Sherry returned to the villa and knelt by Otto's bedside, sinking into sorrow as she gazed at him.
Sabrina sighed. "What's wrong? Did you succeed?"
Sherry shook her head.
"Just stay put. Wait until the Young Lord recovers. Don't leave his side— 作为铜卫 (as Copper Guard), chasing Silver King isn't your priority."
"I know I messed up."
Sabrina stroked her head. "The Young Lord has blessings—he'll pull through."
Otto glanced weakly at them. "Did you kill Fyren?"
Sherry shook her head again. "I couldn't."
Otto frowned. "What do you mean? Can't you beat Silver King?"
"Silver King wasn't there. Fyren has no powerful subordinates—only Silver King could match you."
"Why couldn't you kill him?"
"He had his reasons."
Otto forced himself up. "What reasons?"
Sherry explained: "Young Lord, you intend to take over their companies, right?"
"Yes."
"Then they have the right to resist, to stop you, correct?"
"…Yes."
"Fyren outsmarted you. He played you because you were the aggressor. In the end—you were outmatched!"
Otto grew agitated. "What are you saying?"
Sherry pressed on: "It's like a battle of wits. Clearly, Fyren's strategies surpass yours. This isn't just an analogy—judging by the outcome, your tactics failed."
Otto forgot his anger, mouth opening and closing wordlessly.
Sherry continued: "If you want to 吞并四大家族 (annex the Four Families), they can use any means to trick you. You initiated this—you just weren't clever enough, so—"
Sabrina cut in: "Sherry, you're tired. Go rest."
Sherry turned to her earnestly. "Let me finish. The Young Lord needs to understand—Fyren had valid reasons."
"Alright, he gets it. Go rest."
Mighty Syndicate Northlandia Crystalpeak City Branch.
The Tactician bowed deeply. "I report to the Helmsman."
The Helmsman sat on his throne, his once imposing figure now visibly shrunken.
"Speak." His voice was hoarse, as if expecting a terminal diagnosis.
The Tactician sighed. "I've examined him. The Young Lord... may not survive the night."
The Helmsman was silent for a long time before asking, "Where is Silver King?"
"He's gone into hiding—his phone is unreachable."
"Why... why has it come to this?"
The tactician said, "We can only pray the Young Lord has divine favor."
"Favor? Omen? Do you truly think either can aid the Young Lord now?"
The tactician sighed. "He once benefited from both, but recently... I know not what changed."
The Helmsman seethed, "Deploy the Black Cloaked Guards. Kill Fyren. Even if I die, I'll drag him down. That rich brat swindled over ten billion from me, kidnapped three lieutenants, and now this—if I perish, he won't survive!"
"Wait, Helmsman—news just came in." Moments later, the tactician returned, excitement in his voice. "Congratulations! The Young Lord stabilizes! His personal bodyguard arrived with a rare restorative. After taking it, his injuries steadied."
The Helmsman exhaled deeply, then lamented, "Even so, we're doomed. The Young Lord has been gravely wounded three times by our men. This debt cannot be forgiven. Our branch... ah."
"Helmsman, there's more good news."
"More... good news?"
"Yes." The tactician smiled. "I spoke to the Young Lord. He... finds this embarrassing. The implication is we must keep silent. Only those involved need know. Since the Young Lord hasn't lost face publicly, our mistakes aren't irredeemable."
"Truly?!" The Helmsman stood abruptly. "Great! Now the central lodge won't send assassins! This is splendid!"
"However, the Young Lord has new demands."
"Demands?"
"Yes—he requires another ten billion."
The Helmsman collapsed into his seat, then jolted up, clutching his backside. "Damnation! My hemorrhoids!"
"Tactician, we're bankrupt. But we must comply—this is our last chance to reconcile."
The Helmsman despaired, "Where will I get ten billion? I've sold everything! Decades of branch savings are invested!"
The tactician mused, "We could borrow."
"Borrow ten billion? From whom?"
"From whoever has it." The tactician smiled.
"Who has that kind of money?"
"Fyren."
The Helmsman gaped, "Him? Why would he lend us money?"
