Fyren led Zaring and Chloe into the clearing. Suddenly Herbert sprang out, cackling: "Ah! My star pupil comes to visit his master!"
Fyren jolted, then relaxed at the sight of Herbert. So that's why Tactician and Gold King are here—these fools came after my master! Why didn't they check with Otto first?
"Master, how fare thee?"
"Fit as a fiddle! Now, who are these two..."
"My secretary Chloe, and Zaring—my assistant and driver."
Herbert nodded. "Changed girlfriends again? Easy does it. Cultivation requires preserving essence—no excesses."
Chloe blushed; Fyren squirmed. "Master, has anyone troubled you?"
"None!"
"Truly?"
"Cross my heart!"
"I see..." Fyren frowned. If he'd found Herbert by chance, where were the others? Must be Gold King's injuries—they're patching him up. Yes, that's it.
Herbert smiled. "Come, sit in my cave."
The word "cave" made Fyren uneasy. Caves held too many psychological scars. Inside, a stone-ringed earthen stove stood at the entrance, wooden shelves flanking it. The central fire had died, leaving coals that radiated faint heat. On the rack, a roe deer thigh glistened—plump, juicy, its aroma intoxicating.
Fyren and the others were ravenous.
"Starving, eh?" Herbert chuckled.
Fyren blushed, rubbing his hands. "Truth be told, Master—we've hiked seven straight hours."
"Dig in! Eat your fill!"
The trio tore into the meat, stuffing themselves. Meanwhile, Herbert went out with a knife, returning with another thigh. He prepped it and set it to roast—amazing how it tasted divine without seasonings. Even Chloe, always prim, ate with grease smeared across her face.
Mid-bite, Fyren noticed dripping from the ceiling. He looked up, staggering back: "What the—!?"
Hanging from the ceiling, stripped to their shorts, were Gold King and Tactician. The starving pair watched the feast, smelling the 烤肉 (roast meat), hearing cries of "Delicious! So delicious!"—how could they not salivate?
Herbert acted nonchalant: "Oh, that? No need to mind."
Fyren lost his appetite. With two men hanging overhead, how could he eat?
"Master, I just asked—didn't you say no one was harassing you?"
"Precisely! No one's bothering me!"
"Then what about those two..."
Herbert's eyes widened. "Do these two count as trouble? Hardly. This one"—he pointed at Gold King—"dropped without me lifting a finger. And this one"—he motioned to Tactician—"started coughing blood before I could even act."
Fyren thought, Just how powerful is he? These two are the deadliest fighters I've ever seen!
"Um... Master, why hang them here?"
"Punishment!"
"For... what?"
"This one"—he jabbed at Tactician—"lied, saying you sent them to kill me. As if my disciple would be so vile! Do I look that dim? Your master is cunning as a fox—they can't fool me!"
Fyren nodded. "And him?"
"Ah, this one's worse! After waking, he asked if I'd extorted money from you. Now tell me—have I ever asked you for coin?"
"Never," Fyren said promptly. "Master treats me like kin—you've never demanded a penny."
Fyren studied the pair, hanging pitifully. Once so arrogant, they'd made him fear for his life. Now, seeing them like this, he felt a strange pity. Herbert was too cruel—no, too deranged! His methods were so extreme, even Fyren winced.
Scratching his head, Fyren asked, "Master, what's your plan for them?"
Herbert turned the roasting deer leg, cackling. "I'll make them my guardian stone lions."
Fyren squinted. "Creative, as always. But they're flesh and blood—how turn them to stone?"
"No issue! My Fossil Cotton Palm will petrify their limbs."
The hanging men went rigid with terror. Fossil Cotton Palm? Such a horrific technique exists?
"But what if they escape?" Fyren pressed.
"Simple!" Herbert grinned. "Break their legs, heal them, break them again when they mend—cycle it. They'll never get away."
Above, the pair realized they faced a demon. The more they heard, the colder they grew.
Fyren still objected: "Wait—gate lions are male and female. These two are both men!"
"Right! But that's no issue!" Herbert brandished his dagger. "I'll just 'transform' one into a lioness. Good disciple—who should I start with?"
Fyren said, "Master, if you 'start with one,' both will end up cut."
"Hahaha! True! Two lionesses? Why not?"
The hanging men thought they'd met their end. Fyren's the finishing blow! If he hadn't kept pressing, the old man wouldn't have dreamed up such horrors. Every time Fyren said "That's not right," Herbert countered "No problem!"—they were in sick sync, brainstorming ways to torture them. The methods weren't just cruel—they were depraved. And creative—how terrifying!
"No, Master, that's still wrong," Fyren said, prompting both men to burst into tears.
"The mother lion must have a cub under her paw," Fyren added.
They gaped at him in horror.
"Is that so?" Herbert asked innocently.
"Absolutely."
"Then I'll manage!" Herbert waved his dagger. "I'll turn the skinny one into a lioness, and make them breed a cub for me."
Zaring and Chloe went rigid. The old man was unravelling.
Fyren eyed his master. "Master, they... can't."
"Can't? I'll beat them till they can!" Herbert raged. "I'll make them breed a cub if it takes a hundred tries! A thousand! Ten thousand! Perseverance prevails!"
"Master, effort won't solve this. They—"
"Disobey me? I believe in brute force! No cub, no mercy! I have nine methods to make them beg for death!" He held up nine fingers.
"Master, didn't you say you 'won people over with virtue'?"
"Did I?"
"I recall you... mentioning it."
"Details! A master must adapt." Herbert shrugged.
Fyren shook his head. "Still not right, Master..."
The hanging men couldn't take it anymore. They thrashed wildly, uttering muffled "woo woo" sounds, pleading with their eyes. Fyren, stop nitpicking! Now we're being forced to breed a cub. If you keep saying "not right," he'll invent something worse! This cub thing is already impossible!
Herbert brandished his dagger. "Wait here—I'll grab firewood." He vanished with surprising speed.
Chloe eyed the captives. "Fyren, what do we do?"
Fyren rubbed his chin, scowling. "Hell if I know."
"Can we save them? They look miserable."
Fyren knew Chloe was playing the good girl. "I want to! But did you see how deranged he is? Talk wrong, and he'll make me mate with a rock for grandchildren!"
Chloe giggled, blushing. Zaring whispered, "Untie them and run?"
The men nodded frantically, gagged.
"Quiet!" Fyren whirled. "In his eyes, we're lab rats! Escape? He'll hang us in five minutes. Want to be a lioness?"
Zaring recoiled. "No—nor a male lion!"
Fyren seethed. "He swindled me, then hides here grilling meat! Asking if it's true—outrageous!" (This jab was aimed at the captives.)
"Fyren, this is your fault! Why let them provoke your master? He's unpredictable!"
"My fault?" Fyren exploded. "They came for me! If I didn't fend them off, they'd have killed me! How was I to know they'd find my master? Even I meet him by chance! They're 'talented' alright—" He gave them a sarcastic thumbs-up.
Zaring suggested, "Claim company business and leave them."
"Brilliant! Exactly my thought."
Chloe fretted, "Leaving them here... breeding cubs... I'll have nightmares."
"Here's the plan: I'll distract the master. You two untie them and flee. Go!"
Fyren leaped two meters, startling Chloe. He slashed the ropes, and Gold King and Tactician crashed down. Yanking out their gags, they croaked:
"Fyren—thank you for saving us!"
Tactician panted, "We owe you everything."
"Save it. Get off this hill first."
Injured, they followed Zaring and Chloe. Meanwhile, Sabrina spotted the group and froze.
Gold King? Tactician? Traveling with Fyren's crew?
Could it be...?