Fyren cried out, "Brother! What are you doing?"
Felix's short knife was buried completely in his chest. He pulled it out slowly, his face expressionless. "If I don't take a couple of hits, do you think you lot could get away?"
Fyren's scalp prickled instantly. His legs went weak. "Brother, don't..."
Felix spoke, then stabbed himself again.
Fyren's eyes reddened. He rushed forward. "Brother!"
Felix said, "Fyren and I hit it off right away, but unfortunately, as Tinson's bodyguard, I must follow his orders. Today, some master came to kidnap people. Hmph, even I took three stab wounds and couldn't stop them. Lucky for Gold King and that dog-headed Tactician."
Felix pulled out the knife, ready to stab himself a third time, but Fyren grabbed his hand. "Brother! How about we tweak the story a bit? You took two stabs and couldn't chase them, so they got away with the hostages. These two are beaten to a pulp—Tinson's anger should cool down by now! Hakan has the Tiancheng Bone-Continuing Ointment to save you; your bones should be healing soon enough!"
"Two stabs... will that work?"
"Of course, of course." Fyren turned around. "What do you think? Does that work?"
Everyone was still dazed, but quickly chimed in.
"Yes, yes, that's fine! If I'd been stabbed twice, I'd definitely buy it!"
"Yeah, don't stab anymore. You'll get yourself killed!"
Felix smiled faintly. "Go quickly. My men will be here soon."
Fyren took two steps back, tears welling in his eyes. He clasped his fists and bowed deeply.
"Elder brother's kindness—I, your younger brother, will remember it for life! Forever and ever!"
Felix nodded. "Just remember I'm your older brother."
"Elder brother!"
"Go."
Fyren wiped his tears. "Let's go!"
Silver King stepped forward, clasped his fists, and bowed deeply. Everyone else, as they passed Felix, did the same.
Beneath the moonlight, in the narrow alley, an age-old ritual repeated itself. Every heart swelled with emotion!
They admired Felix, and they admired Fyren. This moment felt truer, more heartfelt, more charged with feeling than any kneeling or oath they'd ever made. This was the romance of men—heavy yet poetic.
They loaded Gold King and Tactician into the car, and the convoy sped off.
They arrived at the riverbank.
Fyren, wrapped in his windbreaker, watched the moonlight rippling on the water, silent.
Iron King approached. "Fyren, Tactician's here."
Tactician could no longer stand on his own; two men supported him.
Fyren looked at Tactician, who smiled first. "What? Gonna drown me in the river?"
Tactician glanced at the water. "Not a bad way to go, I suppose."
Fyren gave him a cold look. "I'll ask you one thing: from now on, can we just go our separate ways?"
Tactician froze. "You... you're not going to kill me?"
Fyren leaned against the riverbank railing. "Do I have a grudge against you?"
The words left Tactician stunned.
No grudge?!
I've suffered so much because of you!
But then he thought, Heh, right—do I really hold a grudge?
It was clearly my side that struck first. Being outmatched by Fyren time and again was just because my skills were inferior. Beyond that… was there any real grudge?
Tactician smiled. "It seems there really isn't."
Fyren said, "Go. The Mighty Syndicate will hunt you. From now on, you're on your own."
"Having defected from the Syndicate, there's no turning back for me."
"Paths are made by walking," Fyren replied. "When I first crossed paths with Otto, I thought I had no way forward either. But here I am. Otto and I will keep clashing until he loses interest. This is the path I've chosen."
"You… think you can beat the young lord? Haha, you don't know him. Don't judge by his current appearance. In truth, he…"
"The Frontier God of War, hmm?" Fyren stretched lazily. As his coat slipped, Iron King caught it at once, holding it firmly.
"He's gifted, talented, with countless exploits on the frontier. He's the godson of the Mighty Syndicate's Southlandia Chief Helmsman. He should've been a top-tier Upper Quadportal expert, but he lost his essence in a brutal battle. Coming to Northlandia is just to rally the financial clans, setting up piggy banks for his future rise."
Fyren met Tactician's stunned gaze.
"Believe it? I will win in the end."
Tactician studied Fyren. He didn't seem to be bluffing—there was genuine confidence in him.
"I…"
"You too," Fyren cut in. "As the old saying goes, after the darkest hour comes dawn. Endure misfortune, and there will be a turning point. But you have to hold onto hope, keep fighting. As long as there's breath in you, you can't give up and lie down."
Tactician was profoundly shaken.
What kind of man is this?
He wasn't ignorant—he knew everything, seemingly more than any of them! He fully understood the caliber of opponent he faced, yet he wasn't afraid. He wanted to fight. Not just fight, but win.
Tactician slowly pushed away the men supporting him, dropping to his knees. "If Fyren will have me, from this day forward, I wish to be your vassal. I'll walk through fire and water for you, no hesitation."
Fyren looked down at him and spoke a single word: "Good."
…
Helmsman sat in the hall, helpless, weeping as he drank. "There's no good path left for anyone."
"One betrays, then a group betrays en masse! What did I do wrong? Haven't I treated you all well?"
"I slaved for years, thinking the young lord's coming to Northlandia would be a chance to bet big. But… my entire leadership team's deserted!"
