Gold King snarled, "He sent us to ambush Fyren and the Young Lord's master, Herbert. That damned Sherry said Herbert wasn't dangerous, but when we faced him, he took me out with one strike!"
The Helmsman jolted. "One strike!?"
Gold King was a top-tier operative in the Central Quadportal. Taking him down in one move required Upper Quadportal mastery.
The Tactician mumbled sheepishly, "I… I was also laid out with a single blow."
"Then what happened?"
Both men's faces reddened on screen, embarrassment radiating.
"Speak! Speak up, damn it!"
Gold King gritted his teeth. "That old man dragged us into a cave, hung us up… and stripped us naked. That's it."
The Tactician added, "Then… Fyren arrived and conferred with the old man about what to do with us."
"Conferred how?"
The Tactician nearly wept. "Helmsman, trust me this once—it's irrelevant. Truly irrelevant."
"Whoever explains this clearly will be cleared of suspicion."
The Tactician steeled himself. "Herbert wanted to use the Fossil Cotton Palm to turn us into stone lions to guard his den."
The Helmsman balked. "Guard his den? He lives in a cave!"
Gold King growled, "The old man's deranged!"
"The maddest!" the Tactician agreed.
"Completely unhinged!"
"Impossible to reason with!"
"He acts on whim, does as he pleases, and follows no logic!"
The Tactician interjected, "And he had this wild idea to perform surgery on Gold King to turn him into a female lion."
"Bullshit! He wanted to turn you into a female lion!"
"Lies! They were talking about you!"
"Rubbish! Which of us looks remotely like a female lion?"
"What does our build have to do with it? They wanted us to sire cubs—can I do that?"
Gold King stomped in fury. "If you can't, do you think I can!?"
"Enough!" the Helmsman barked. "Spare me the details—this sickens me!"
The Tactician blushed. "I told you not to ask."
"What happened next?"
Silence.
"Speak, damn it!"
Gold King muttered, "Fyren had his men lead us away while he held off that madman."
The Tactician added, "We had no choice. The old man was too powerful to fight, and… I truly can't give birth to cubs! No surgery could change that—mark my words!"
The Helmsman seethed. His subordinates—his Tactician and the Red Guards' strongest warrior—had been toyed with so disgracefully. Utter humiliation.
"So Miss Sabrina saw you two then?"
"Affirmative," they replied in unison.
The Helmsman seethed, "I... I'm livid! You extorted fifty billion, then gave it back—along with the basic healing potion—claiming you thought you were surrounded!"
"You! Fyren saved you twice, and when the Tactician tried to attack his men, you stopped him. Fyren even sacrificed the healing potion to save your life!"
Gold King protested, "Helmsman! I remain loyal! I never expected Fyren to be so magnanimous. I never thought he... He's noble, compassionate, brave, strategic, and magnanimous! This isn't my fault!"
The Helmsman clenched his fists, staring at the two avatars on the screen.
It was over.
Logically speaking, both had defected.
Gold King's loyalty was highly suspect.
Why would Fyren save him? It would be stranger if he hadn't killed him!
He'd not only saved him but used a basic healing potion?
Even if every word were true, Gold King was now indebted to Fyren. They'd have to monitor him closely from now on.
Could he really go through the trouble of promoting Gold King only to spy on him?
The Tactician was equally useless.
After years of collaboration, how could he make such absurd, illogical mistakes?
Fyren showed undue kindness to Gold King, and the Tactician did the same to Fyren.
Fifty billion cash handed to Fyren, healing potions given away, then he accused Gold King of treason…
He couldn't distinguish who was the real traitor, who was framing whom, or who was wrongfully accused.
They might all be traitors.
Sabrina laughed bitterly, "Helmsman, the Four Kings—Gold, Silver, Copper, Iron—have all defected. Even your Tactician has become Fyren's pawn. I can't tell if they defected on the spot or were already traitors biding their time."
Gold King and the Tactician fell silent.
The situation was too bizarre—completely out of their control.
Both now knew they could never return to the branch.
The accusations against them were unprovable.
Their futures were shattered. Returning meant immediate detention, followed by prolonged, brutal—perhaps endless—interrogation and torture.
There was no point in protesting.
Whether they resisted or not, the truth was lost.
