor and hastily poured an entire bottle of potent Rum into it.

Iron Hammer grunted in satisfaction. From seven or eight meters away, he waved his hand. A chain, as thick as a little finger, shot out from his sleeve with a piercing whistle, snatching the large goblet and bringing it to him. He took a deep whiff of the alcohol and raised the cup, shouting, "Young Master, Iron Hammer is happy to see you well!"

With a gulp, he downed the liter of strong liquor. He let out a contented belch and sat down on a nearby wooden chair. He rummaged in his pocket and produced an envelope, handing it to Lin Qi. "Young Master, you haven't been back for three years. The master said you must return during the New Year holiday, no matter what."

Letting out a satisfied burp, Iron Hammer pulled out a leather tobacco pouch from his sleeve, grabbed a handful of tobacco, and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing vigorously. He mumbled, "The master has something for you to do. Uh, Young Master, you're a university student now. The master is proud. He wants you to go back and bring him honor in front of those nouveau riche!"

Swallowing, Iron Hammer turned and bellowed at the maids again, "Where is The Cripple? If he's not dead, tell him to come out and entertain an old friend! Ah, I haven't seen that old scoundrel in three years, I really miss him! Hahaha, hasn't he been crippled again?"

As Iron Hammer roared, The Cripple silently emerged from a dark corner of the tavern. The Cripple looked at Iron Hammer with feigned surprise, spread his hands, and shouted, "Ah, haha, look who's here? Isn't this Iron Hammer? How does it feel to be wanted by the Berreley Garrison? Hahaha, you came to Berely, but you wouldn't dare go anywhere else but my territory, right? When did you get off the boat?"

Iron Hammer let out a few chuckles and stood up, embracing The Cripple forcefully.

The Cripple asked sincerely, "How is Blackbeard?"

Iron Hammer patted The Cripple's shoulder proudly and laughed, "The master is in good health. Well, the harvest hasn't been good lately, so he's not in the best mood!"

Lin Qi, meanwhile, opened the envelope and read his father's personal letter. The familiar handwriting was as precise as ever, each stroke like a heavy chop from a broadsword, exuding a wild, arrogant energy. Seeing these words, Lin Qi felt as if he were seeing his father, that wild, bear-like strongman.

Enzo leaned curiously beside Lin Qi, tilting his head to look at the letter. Enzo knew a little about his boss's family background. According to Lin Qi, his father was a miller in Dunkirk, the empire's third-largest port city. He specialized in the flour business and controlled almost all of Dunkirk's flour imports and exports. At least three provinces in the northern empire were supplied by his father's mill.

According to Lin Qi, he should come from a prosperous family with generations of merchants. But how could a child from a decent, honest, and prosperous family build an organization like the Iron Fist Brotherhood in just three years?

Glancing at Iron Hammer, Enzo was even more curious. How could an honest miller have a master like Iron Hammer under him? A wanted criminal by the Berreley Garrison! Ordinary bandits weren't even qualified to be on that wanted list.

The Cripple continued questioning Iron Hammer, picking up where he left off. "How could that be? The empire has had good weather for the past few years, with bountiful wheat harvests. Blackbeard's business should be growing!"

Iron Hammer sighed helplessly and looked up at the sky. He shook his head. "You're wrong, The Cripple, you're wrong. The better the weather, the worse the master's business. Too much flour, and it can't be sold at a good price! The master's greatest wish is for the empire to have natural disasters every year and widespread famine, so our wheat can be sold at sky-high prices!"

He pointed a thick middle finger straight at the ceiling and roared, "Curse the gods! If you don't give the empire a few years of drought, my brothers will starve! The boss has twenty warehouses full of wheat. When will we be able to sell it?"

The Cripple sighed in agreement and quickly called for the maids to bring wine and meat.