The Tactician seethed, "He's lying! The Young Lord came to Northlandia to dismantle the Four Great Families—how could he ally with this man?"
Fyren laughed. "Tactician, can't you see? Uncle Tinson and my brother just had a talk and unravelled the whole mess. Our secrets were bound to surface."
The Tactician gripped Fyren's neck. "Stay back! I'll strangle him!"
Fyren hissed, "You're cornered. If I die, you die. If I live, you still die. Traitors to the Mighty Syndicate never survive."
"Shut up! You ruined everything! It's all in shambles!"
"Am I the one who ruined things?" Fyren shot back. "You came to kill me. Should I have let you?"
The Tactician snapped, "Mr. Tinson! I have Fyren. I can't explain now, but take him to the Young Lord, and I'll clarify everything and apologize. Let me leave!"
Tinson's eyes narrowed. "One question: who injured my son?"
"Fyren!"
"Certain?"
"Not entirely."
Tinson thought, This man is deranged.
The Tactician floundered, "Though unsure, it must be Fyren!"
Fyren laughed bitterly. "Brother, hear yourself!"
"Only three groups were in those mountains. If not us, then who?"
Tinson faced the Tactician. "Tell me everything. The whole story."
Fyren interjected, "I'll start! Day before yesterday, I went hunting—took money, not women. Found Hakan wounding Gold King—the madman who just got tossed out. They were surrounding him, shooting. I thought he was an innocent, so I intervened..."
The Tactician gritted his teeth. "So it was you!"
"I saw Gold King dying. If he perished, Hakan would face murder charges, so I used a basic healing potion to save him."
The master was astonished. "A basic healing potion? You possess one?"
"He gave it to me."
Now both Tinson and the master stared, confused. What is their relationship?
The Tactician flushed. "It's complicated... I extorted fifty billion from him, then returned it—along with the potion."
Tinson turned to the master. "Make sense of this?"
The master shook his head. "Sounds like... mental instability."
The Tactician was unravelling. "Regardless, we're wrongfully accused of treason. We must bring Fyren's head to clear the debt."
Tinson frowned. "By your own account, you are traitors."
The Tactician stomped his foot in frustration. "I was forced to hand over the basic healing potion and fifty billion!"
"Him? Forced you?"
On the verge of tears, the Tactician felt increasingly confused. "It's... a complicated situation!"
Fyren scoffed. "Complicated? I saved your life, and this is how you repay me? By trying to kill me? Are you even human?"
The Tactician snapped, "If you hadn't betrayed me and sent me after Herbert, we wouldn't be in this mess!"
"Now it's my fault!? You two threatened me, extorted fifty billion over a goddamn meal! What was I supposed to do—let you kill me?"
"So you did throw us into that madman's cave! No wonder we're out for blood!"
"Enough! Kill me then! Do you have the guts?"
"Fyren, don't push me!"
"Pushing you? What are you gonna do about it? Come on—make your move. If you don't, you're a coward!"
Tinson interjected, "Who is Herbert? Why is this so convoluted?"
Ignoring him, the Tactician yelled, "I can end your life with a flick of my wrist!"
Fyren ignored Tinson too. "Your wrist is attached to your arm. Go ahead! Want me to tell everyone how I saved you and Gold King? Without me, you'd still be stone lions guarding my master's den!"
"Stop talking about the stone lions!"
"I won't! What are you gonna do—"
"Entitled brat!"
"Stone lion!"
"Spoiled prick!"
"Mother lion!"
"Look at this rich boy! Scared of the Mighty Syndicate—he handed over fifty billion after a few drinks!"
"Ooh! Someone got turned into a stone lion by the Fossil Cotton Palm! Ooh! My master wanted to turn him into a mother lion!"
The Tactician ground his teeth. "Fēn Léi Zhǎng! I'll take your life!"
Fyren activated his Acala Experience Voucher in a flash.
Bang!
The Tactician's palm strike hit Fyren like a mountain, leaving him stunned. Before he could react, Fyren unleashed the Little Monkey Fist, shouting:
"My master never named this move! Ahh—"
Bang!
The blow knocked the Tactician back, though Fyren's shallow cultivation spared his vitals. The real shock came from his Fēn Léi Zhǎng failing to harm Fyren at all.
In that moment of hesitation, the martial expert lunged forward, sealing several of the Tactician's major acupoints. The two flankers seized his arms, pressing short knives to his back.
The Tactician despaired, his eyes reddening as he stared at Fyren. "Who are you?"
