Joining the Fredo Chamber of Commerce—yes, that was Yoren's plan.
Every world has its rules. Every country, every city, even day and night within those cities, follow their own codes. And Yoren was learning to navigate them.
This time, he was glad he hadn't been too naïve. The moment he laid eyes on the colossal casino, the intertwining concepts of power and wealth crystallized more clearly in his mind.
The truths hidden behind the casino were beyond his imagination. From prestigious families like the Leaf clan to street thugs like Aguang, countless forces intertwined, forming the intricate web that held up Happy City. But Yoren knew—the true core of the Fredo Chamber of Commerce wasn't here.
That was his realization, and he was relieved he hadn't charged in recklessly like some hot-headed fool.
Revealing the existence of Black Feather or exposing his true ambitions too soon would bring nothing but disaster. Even if he managed to defeat the Chamber's top fighters, even if he assassinated their boss, it would mean nothing. He would gain nothing but a price on his head and the wrath of an empire.
Kill one, and another will rise. Take down the boss, and someone else would simply take the throne. In the grand scheme of things, all he'd do is accelerate Fredo's internal succession.
The Leaf family had a firm grip on the light manganese mines. The Fredo Chamber used illegal methods to convert those rare minerals into pure cash, often through shady dealings with the Haimen Gang. Yoren's ultimate goal was to claim those light manganese ores, dismantle the Fredo Chamber, and let Black Feather rise in the vacuum left behind—sweeping away both dominant forces in one grand move.
To Yoren, the Fredo Chamber of Commerce resembled a giant octopus—its limbs tangled in every part of the city. If you bite into it blindly, all you'd get is a scrap of skin. His strategy was different. He would become part of that octopus, untangle its arms, and then take over its brain—turning every single limb into his own wings.
He would join Fredo, earn the trust of its inner circle, and generate value so undeniable that they had no choice but to elevate him. Then, he would replace them.
And he had to do it quickly.
Yoren rolled up his sleeves and let out a sharp, commanding roar:
"Didn't you hear me? Get your best people here, now!"
He didn't have the time to rise through the ranks slowly. To pull this off, he had to appear like a dark horse—startling enough to force the casino boss, Richie, to take notice.
Of course, it was a gamble. If it went well, Richie would admire his guts. But if it didn't? A man like Richie didn't deal in mercy. Enemies and allies could swap places in a blink.
After seeing his fallen companion lying unconscious, the remaining man hesitated only for a second before grabbing his walkie-talkie.
"Brother Ji, there's someone causing trouble on the fourth floor!"
Yoren crossed his arms.
"It's not trouble. I'm here for an interview."
Soon, a man with a vicious scar down his face emerged. He walked with a weight that made the air grow heavier. A tail like that of a reptile revealed his Adakris heritage. Behind him were at least twenty men—every one of them a weapon in human form.
As they reached the staircase, their movements synchronized. The glint of hidden daggers and machetes hinted at more than simple brutality. And with the Fredo Chamber, there was always the possibility of Originium firearms.
The young guard pointed.
"Brother Ji, it's him!"
The man known as Kit stopped in front of Yoren. Towering over him, his scarred face radiated menace. This was no street thug. Kit was a killer forged in blood.
He glanced at the broken floor tile. Then, locking eyes with Yoren, his voice was cold:
"Did you do this?"
Yoren answered calmly.
"I did."
Kit didn't attack immediately. He was seasoned—knew there were only two kinds of people who started trouble here: fools and monsters.
The shattered granite floor suggested Yoren might be the latter.
"You do know where you are, right?"
"I know," Yoren interrupted. "That's why I'm asking: are you the strongest one here?"
Kit narrowed his eyes.
"Name's Kit. Security director of this casino. And kid, you better give me a damn good reason not to break your legs."
Yoren met the dozens of killing glares without blinking. He pointed out the window.
"Kit, I will give you that reason. But let's take this outside—I'd rather not damage your boss's property."
—
Twenty minutes later, in an abandoned parking lot outside the casino, Yoren stood encircled by over fifty armed men. They carried machetes and iron rods. The tension was thick.
Behind a tree, Aguang—who had refused to leave despite Yoren's instructions—watched with wide eyes.
What the hell is Brother Yoren doing?!
In the center of the lot, Kit accepted a one-handed ax from one of his men. His voice was low and threatening.
"Whatever your reasons, kid, you've picked the wrong place to mess with."
Yoren pulled an Originium bracelet from his pocket and produced a small wallpaper knife.
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
Kit sneered. "You plan to do our nails with that?"
Yoren extended the blade, piece by piece.
"Don't worry about the manicure. Just grant me one request."
"What request?"
"Call Richie. I want to prove something to him."
Kit scoffed.
"Richie? You think you're qualified to speak to him?"
Yoren frowned.
"Then what does it take? Burying your head in the dirt? Or maybe all of your heads?"
Kit's arm tensed. The ax gleamed in the moonlight. His snake-like pupils locked onto Yoren.
"Not only will you never meet Richie," he hissed, "you won't see the sun tomorrow."
He raised his ax and roared:
"Cut off his hands and feet! Make him regret being born!"
—
Twenty minutes later.
In a luxurious Dongcheng villa, Richie had just stepped out of the shower. Reclining on his grand bed, he enjoyed a massage, eyes half-lidded.
Knock knock knock.
"Come in."
A man in a suit entered, phone in hand.
"Boss, call from the casino."
"Who?"
"Kit."
"Doesn't he know I'm resting?"
The man hesitated.
"Kit said someone's asking for you. And… something's off about his voice."
Richie sighed, annoyed.
"Give me the phone."
"Yes, boss."
He held the phone to his ear.
"What is it?"