The Helmsman stared blankly, muttering, "The Four Kings all rebelled within days… one after another, seamless as flowing water… and I sent them all out… I… I scraped together every penny for Fyren. I even sent him the branch's top talents… By that logic, the traitor… must be me!"
He looked up, wild-eyed. "Did I betray us? Am I the real monster!? I don't even know anymore!"
The Helmsman wept bitterly. "My life… has been in vain."
The Tactician ended the video call without a trace of emotion. He knew there was no going back. The only way to prove his innocence now was to eliminate Fyren and Gold King, then bring their heads to the Central Lodge as proof—blaming Helmsman for the loss of over a hundred billion and the Four Kings' defection. It was his only play.
Seeing the Tactician disconnect, Gold King did the same. It was the final act of a spy thriller: everyone knew each other's thoughts, and no one on that call could be trusted—save themselves. Options had dwindled to nothing.
The Helmsman could no longer command the Red Guards. The Four Kings had fled, the Tactician was gone. All that remained were a few intelligence informants and the Black-Clad Guards and White-Clad Defenders tasked with assassination. The mess he'd created was likely irreparable. The Central Lodge wasn't blind—they'd surely noticed the chaos.
Only the Young Lord could save him now. He must lead all remaining forces in a full-scale assault, wiping out the Tactician and Four Kings without mercy, then seek the Young Lord's forgiveness and swear loyalty. Otherwise, no one in the world could save him.
Gold King, a 1.9-meter giant, wept under a hotel blanket, wailing like a child. He couldn't fathom how things had spiraled. Fyren saved him, the Tactician framed him, the Helmsman suspected him—he'd become a traitor without understanding why.
"What did I do to betray anyone?"
He ripped off the blanket, eyes blazing. "Hakan! That bastard! If he hadn't shot me, Fyren wouldn't have saved me, and the Tactician wouldn't have played me for a traitor!"
Herbert was untouchable, but Hakan… If no one else paid, Hakan must. The agony of those dozen bullets, the despair of lying wounded, Hakan's mocking stare and maniacal laughter echoing in the mountains—all drove Gold King to the edge.
The next day, Fyren stepped out in a tailored suit, sunglasses shielding his eyes. Zaring held open the Rolls-Royce door; Chloe sat inside in a business suit, smiling up at him. Fyren smirked, slid in, and immediately pulled Chloe into a kiss. "Zaring, to the hospital."
"Yes, Fyren."
Zaring jogged to the driver's seat, started the engine, and headed for the hospital. Hakan's condition had stabilized enough for transfer—to Crystalpeak City's most prestigious (and expensive) hospital system, owned by the Xu family. Their facilities boasted unmatched medical resources, cutting-edge equipment… and eye-watering prices.
For the affluent, no price was too high for such a hospital. Paying tens of millions for a single day's stay was par for the course.
Hakan regained consciousness slowly, feeling as though he'd emerged from a fever dream. His legs were severely fractured, his fingers set and bandaged—now in the long recovery phase.
When Fyren arrived, Tinson was already there. The moment he saw Fyren, Tinson grasped his hand tightly. "Fyren, thank you for coming all this way despite your schedule."
"Uncle, you're too kind."
Hakan was too weak to protest. Beaten, fractured, and drenched in the storm, his injuries weren't life-threatening, but his condition was dire. His fever had just broken, leaving him groggy and speechless. At the sight of Fyren, his eyes flared with rage.
This bastard! Yesterday, he let Zaring run over me again and again!
The moment Fyren entered, he launched into an act—overwrought, grief-stricken, as if on the verge of tears. He covered his mouth, contorting his face into a mask of unbearable pain.
"Hakan! Hakan! What's happened to you, Hakan!" He rushed to the bedside, grabbing Hakan's bandaged hand. "You can't die! We've been through everything together. I've treated you like a brother, raised you—never thought I'd bury you first!"
A nurse wiped her eyes. "Fyren, he has fractures and a fever. He's not dying."
"Not yet, but it's only a matter of time!" Fyren wailed.
"Please be strong! Your outburst is disturbing the patient."
"No! Let me mourn! I must release this agony!"
The nurse sobbed, "Fyren, his hand is broken—let go!"
Fyren glanced sideways. Hakan was in such pain he rolled his eyes, unable to form words.