Fyren stood tall, chin raised. "The number-one troublemaker of Crystalpeak City, the Chosen One—Fyren!"
"Take him away," Tinson ordered. "I'll interrogate him personally."
The master nodded to his subordinates, who escorted the Tactician out. Just then, the two pursuing masters returned, dragging in a half-dead Gold King.
Tinson eyed the man sneeringly. "So you're Gold King."
Gold King's chest was sunken—clear signs of broken ribs—and his spine was shattered, causing him to sweat profusely from pain. Yet he bared his teeth savagely. "Yes."
"Did you injure my son?"
"Right again."
Fyren started—he was admitting it?
"Why?"
"Your son was chasing women in the mountains, treating me like game. He shot at me for fun. What, he can play god, but I can't retaliate? I'm in this state because of him! Kill me! If you don't, I'll kill him—must kill him!"
Tinson nodded. "Lucky for my son, I have Tiancheng Bone-Continuing Ointment. His limbs will heal. But you..." A cruel smile played on his lips. "Your life means nothing to me. I'll hand you over to your branch Helmsman. They'll treat you a hundred times worse than I ever could—and you know it."
"Kill me! Just kill me!"
"Hahaha! I'm a businessman, not a murderer."
"Tinson! I'll haunt you from the grave!"
"Take him away!"
"Wait!" Gold King glanced at Fyren, emotions unreadable. "Tinson, since I'm dead anyway, let me say something to Fyren."
Tinson thought, Their relationship is too convoluted. "Fine."
The guards released Gold King, who panted heavily, staring at Fyren— the man he'd planned to kill, the one who'd shown mercy in the mountains when he was treated like trash.
Gold King slowly knelt, laughing through tears. "Fyren... Fyren."
Fyren's lips twitched, but he stayed silent.
"I, Gold King... since entering the underworld as a Mighty Syndicate Red Guard, I've been a lackey all my life. You're the first to treat me like a human." He gritted his teeth. "You saved me, and I spared your men. Are we... even now?"
Fyren nodded, uneasy. "We're even."
"Bullshit!" Gold King cried. "I still owe you. But... I'll never repay it. I'll kowtow three times, whether you like it or not. That's all I can do."
With a broken spine, even bending caused searing pain. Fyren reached out to stop him. "That's enough."
Gold King stared at Fyren, voice trembling. "I... I can't stand owing people... My brother, the Silver King..."
"He's alive." Fyren reassured him. "Downed four bottles of XO yesterday, partied with two beauties till dawn. Don't fret."
Gold King nodded. "Tell him... in the next life, let's be brothers again."
The guards dragged Gold King out as Tinson approached Fyren. "Scared?"
Fyren smiled, shaking off the somber mood. "Hardly. Just two small fries—nothing to lose sleep over."
Tinson clapped his arm. "You take after your father more each day—general's poise. Heading back to Southlandia this afternoon, Europe tomorrow. We'll catch up."
"Count on it."
As Tinson left, the martial artist—Felix—stepped forward, forcing a rare smile. "Fyren, you've got tricks."
Fyren knew his punch meant nothing. The Acala technique earned respect here. "Sorry to cause a scene, sir."
"Ah, I'm no gentleman—"
"Modesty doesn't suit you," Fyren cut in, feigning exhaustion. "Your martial arts outshine everyone here. You held back to spare my life."
This was Fyren's social magic. Felix was just Tinson's man, but Fyren pressed on: "You spared my life today. I owe you."
Martial artists thrive on such recognition. Felix preened. "Name's Felix. Pleasure, Fyren—"
"Felix!" Fyren lit up. "Your technique was breathtaking! The most impressive I've seen in all my days."
Flattery—their universal weakness. Praise their prowess, and they melt.
Felix clasped his fists. "You flatter me."
"Call me Fyren."
"But you're—"
"Brother, drop the formalities. Uncle Tinson treats you like kin. Calling you 'brother' honors me."
Felix beamed, all sternness gone. "Then I'll speak plainly. Your Acala technique—profound. Few under heaven could counter it."
Fyren shrugged. "Luck, really. My master's a madman from the mountains, teaches in fits and starts. I learned haphazardly."
"Your master is...?"
"The Herbert I mentioned. A deranged hermit."
Fyren took Felix's hand. "Shame we met now. If not for Southlandia, I'd drink with you all night."
"Actually," Felix confided, "Tinson will have others escort him. He'll leave me here to handle the Tactician and Gold King."
"Is that so?" Fyren gripped his hands tighter. "Do me a favor, brother. Let's share three cups tonight."