"Sherlock Holmes!?"
Lindell repeated the name softly, as if tasting it in his mouth. His brows knitted slightly, but he didn't question it further. After all, he had never heard of Earth, let alone famous fictional detectives. In a cultivation world where Daoist names, strange aliases, and inherited surnames were common, a name like Sherlock Holmes merely sounded… unusual.
Still, he accepted it.
"As I said before, I am a Grade-1 Merchant," Lindell continued politely. "What about you, Brother Sherlock?"
"Grade-1 Doctor," Ethan replied simply.
Just two words.
Nothing more.
The moment those words left Ethan's mouth, Lindell felt an invisible wall rise between them.
Doctors.
Among all professions, doctors were perhaps the most difficult to socialize with. They rarely needed merchants, unless it was for herbs or equipment—and even then, most doctors preferred dealing directly with alchemists or sect suppliers. On the other hand, merchants gained almost nothing from befriending a doctor unless the doctor was extremely famous.
"Oh… I see," Lindell said, forcing a polite smile. "It's nice to meet you, Brother Sherlock."
Internally, Lindell sighed.
What rotten luck… I wanted to meet a pill refiner, a blacksmith, or at least a talisman maker. But instead, I end up beside a cold, unfriendly doctor.
Still, Lindell didn't show his disappointment openly. He had grown up learning that connections—any connections—might be useful someday. So he remained courteous, even if the conversation felt stiff.
Before either of them could speak again, a loud and domineering voice rang through the hall.
"Move aside!"
"All you peasants, move aside! Our Young Master Sirius is here!"
The sudden shout shattered the relatively orderly atmosphere inside the Administration Hall.
The long queue that had been advancing slowly came to an abrupt halt.
Those who were unfamiliar with Phoenix Feather City immediately frowned in anger. Being called peasants was not something cultivators tolerated easily. Several newcomers clenched their fists, clearly on the verge of protesting.
But before they could speak, people who were familiar with the city reacted swiftly.
They grabbed the sleeves of the newcomers.
They shook their heads urgently.
Some even whispered warnings in hushed tones.
The angry expressions slowly turned into confusion—and then fear.
"Who is Young Master Sirius?" one of the newcomers whispered, clearly puzzled.
A local cultivator leaned closer and replied in an equally low voice, "Lower your head and don't speak. Young Master Sirius is not someone you can afford to offend."
Another person couldn't suppress his curiosity. "Why? Who exactly is he?"
The local sighed softly, as if recalling something unpleasant. "Young Master Sirius is the son of Deputy Patriarch Victor of the Union."
The moment those words were spoken, several people sucked in a sharp breath.
Deputy Patriarch.
That single title carried immense weight.
"He's not just arrogant," the local continued, his voice barely audible. "He's strong as well. Sixteen years old, yet already at the 8th Level of the Elementary Stage."
"What!?" the newcomer exclaimed before quickly covering his mouth. "That young… and already at the 8th Level?"
"Yes," the local nodded bitterly. "With his background, resources are meaningless to him. Top-grade cultivation techniques, elite instructors, rare treasures—he has everything. His father dotes on him excessively."
Another outsider joined the whispering conversation. "But isn't the Union currently unstable? I heard the Chief Patriarch is preparing to retire. The three Deputy Patriarchs are competing fiercely for the next position. Wouldn't exposing Young Master Sirius's crimes weaken Deputy Patriarch Victor's chances?"
The local shook his head slowly.
"You don't understand the depth of Union politics," he said. "If Deputy Patriarch Victor dared to let his son behave so openly, it means he has leverage. Dirt. Evidence. Weaknesses of the other two Deputy Patriarchs."
He paused, then added grimly, "No one in power is clean. If one side exposes the other, mutual destruction follows. So instead of attacking, they tolerate."
The listeners fell silent.
Ethan, standing quietly in the line, listened to everything without changing his expression.
Earth or cultivation world… politics never changes, he thought calmly.
He had no interest in Young Master Sirius, nor did he want to cross paths with him. His principle was simple: avoid unnecessary trouble. He wasn't some reckless protagonist who sought conflict everywhere he went.
As long as he kept his head low and completed his registration, that was enough.
Moments later, the crowd parted.
A group of people entered arrogantly from the main entrance.
At the center of the group walked a young man whose presence alone commanded attention.
His clothes were elegant and expensive, embroidered with subtle patterns that hinted at high status. His long hair was neatly tied, his posture straight, and his eyes sharp—filled with natural arrogance.
Two stunningly beautiful young women clung to his sides, his hands resting casually on their waists as if such intimacy were his right.
If this wasn't Young Master Sirius, then no one else could be.
As soon as he stepped into the Administration Hall, an elderly man hurried forward with a deeply respectful expression.
"Welcome, Young Master!" the old man said, bowing slightly. "This subordinate begs forgiveness. I was unaware of Young Master's arrival. Otherwise, I would have prepared a welcoming banquet."
This man was Elder Philip, the manager of the Administration Department.
Yet in front of Young Master Sirius, he behaved like a servant.
Young Master Sirius smiled faintly, waving his hand dismissively. "No need. I came in a hurry."
"Young Master is truly kindhearted," Elder Philip replied immediately, his tone full of flattery. "May I ask what brings Young Master here today?"
Ethan's eyes narrowed slightly.
He wasn't looking at Young Master Sirius.
He was looking at one of the people standing behind him.
Derek.
The moment Ethan spotted him, everything became clear.
Derek's face still looked pale. His eyes were filled with suppressed hatred and humiliation. As he stood behind Young Master Sirius, his gaze swept through the long line of people—as if searching for someone.
Searching for him.
Ethan felt a cold sneer rise in his heart.
So this is your move.
During the fight, Ethan hadn't touched Derek even once. Yet now Derek was using his background, twisting the narrative as usual.
As expected.
Ethan remained calm. He was still under disguise. There was no trace of his original appearance. Even his aura had been altered subtly by the Disguise Mask.
Unless someone possessed terrifying perception abilities far beyond the Elementary Stage, no one would recognize him.
"I came here looking for someone," Young Master Sirius said coldly.
The entire hall fell silent.
"A person named Ethan," he continued. "I heard he beat up my follower, Derek, in public. Afterward, he came here to register and open a clinic."
A wave of shock rippled through the crowd.
People exchanged looks of disbelief.
Someone dared to beat up a follower of Young Master Sirius?
And lived?
Many instinctively glanced around, as if expecting to see a corpse already lying somewhere.
Lindell swallowed nervously.
Even his breathing became shallow.
Ethan, however, remained composed.
Internally, he sighed.
So that's how you want to play it, Derek.
But outwardly, he showed no reaction. He looked like an ordinary teenager waiting in line, nothing more.
Still, he couldn't help but curse inwardly.
I didn't touch you even once… and you still dare to say I beat you up?
How shameless can you be?
The irony made him want to laugh.
Derek's eyes continued scanning the crowd, filled with venom.
But no matter how hard he looked, he couldn't find Ethan.
Because Ethan Hunt no longer existed here.
Only Sherlock Holmes stood quietly in the line—calm, anonymous, and already three steps ahead.
And somewhere deep in his mind, Ethan was already preparing for what would come next.
Because he knew one thing for certain.
This matter… was far from over.