A Welcome Visit

"So, another hunter trained by Henry."

"M-My lord, I don't know..."

"You don't know!"

Across the long table, candlelight flickered over the man's shifting expression. His complexion was terrible, pale as a corpse left too long in the water. He had a hooked nose, too much white in his eyes, and tiny pupils. He wore a finely tailored black double-breasted wool coat, and there seemed to be dark reddish-brown stains on his raised boots. The sight was deeply unsettling.

"Vadoma, is she still alive?" The man suppressed his emotions as fine, blue-black veins gradually crept across his forehead and around his eyes.

"Alive! Alive!" The plump man, who had been bent over and too afraid to stand, hurried to answer.

"Miss Vadoma has been taken into custody by the White House. We don't know her exact location yet, but we can confirm she's still alive. Lincoln wants to get our intelligence from her."

"Howlett, Howlett..."

The master of the high-backed chair toyed with the fang-shaped ring on his finger, muttering to himself. Then he said slowly, "I'll deal with Vadoma personally. As for that boy in Canada, you go pay him a visit. Take plenty of men. I don't care whether he lives or dies."

"Yes, Master Adam."

"I say, young master, you spend half the day every day in the basement with Victor. Just you two grown men. You wouldn't happen to be..." O'Hara rested her chin in her hands and gave James a strange look, her mouth hanging open as if she couldn't bring herself to finish.

James froze for a moment, then pinched the soft, puffed-up flesh of her cheek in exasperation. O'Hara winced and complained, "Then why won't you come have afternoon tea at a picnic with me? When has a gorgeous girl like me ever been turned down like this?" She turned away, leaned against James's desk with her arms folded, and fell silent.

"You... I... All right, then," James said helplessly, with a hint of apology in his eyes.

O'Hara whipped around. "Really?"

Before James could answer, she continued, "No taking it back. I'm going to get everything ready!" She gathered up her skirt and hurried out of the room with long strides, not giving James a chance to say another word.

He watched O'Hara's pretty figure retreat, his words caught in his throat. A gentle stream seemed to flow through his eyes. James couldn't help recalling what Old Howlett had said in his final moments, and sat lost in thought for a while.

Night had fallen. Before bed.

Clang... clang... clang...

The huge weight plates, stacked neatly together, clanged rhythmically as a naked giant with wild, loose hair squatted and rose.

The terrifying figure stood seven feet two inches tall, his body absurdly broad. Sweat ran in rivulets over his ridged muscles, while his bare feet clung tightly to the brick floor. His heavy body and the absurd weight of the barbell had even cracked the bricks beneath him.

Panting heavily, Victor finally finished his workout for the day. He felt a strange pain and itch in his legs. The weight had been too much, beyond what his body could currently handle. His knees and leg bones had been damaged and were slowly healing.

His frenzied training had also drawn thin trails of blood from his skin, which mingled with the sweat on his body.

Victor slowly lowered himself to the floor and crouched on all fours like a tiger. A rhythmic rumbling began deep in his abdomen, then seemed to spread throughout his body, as if the sound came from every bone.

After seeing James practice Tiger-Leopard Thunder Sound a few times without hiding it from him, the giant—who seemed to have nothing in his head but the word "charge"—had somehow gradually mastered the technique of generating force and sound. He had started practicing it too.

The Tiger-Leopard Thunder Sound, a marrow-training technique from Xingyi, suited James and Victor exceptionally well. After practicing it, their bones showed signs of a second growth spurt, and their frames became even broader and taller. The change was especially dramatic for Victor.

After some time, Victor finally finished his training for the day. He grabbed a wooden bucket and drew water from the pool in the corner, then poured it over his head, washing away the sweat and dark-red smears of blood. They quickly drained through the channel openings in the floor. The Underground Palace had been designed with great attention to detail.

Victor shook out his wild hair, grabbed his clothes, and went upstairs.

"The flower's fragrance has faded, like the breath your kiss once breathed to me."

"The flower's color has withered. Once, it shone with a radiance all your own."

"A withered, lifeless, empty form, laid to rest—"

"So you've been reciting this stuff all night, little Jamie?" Victor looked at James, who was holding a book and reciting to O'Hara, his rugged face full of mockery. The scene seemed so ridiculous to him that he'd brought back the teasing nickname he'd used for James when they were young.

O'Hara glared at Victor, who had barged in without even knocking. Her face was red with both embarrassment and anger, almost as red as her hair. She was about to lash out at Victor when James calmly closed the book and said in an easy tone,

"It's Shelley. 'A Faded Violet.' He's one of my favorite poets."

Victor sneered disdainfully. "Instead of standing around reciting Shelley's 'Purple Radish,' why don't you fight me?"

O'Hara burst out laughing. Clutching her stomach, she giggled like a little hen, her body shaking all over. James could only shake his head and look at her helplessly.

"You big idiot, Victor! It's a violet, not a radish... You two spend every day training in those weird ways and picking fights at the drop of a hat. What good does it do? No matter how good you are at fighting, can you beat a rifle?"

O'Hara looked from James to Victor, voicing her complaints.

Victor smiled slyly and said, full of meaning, "Guns? They're not much use..."

"All right, all right, O'Hara. I'll read you another poem tomorrow," James said, smoothing things over. Little O'Hara stuck her nose in the air and gave a soft snort.

Then he turned to Victor and said, "It's fine to read a book now and then. If all you do is train like a maniac every day, your mind will—"

James suddenly stopped and frowned, sniffing a few times. Victor seemed to sense something too. His nostrils flared, and he licked his lips unconsciously, his face twisted with excitement.

"O'Hara, lock all the doors and windows. Don't go outside. If anyone tries to break in, go straight through the secret door in the study and into the Underground Palace."

James spoke sternly to O'Hara. She had never seen Young Master James look or sound like this before, and froze where she stood, visibly tense.

James, by contrast, turned to Victor with an easy smile. "Come downstairs with me and take a look, Victor. We have uninvited guests. We ought to go greet them."

"Gladly."

"Lord Marcus, this is the place."

A rider on a black horse galloped back from the front and spoke to the leader of the group behind him. They all wore broad-brimmed cowboy hats, black buttoned coats, black gloves, and black boots. None carried weapons. Yet beneath the big, round moon, every face was pale as a corpse.

The man called Marcus was somewhat stout, with a bushy beard and a broad face, though his cheeks were sunken. Looking at the towering Howlett Family estate ahead, he asked doubtfully, "Are you sure this isn't the governor general's residence in Canada?"

The rider nodded. Marcus gave a slow, cold laugh. "A manor owner who's turned his home into a military base, sealed it up tight, and packed it with corner towers and pillboxes. Keep your guard up, all of you. There are probably plenty of gunmen here."

The men behind him chuckled among themselves. "My lord, it doesn't matter how many gunmen they have! Hahahahaha!"

Marcus laughed too. That was right. What good were more guns?

He flicked his whip, and his horse neighed as it charged forward. The group raced toward the castle, but just as they were about to reach it, the torches that had been visible atop the walls disappeared. It seemed the sentries had all been withdrawn. The castle gates slowly swung open, eerily, and two figures could be faintly seen in the broad courtyard within.

Marcus hesitated, but the men beside him and the fiery horses beneath them did not. They raced through the gates. No one looked back and noticed the gates slowly closing again.