Gold King heard a lid twist open and snapped his eyes open, stunned to see Fyren pulling out a basic recovery pill.
"Should keep you breathing," Fyren muttered, propping him up and feeding him the pill. Gold King swallowed it, his complexion regaining some color.
"Why?" he asked flatly.
Fyren paused. "Dunno. Between conscience and self-interest, I picked conscience."
"Know why I'm here?"
"Yep." Fyren tossed the bottle aside. "First, you'll swindle me dry, then off me once I'm broke."
"I'm Mighty Syndicate. Save me or not, I'll still come for you."
Fyren smirked. "We'll cross that bridge later. Besides, if I'm fated to die by your hand, might as well do one decent thing."
After feeding the pill, Fyren stood. Zaring barked, "Don't move! Run and I'll shoot!"
Fyren laughed. "Idiot. Why keep them if they won't run?"
Zaring gaped. "Let them go?"
Fyren nodded. Zaring waved his gun. "Scram! Too slow and you're dead!"
At that, no one spared Hakan a glance. They scattered like roaches. Hakan raged, "Traitors! If I had a Zaring, I wouldn't be in this mess!"
Fyren strolled over, lighting a cigarette. "Hakan, looks bad. Think Asen will bail us out again?"
Hakan truly panicked. Fyren was fearless—the boldest of their rich brat clique. In school, while others cowered, he'd squared off against Fyren.
"Fyren, bro, total misunderstanding! I never meant to—just wanted you to cover for me..."
Fyren exhaled smoke. "Hakan Zhang, scared shitless?"
The calmer Fyren got, the more Hakan trembled. "No more fighting, please. And Sabrina—I brought her. I was an idiot over a girl. I'll send her to you. She's... experienced, more fun than anyone. Try her and see! Fyren, you know I've always seen you as family..."
Fyren smiled inwardly:
[Only an idiot would mess with that viper! Experienced? Bullshit! She's saving herself for Otto. One look from her and you'd hump a tree.]
He flicked his cigarette. "I won't kill you. Scram. Zaring, frisk him."
"Already did."
Hakan staggered to his feet, still disbelieving Fyren had let him go. He bolted like a rabbit, glancing back every few steps as if expecting a bullet in the spine.
Chloe gasped, "Fyren—he's not going to make it!"
Fyren rushed over. "That can't be. The basic healing pill should... should save him!" He tried mimicking TV dramas, attempting to channel Zhen Qi into Gold King. But after minutes of fumbling, Gold King groaned in agony.
"Fyren, if you can't wield Zhen Qi, could you... stop torturing me? It hurts."
Sweat drenching his brow, Fyren said, "Even the basic pill isn't working?"
"Zhen Qi activates its properties. I'm drained—can only absorb scraps through 本能 (instinct)." Gold King gazed at the sky. "It's up to fate. If I survive, I survive. If not..."
Just then, the walkie-talkie crackled: "Gold! I found something. Where are you?"
Fyren stiffened. Encountering Tactician now would be chaos. He held the device to Gold King's lips.
"Tactician, coordinates 341, 251. I'm hit."
"Stay put! Ten minutes!"
Fyren stood abruptly. "You're in good hands. Tactician can activate the pill. We're done here." Watching Fyren flee like a hunted fox, Gold King felt a strange tug in his chest.
Fyren, Zaring, and Chloe fought through the jungle until they reached the Mercedes. All three were spent—especially Chloe, who teetered on collapse from fear and exhaustion. As a Forging the Soul–level master, Fyren still had stamina. He helped them into the car and gunned the engine, desperate to leave.
Rain pounded the windshield, wipers struggling to keep pace. The storm merged with jagged terrain, blinding Fyren. The car skidded off the road, nose-deep in grass. They lay in the vehicle, defeated.
Thankfully, the rain let up. They decided to hike out but forgot the compass. After hours of walking, they realized they were lost.
Tactician found Gold King and checked his pulse, shocked. "Basic healing pill? Where did you get this?"
Gold King looked up weakly, voice steady: "Met a stranger. He gave it and left."
Tactician nodded and began dressing Gold King's wounds, though a silent tension hung between them. He didn't press for answers—prying would only breed lies. Better to feign ignorance and uncover the truth later.
Tactician didn't buy the "stranger" story. He recalled Fyren's veiled hint at the hotel about having more than one Basic Healing Potion. At the time, he'd sworn there was only one, but logic suggested he'd carried two. As Helmsman seemed to trust Gold King more, both Gold King and Fyren might have known about the extra potion—leaving him in the dark.
Gold King's thoughts were simpler: Fyren knew he was an enemy, yet their mountain encounter sparked a strange camaraderie. Far from the city, after crossing paths with Hakan, a primal respect for life had surfaced. Fyren showed mercy, and Gold King felt conflicted. Saving an enemy's life—and hiding his whereabouts—went against all instincts, but vulnerability breeds strange loyalties.
The Basic Healing Potion worked miracles. In six hours, Gold King expelled the bullet, his wounds healing at an impossible rate. The potion wasn't just a lifesaver—it was priceless.
Once stabilized, Gold King seethed for revenge. "Hakan must die! He laughed while his men shot me seventeen times!"
Tactician rested a hand on his shoulder. "He can't die yet."
"Why?!"
"Young Lord wakes tonight. We can't appear empty-handed. Hakan is his pawn—more valuable to us alive."
"Because he's rich?"
"Precisely." Tactician sighed. "But vengeance will come. For now, we focus on the mission."
"SEVENTEEN bullets!"
"I know, I know." Tactician soothed him. "Bigger picture, brother. Bigger picture."
"Have you found Herbert's location?"
At this, Tactician grinned. "Found him. Recover first—we'll take him alive and seize his funds. That lets us report to Young Lord tomorrow and answer to Helmsman."
Hours later, they stalked toward a secluded cave. An old man in tattered clothes shambled out, yawning as he stretched.
"Ah—ah! Hmm—hmm!
Now begin the eighth set of radio calisthenics. First exercise: stretching. Ready—go!
We went in circles (Circles)
Chasing our tails
Counting our steps
Tryna make the other jealous
We went in circles (Circles)
Chasing our tails
Counting our steps
Tryna make the other jealous!"
Tactician and Gold King exchanged glances.
Tactician pursed his lips, shaking his head. "Idiot."
Gold King nodded. "Completely deranged."
"Perfect—insanity makes him predictable."
"Let me handle him."
"Who's there!?" Herbert whirled.
Tactician barked, "Attack!"
They lunged, but Herbert's palm strike sent Tactician hurtling backward, blood spraying. Gold King gaped as a boot smashed into his face, flinging him into a boulder. His skull cracked against stone, and he blacked out.
Tactician lay crippled, internal organs shattered. The blow had been held back—another inch, and he'd be dead. Consumed by hatred, he thought:
Is this Central Quadportal mastery!? You've got to be kidding! Sherry... you absolute fool! You've destroyed me!
Herbert stood over him, picking his nose. "You... called me a turtle bastard, didn't you?"
Tactician gaped. This man—he's framing me from the start!