Hakan was seething!
He'd told everyone it was Fyren who'd run him over, but no one believed him. They all said, Those three were pitiful—covered in mud, soaking wet.
If someone ran you over, why save you? That's asking for trouble. Wouldn't it make more sense to leave you for dead in the mountains?
Watching Fyren cry crocodile tears, Hakan's blood pressure spiked. He tried to speak, but his voice was a hoarse whisper.
Fyren leaned in, sniffling. "Hmm? Speak slowly, I'm listening."
Hakan gritted his teeth, forcing words into Fyren's ear: "You bastard… when I recover, I'll—"
"Wah, wah, wah!" Fyren wailed, pretending not to hear. "Hakan, don't talk like that. You'll get better. I promise!"
"I mean I'll kill you, Fyren! Just you wait—"
"Don't say that! We're brothers!" Fyren cut in, sobbing. "Everything I did was for you. Focus on healing—don't think about revenge."
"I want you dead!" Hakan snarled.
Fyren clapped a hand over his mouth. "Stop cursing yourself! Nobody's perfect. You must've been terrified when you shot that man. As your brother, I can't let you throw your life away!"
Hakan's face twitched, but Fyren's hand muffled his protests.
"Hakan! Wuwuwu… My dear brother! If I could, I'd take your place in this bed!"
"Hakan! Wuwuwu… My beloved classmate!"
Fyren stood, gesturing to the crowd. "In school, he bullied a female classmate, so I had my guys rough him up—all because he was too naive! Can you understand that kind of loyalty?"
Doctors and nurses dabbed their eyes.
Fyren sniffled, "Who'd have thought we'd meet again like this, years after graduation? It's enough to make a hero weep!"
Even Tinson, normally so composed, had red-rimmed eyes. He whispered to his bodyguard, "They say Hakan and Fyren are rivals, but this must be a misunderstanding. Fyren's actions prove Hakan's just being petty."
Zoey frowned. "That's enough."
Fyren flung himself into her arms. "You don't get it! Women can't understand brotherly love! Waaaah…"
Zoey wanted to slap him. Since when are we close? What the hell are you doing!?
Crying on her chest? This was outrageous! But hitting him now would make her look heartless. She awkwardly pushed him away. "Hey! Get a hold of yourself!"
"No! I can't! I'm too sad! Too upset! I have to cry!"
Zoey felt extremely awkward.
At that moment, Fyren sensed a chill of danger. Something felt off—he glanced behind him. Standing behind Tinson was a figure over 1.8 meters tall, expression stern and unreadable. Those eyes watched him calmly, pupils as dark and fathomless as deep wells.
Fyren's heart jolted: An ancient martial arts master—and a powerful one.
Suddenly the window shattered. A figure whirled in like a cyclone, palm aimed at Hakan's chest. Hakan flinched, but before he could shout, the expert behind Tinson vanished and reappeared at the bedside. One palm swatted away the attacker's hand, while the other fist struck the man's chest.
The attacker—Gold King—clashed fists with the master, sent flying into a cabinet. Glass and medical supplies exploded everywhere. Before Gold King could recover, the master struck again, aiming for his face. Sensing the opponent's overwhelming strength, Gold King spun to flee through the broken window. The master didn't pursue, merely stood and delivered a palm strike.
A thunderous thud echoed. Gold King groaned mid-air, spat blood, and crashed to the floor. The master hadn't spoken a word, only glanced back as two burly figures burst through the window in pursuit.
Fyren was still dazed in Zoey's arms. She shoved him away, drew her pistol, and started after Gold King—only to freeze as another figure stormed in, grabbing Fyren by the neck.
Shit—it's the Tactician! Fyren's stomach dropped. Gold King had tried to kill Hakan for revenge, but the Tactician needed Fyren's head to prove his innocence.
The martial arts master moved instantly, blocking the Tactician's path. They clashed palms, neither gaining ground, until the Tactician seized Fyren's neck with his free hand. "Stay back! One step closer, and he dies!"
The master ignored Fyren's plight, advancing slowly with a stony expression.
"Stop!" the Tactician barked, panic rising.
Tinson raised a hand. "Wait."
At Tinson's word, the master halted, eyes still locked on the Tactician. Tinson pulled up a chair, sitting leisurely. "Who are you? Why attack my son?"