A trembling voice responded:
"Boss Richie… someone wants to see you. At the casino."
"Who?"
Kit's voice was barely a whisper.
"I… I don't know. He says… he's here for an interview."
In the center of the parking lot, Yoren sat motionless on the ground, his clothes drenched in blood.
But aside from a few shallow cuts, most of the blood wasn't his. There were also the self-inflicted wounds from earlier—thin slices across his palm, made with a wallpaper knife, as some kind of ritual before the battle.
Now, despite being seated in the open, there wasn't a single man standing near him. Dozens of tough-looking fighters were huddled together in agony. Some had passed out, others were groaning in pain.
Wiping the blood from his face, Yoren called out to Kit, who was sprawled nearby like a gutted fish, mumbling into a phone.
"Why so hesitant? Just tell him straight. If he doesn't show up tonight, I'll go find him myself."
He hung up.
Elsewhere, Richie sat up from his bed, eyes narrowing with contemplation.
Richie was Wolper. His ears, similar to the Felin tribe's, were more slender, and though his hair had grayed with age, the depth of his gaze hadn't dulled. He could still pierce through lies with a glance.
The Frido Chamber of Commerce had its headquarters in southern Notting. Richie, once a central figure in Frido, had stepped back due to age, spending most of his recent years in Hapi City. There, he worked closely with the Leaf family, overseeing manganese mine operations and dominating the city's underground world.
He didn't know who had summoned him.
In an age where new blood rose like tides, Richie's influence in Frido might have waned, but in Hapi City, his word was still law. He remained untouchable, bolstered by decades of friendship with Frido's true boss.
Pulling on his coat, he issued orders to his nearby men.
"Shift the manpower from West Street. Call Benson. We're going to the casino."
"Yes, sir."
The subordinate immediately relayed the command. Though Richie's voice was calm, a tinge of annoyance could be heard.
The night wind carried a chill that contrasted the sweltering daytime heat.
Back in the parking lot, Yoren sat still. The blood on him had dried. The aura of his Black and White Twins had faded to conserve energy.
He glanced at the bracelet on his wrist.
[Fusion rate of somatic cells and Origin Stone: 12%] [Crystal density of blood source stone: 0.48u/L] [Individual power: 2040] [Critical period: 3] [Countdown to next cycle: 6 days]
The Black and White Twins had already proven their worth. If he hadn't reined himself in, these men would be corpses. But Yoren wasn't unscathed—the bruises and cuts reminded him: he wasn't invincible.
The Twins allowed him to manipulate his body's power with precision. The black energy coursed through him like a controlled form of qigong, responsive to his will. But what he gained in power, he lacked in skill.
Power can overwhelm technique, yes—but only when the gap is enormous. The world is vast. There are others who can fight back, who can flip the board even when outmatched.
He had the power to crush all beneath his feet, but that peak lasted mere moments. Only on the thirtieth day of the Twins' cycle could he truly disregard all resistance.
He had to grow. He had to become more than the Twins.
Behind a tree in the distance, A Guang watched, utterly stunned.
He knew Yoren was strong—after all, Yoren had broken his arm with ease. But this... this was something else entirely.
What kind of lunatic fights like this just to make a point?
A roar of engines interrupted his thoughts. Aguang quickly ducked behind the tree.
Yoren turned toward the sound. A dozen large jeeps barreled toward him, kicking up dust.
The lead jeep smashed through the parking lot fence, headlights blazing.
Tires screeched. Vehicles halted. Doors slammed.
Dozens of black-clad strangers jumped out, weapons ready. Two carried boxes, from which they drew sleek black guns. Yoren's eyes narrowed. Source Stone Guns.
As the vehicles came to a halt, a final black car pulled in. Inside were three figures: Richie, his right hand, and a man named Benson.
Kit pointed at Yoren from the ground.
"Boss! It's him! He's the one who started all this!"
Yoren said nothing.
The newcomers didn't rush to fight. Instead, they carefully evacuated the injured, methodically moving their people to safety. These weren't street thugs. They were organized. Disciplined.
Now Yoren stood alone in the middle, with hundreds of hostile eyes locked on him.
He rose, brushed dust from his palms, and shouted:
"Hey! Is Boss Richie here? I want to talk."
One of the men stepped forward.
"Who the hell are you? What do you want with Boss Richie?"
"I want to join the Frido Chamber of Commerce."
The man looked incredulous.
"You beat up our people and think that'll get you in? What kind of joke is that?"
Yoren took a slow breath, steadying himself against the invisible pressure.
"I'm a good fighter. Send out your strongest. If I win, I join. Richie, I know you're in the car. You heard me, right?"
The cadre raised a brow.
"You think this is some kind of tournament? Beat the boss and get a trophy?"
"A trophy's fine, but I'd prefer cash."
The men exchanged confused glances. Yoren sounded like a naive drifter, but the wreckage behind him told a different story.
The cadre scoffed and turned, machete in hand, to approach Richie's car.
Inside, Richie lit a cigar and murmured to the long-haired man beside him.
"Benson, handle it."
"Should I keep him alive?"
"Up to you."
"Understood."
Benson stepped out. Under the faint glow of the headlights, his arm revealed intricate tattoos and shimmering Originium crystals embedded in his skin.
Yoren exhaled, steady. The real battle was about to begin.
Meanwhile, far off, Yoren's friends stirred. The Victoria Chapter's true threat hadn't yet shown itself. The Frido Chamber of Commerce was just the beginning—the first step for Black Feather's rise. Yoren didn't want to rely on Aina. When they reunited, he wanted to be someone who could stand beside her, not behind.
And somewhere else, Xiahuo's second intimate encounter was on the horizon.
Are you ready for the storm the handsome old man is about to stir?