Ethan didn't care about the fight he had just gone through.
To be precise, it wasn't that he underestimated the consequences—it was simply that worrying endlessly about something he couldn't immediately control was pointless. He had already evaluated the situation clearly. The Punishment Department would eventually notice what had happened. Derek collapsing in public was not something that could be brushed aside easily, no matter how powerful his grandfather was.
But Ethan was not anxious.
The reason was simple.
He had the System.
From the moment he transmigrated into this world, Ethan slowly came to understand one fundamental truth: the System was not merely a cheat that boosted stats or handed out techniques. It was an adaptive intelligence, capable of analyzing cause and effect, political structures, human behavior, and probability outcomes far beyond his own reasoning.
Earlier, when he asked the System for help against Derek, it didn't give him one solution.
It gave him multiple strategic routes, each based on different future variables.
One plan focused on immediate escape.
One plan accounted for intervention from Young Master Robin.
One plan predicted long-term retaliation from the Punishment Department.
One plan even assumed the worst-case scenario: full-scale suppression by the Union.
That alone told Ethan one thing.
As long as he stayed calm and flexible, he was not cornered.
"So long as I don't panic, I won't die," Ethan muttered inwardly as he walked through the streets.
Because of that confidence, he quickly activated the [Disguise Mask].
The moment the skill took effect, a faint, imperceptible ripple passed over his face and body. His bone structure subtly shifted. His facial contours softened. His height reduced slightly. His originally mature aura faded, replaced by the impression of a young cultivator who hadn't yet fully stepped into adulthood.
In a few seconds, Ethan no longer looked like Ethan Hunt.
He now appeared to be a sixteen-year-old youth, with average looks, clear eyes, and nothing particularly memorable about his presence.
Perfect.
Ethan had read countless novels back on Earth. In those stories, the protagonists who survived longest were never the ones who charged forward recklessly. They were the ones who knew when to hide, when to retreat, and when to let others underestimate them.
Right now, his enemy wasn't just Derek.
It was the Punishment Department itself.
Even if Young Master Robin held a favorable impression of him, Ethan was realistic enough to understand that goodwill alone was not enough to risk political conflict. Their relationship was shallow—one transaction, one conversation, and mutual benefit. That was all.
Expecting rescue would be foolish.
"So for now… anonymity is the best armor," Ethan thought.
With his disguise active, he walked calmly through the streets for about half an hour, deliberately taking indirect routes. He asked directions from street vendors, guards, and pedestrians—careful to sound inexperienced, like someone new to the city.
Eventually, after a few wrong turns and mild confusion, a massive structure came into view.
Ethan stopped in his tracks.
Before him stood an immense complex of buildings, towering like a city within a city. The architecture was solemn and authoritative, with sharp edges, reinforced walls, and energy formations faintly pulsing along the structure's exterior.
At the very front, engraved in massive characters that radiated dignity and pressure, were the words:
THE UNION – PHOENIX FEATHER CITY BRANCH
Ethan exhaled slowly.
"So this is it…"
This was the place where law, order, and absolute authority converged.
This was also where his professional path would officially begin.
Without hesitation, he stepped inside.
The moment Ethan entered the Union complex, he was overwhelmed.
People were everywhere.
Cultivators, merchants, doctors, alchemists, guards, officials—countless figures moved in organized chaos. Some were rushing with urgency, others discussing matters in low voices, and some waiting patiently in lines that stretched across halls.
The sheer scale of the place stunned him.
This wasn't a single building.
It was an entire administrative district.
Multiple high-rise structures stood side by side, each at least twenty floors tall. Elevated walkways connected them. Floating symbols indicated department directions. Spirit-powered lifts moved people up and down continuously.
Back on Earth, Ethan had lived in New Zealand—a country large enough by normal standards.
But standing here, observing Phoenix Feather City, a shocking realization struck him.
"This city alone… is at least twice the size of New Zealand."
The thought made his brain stall.
"What kind of ridiculous scale is this…?"
He couldn't help but curse inwardly.
Cultivation civilizations truly ignored common sense.
Shaking his head, Ethan refocused. He wasn't here to marvel at architecture. He wasn't here to join the Union either.
He was here for one purpose only:
Resources.
Contribution Points.
Professional registration.
A legal foothold.
Everything he needed to begin resolving his Skill Points Credit debt.
After scanning the floating signboards, Ethan identified the direction he needed.
Administration Block → Registration Department
Once inside the Administration Building, he immediately noticed something both familiar and strange.
The internal system—the counters, numbered queues, reception desks—was eerily similar to government offices on Earth.
The difference?
Here, every clerk was a cultivator.
Every document was reinforced with spiritual seals.
And every process carried an invisible sense of authority.
Ethan located the Registration Counter.
And then he sighed.
The line was long.
Very long.
With no other choice, he calmly walked to the end and stood there obediently.
As he waited, he began listening to the conversations around him—not out of boredom, but habit. Information was power, and sometimes the most valuable intelligence came from casual chatter.
The people in front of him were discussing their plans enthusiastically.
"I'm opening a Grade-1 medical clinic near the southern district…"
"My family invested in a pharmacy. If I secure an alchemist partnership, profits will skyrocket…"
"Union rent is cheap compared to private land, but competition is fierce…"
Merchants discussed pricing strategies.
Doctors debated treatment fees.
Alchemists spoke about pill refinement costs.
It was a living ecosystem of professional cultivation.
Ethan found nothing wrong with it. In fact, he understood it well.
Connections mattered.
Relationships mattered.
This world wasn't just about strength—it was about networks.
Just as he was lost in thought, a voice sounded from behind him.
"Hi!"
Ethan wasn't startled. His perception had already sensed the person approaching.
He turned around.
Standing there was a young man about his apparent age—sixteen or seventeen. He wore fine silk robes, clearly of good quality but not overly extravagant. His expression was bright and enthusiastic, yet beneath that enthusiasm, Ethan sensed nervousness.
"Hi," Ethan replied politely but neutrally.
The youth seemed slightly disappointed by the lack of warmth but quickly recovered.
"My name is Lindell!" he said earnestly. "I'm a Grade-1 Merchant. May I know your name?"
Ethan didn't hesitate.
Under his disguise, he had already prepared an alias.
"Sherlock Holmes," he said calmly.
If Sir Arthur Conan Doyle could see this moment—his legendary detective's name being casually borrowed by a transmigrator in a cultivation world—he would probably rise from his grave and hunt Ethan down personally.
Lindell blinked.
"S-Sherlock… Holmes?"
"Yes," Ethan replied with a straight face.
"That's… a unique name," Lindell said awkwardly, clearly unsure how to respond.
Ethan internally smirked.
If only you knew.
But outwardly, he remained composed.
"I'm also here to register," Ethan continued. "Professional purposes."
"Oh! Same here!" Lindell brightened. "I've been preparing for months. This is my first independent venture."
Ethan nodded slightly, listening.
Lindell, relieved that the conversation continued, began speaking more freely.
"My family isn't powerful, but they saved enough resources to help me reach Grade-1 Merchant. I want to establish myself properly. Even if it's hard at first… I believe effort matters."
Ethan looked at him quietly.
This youth reminded him of his former self on Earth—ambitious, hopeful, yet unaware of how cruel the world could be.
"Effort matters," Ethan agreed. "But awareness matters more."
Lindell looked puzzled but didn't ask further.
The line slowly advanced.
Ethan glanced forward.
Soon, it would be his turn.
And from this point onward, the name Sherlock Holmes would begin its quiet existence in Phoenix Feather City—far removed from Ethan Hunt, the man who humiliated Derek in public and disappeared without a trace.
A new chapter had begun.