The tactician twirled his fan. "He overstepped. I doubt he's fearless. He controls Silver, Copper, Iron—won't he worry about retaliation? You just ordered his assassination. Men like Fyren value life above all. He'd pay thirty billion to survive."
The Helmsman's face darkened. "Dammit—if we must borrow from him, why stop at ten billion? We should recoup all losses! Demand twenty billion."
"Understood."
The Helmsman nodded. "This might just turn the tide."
"Indeed."
He frowned. "Mighty Syndicate has a clear rule—we cannot plunder the mortal world. Not even a thread from common folk. This is blatantly—"
"Helmsman, you mistake us for bandits. We seek a loan, not theft. We'll sign a notarized agreement. Why would he fear default? It's a commercial transaction, not robbery."
"Will this work?"
"Our only option. Scare Fyren into paying, and all is resolved."
"We borrow his money, but cannot harm him."
The tactician smiled. "Need we? His fate lies with the Young Lord. After all this, do you think the Young Lord will spare him? If he dies, the debt..."
"Agreed! Let's proceed."
The tactician clasped his hands. "I'll send Gold King to prepare. We move tonight."
"Wait!" The Helmsman groaned. "Three of the Four Kings have defected to Fyren. Can't we keep one?"
"Helmsman, Gold King is our most faithful. You know this."
"I do. I question the world. Lately, all who near Fyren lose their wits and follow him. I... I take antidepressants now. My doctor says I need fresh air, hobbies, less career anxiety..."
"Take care, Helmsman."
"I intend to, but this is our last chance. I'll lead the mission."
"No!" The tactician protested. "Branch regulations state: Helmsmen cannot engage in non-S-class operations. Violators face demotion, detention, and lifelong expulsion."
"But I have no choice! Gang affairs pile up, manpower is scarce. If Gold King defects, I'll have to sell myself!"
The tactician paused. "I'll go."
"You?"
"Yes. I'll meet this Fyren. I must see if he's a three-headed Nezha or a havoc-wreaking monkey."
The Helmsman nodded. "If you go, I rest easier."
Fyren summoned Silver King and his assistant the next night. The pair stood dumbfounded, seeing Copper King and Iron King flanking Fyren.
Fyren regarded them calmly. "Need me to spell this out?"
Silver King's face turned ashen. "Fine, enlighten us."
Fyren laid out the entire scheme, then shook his head. "I had no choice. Otto would've killed me. Most of this was unplanned—my victory hung by a thread."
Silver King's chest heaved with rage. His proud reputation lay shattered, his elite image reduced to rubble. From now on, in jianghu whispers, he'd be known as the bumbling fool completely manipulated by Fyren—no backup, no escape.
"Am I to become Fyren's lackey like them?" The thought slipped out before he could stop it.
Copper King scoffed. "What are you on about? Weren't we always lackeys in Mighty Syndicate?"
Silver King clenched his fists. "Better to die with dignity than live in disgrace! I was an elite, a key player! Suits, ties, luxury cars, five-star hotels—my annual salary started at a million. How could I—"
"Fool!" Fyren snapped. "Ask me what they earn now."
Iron King chimed in: "We get 100K a month, plus all expenses covered. That's 10K pure profit! And we each got a house and car as bonuses."
Copper King added: "The three of us got a guaranteed 20 million each when we joined Fyren. After the first mission, he gave us another million. Now we're all worth tens of millions."
"Impossible!" Silver King spluttered. "How could you have that kind of money?!"
Fyren saw the difference in Silver King—he craved luxury. You have weaknesses. I can keep you.
Silver King flailed his fists. "You caused my downfall! Since you're all here, I'll kill you all! None will survive!"
"You're smart enough to know you have no escape," Fyren said.
"Disgrace! Better to die loyal than serve two masters! I've studied classics since childhood and understand loyalty and righteousness! My head may roll, my blood may spill, but I fear nothing—let my name stay pure! Assistant, we'll kill these traitors, capture Fyren, and deliver him to the Helmsman!"
Fyren met his gaze. "You and your assistant will each have a 50-million-yuan worth, plus 5 million annual salary. I'll also give you a seaside villa and a—"