The Tactician's lip trickled blood. "Your son means nothing to me. I want Fyren dead."
"Why?" Tinson asked calmly.
"Personal vendetta. My feud with Fyren doesn't involve you, Tinson. I'm someone you don't want to cross."
By now, two more experts had flanked the Tactician.
Tinson smiled coolly. "The list of people I, Tinson, can't afford to cross…"
He shook his head. "Not many. Fortunately, you're not among them."
"Uncle Tinson, save me! Hakan and I are brothers!" Fyren cried out.
Hakan had fainted again from shock and terror—otherwise, his rage would have driven Fyren to madness.
Tinson's expression remained unchanged. "Friend, if my son isn't your target, we needn't be enemies. Fyren is my son's close friend and saved his life. Release him as a favor to me, so I can repay this kindness. I won't interfere in your future conflicts. Agreed?"
Tinson couldn't let the Tactician escape with Fyren. As a cunning veteran, he sensed these sudden intruders were linked to his son's ordeal.
The Tactician glared, pressing down on Fyren's vital point. "Tinson, you're a business tycoon with top-tier connections. I know your power, but can you afford to offend the Mighty Syndicate?"
Tinson's brows furrowed, and even the silent martial artist turned grave, glancing back at him. Clearly, the name "Mighty Syndicate" carried weight—and fear.
Tinson hesitated. Most knew nothing of this organization, but he did: a shadowy syndicate brimming with masters, acting with ruthless decisiveness, embodying the creed "align or perish." He'd crossed paths with them before, always maintaining a respectful distance.
Fyren saw the hesitation. No! He can't back down!
"He's a traitor to the Mighty Syndicate!" Fyren blurted. "Just a lowly Tactician from Crystalpeak's branch—was a Tactician, that is."
The Tactician squeezed Fyren's throat. "Shut up!"
At this, Tinson's brows eased slightly. "Friend, since you invoke the Mighty Syndicate, I'll show respect for Southlandia's chief helmsman. You may leave, but Fyren is like a nephew to me. Leave him here."
The Tactician stared at Tinson. "And if I refuse?"
"Then you won't be leaving at all."
"I'll kill him before I go down."
"Fine," Tinson said flatly. "But you still won't leave."
The Tactician knew Tinson wasn't bluffing. A veteran of the business world surrounded by elite fighters—he couldn't be intimidated easily. Now cornered, with two experts flanking him and a top-tier master blocking his path—likely an Upper Quadportal master—escape was impossible.
But releasing Fyren was unthinkable. Fleeing now would mean immediate pursuit from the Helmsman. Without Fyren's head as proof, he couldn't clear his name. Even if he could, he knew the Mighty Syndicate's ways: first containment, then slow torture and interrogation.
His failures were the fifty billion and the basic recovery potion. Killing Fyren would prove he hadn't colluded to hand over those assets.
Sweat beaded on the Tactician's forehead. "Fine! Want his head? He's cost our organization two hundred billion! If Tinson pays that to let me return and report, I'll spare him!"
Tinson rose slowly, walked to his son's bedside, and gently tucked the blanket around him. "Two hundred billion isn't pocket change. I can't hand it over on your word alone. Let my nephew speak."
The Tactician loosened his grip slightly. "Tell your men to stand down. I'd rather take him down with me than let him live!"
Tinson chuckled. "Don't be foolish. My men follow orders. Besides, you came for him to save your own skin, not to die."
The Tactician truly feared Tinson. The man was as steady as an old wolf, unraveling him with mere words.
"Fyren," Tinson said, "speak up. Explain clearly, and I'll cover the two hundred billion."
Fyren choked out, "They approached me first!"
"You're lying! You impersonated our Young Lord Otto!"
Tinson froze, startled. "Wait—who did you say?"
"Otto, our Young Lord!" the Tactician barked.
"Otto is your Young Lord?"
"Yes!"
"Is he in Northlandia?"
"Yes!"
Fyren interjected, "Me impersonate him? Then tell your Young Lord Otto that we're sworn brothers and fellow disciples."
Tinson gaped. "You… Fyren, you know Young Lord Otto?"
"Know him? We swore on our honor to be brothers for life—may we be struck by lightning otherwise!"
Tinson was flabbergasted. "Then you're on our side!"