"If you'd all left at once, that would've been merciful. But you trickle away—fifty billion here, fifty billion there. Even if I sold my soul, I couldn't make that much back!"
"My savings! All my years of savings! The entire Crystalpeak City branch is ruined! Waaah… Fyren, I hate you!"
Just then, the finance officer walked in. "Hello, Helmsman! Wow, you're looking in fine spirits!"
Helmsman looked up at him. "Are you blind? Which eye of yours sees me in fine spirits?"
"Um…" The finance guy was used to currying favor, but it was clear Helmsman was in a foul mood today. "Helmsman, are you drinking? Oh my, why didn't you get some decent food? Good grief, just a plate of peanuts and a few slices of ham? You're far too frugal, Helmsman. At least order some cooked dishes or something!"
Helmsman was fed up. "You got something to say? If not, get out!"
"Hehe, I do have something, sir."
"Spit it out."
The finance guy tensed up. As a finance officer, asking the boss for money was always an awkward chore.
Many bosses knew it wasn't the finance team's fault—that asking for funds was just part of the job. But they still got irritable when pressed, as if the money were going straight into the finance officer's pocket.
The finance guy had plenty of experience with this. He always tried to butter up the boss first when asking for money, hoping to put him in a good mood so he'd hand over the cash willingly.
Today, though, he realized no amount of placating was working. He had to grit his teeth and smile awkwardly.
"Well… a while back, you transferred a total of 97 billion from our branch's general ledger, right? This deficit can't go on much longer. The auditors already asked about it once—I managed to fend them off, but…"
"Got it."
"Um… there's more." The finance guy leaned in eagerly, pouring Helmsman a refill. "Later, you said we took out short-term loans from the banks using our account, remember? According to the contracts, we need to pay the interest. It's not much—just over 30 million total across all the banks."
"We'll talk about it tomorrow!"
"Oh." The finance officer scratched his head awkwardly. "Helmsman…"
"What the hell is it now?" Helmsman slammed his wine glass down on the table. "Spit it out!"
"Our internal salaries, bonuses, and the reimbursement claims for the three major projects—Red, White, and Black—those teams that've been on business trips the past three months… all of it's three months overdue. This month…"
"You want more money!?"
The finance officer was stunned.
What did "more money" even mean? This was money borrowed from the main account and the banks—doesn't borrowed money need to be repaid? Aren't employee salaries supposed to be paid?
The finance officer forced a smile. "Helmsman, I know you've been swamped with important matters lately. I heard the four kings have been deployed, and even Tactician is leading the charge personally! No need to say more—when they get back, they'll definitely bring in a fortune!"
"Fortune my ass!" Helmsman snapped. "I'm drinking. Get out! We'll talk tomorrow!"
The finance officer's face fell. "Helmsman, I'm just the finance officer. The department heads are all taking their frustration out on me. The employees' wages really have been delayed for months. Could you just scrape a little from your personal savings to help us get by? These past few months have been tough for everyone. Without wages, they're struggling to make ends meet."
"I'm fine!?" Helmsman lost his temper. "Three months! Three whole months! Do you have any idea how I've been living these past three months!? Any idea!?"
The finance manager shook his head. "No, sir."
Helmsman went on, "Tell them to keep pushing. Soon, our branch will expand into Crystalpeak City's business sector, joining forces with the four major families. Money won't be an issue for anyone. We'll corner the market in Crystalpeak, become the strongest business giant there. Then everyone will be original shareholders, company elders—living in luxury, lying at home counting cash."
The finance officer nodded. "Yes, that sounds great, but Helmsman, the team's up in arms right now! Resentment's boiling over! Rumors are flying everywhere, and morale's already shaky!"
Helmsman froze. "What!? Rumors? What kind of rumors?"
He was genuinely shocked. The Mighty Syndicate operated on a strict one-line management system—interdepartmental communication was strictly forbidden. In truth, everyone knew other departments existed, but had no clue where they were, who worked there, or what they did. It was a system designed to block information flow: each person knew only their own duties, so even if they defected, they couldn't leak details about other departments.
"Well… it's hard to put into words…"
"Spit it out! I need to know what the employees are thinking."
"Right." The finance officer replied awkwardly, "They're saying you've embezzled all the branch's funds, Helmsman. That you gamble nonstop at casinos, squandering every penny. That you've moved into the entertainment industry now, selling your body for money—with appearance fees in the four digits…"
"Bullshit!" Helmsman shot to his feet. "I have hemorrhoids! I'm not selling my body!"
"Yes, I argued with them too. I said Helmsman's appearance fee could never be four digits—it's at least five…"
Helmsman was so enraged his head spun. "Stop… just stop! Damn it! This team needs discipline! What the hell is going on here!?"
"Helmsman, we have 50 million that could fix all our current problems. Please… don't make this hard for me. Or… maybe you could put in a little more effort, take on a few more gigs?"
Helmsman leaped up, grabbing the finance officer by the neck. "Let me make this clear! I'm the Helmsman of the Mighty Syndicate's Crystalpeak City branch! Even if I did go into entertainment, I'd never do that kind of film! If I make a movie, it'll be a kung fu flick!"
"Yes, yes…"
Helmsman let go of the finance manager, gritting his teeth. "Fyren! Keep your neck nice and clean—wait for me! I swear, I'll kill you!"