Song Jin’s words suddenly triggered a memory for Li Xiao regarding another old acquaintance.

The Saint Ya royal family had produced a certified prodigy in the field of weaponry. This individual single-handedly elevated Saint Ya’s cutting-edge military tech, instantly creating at least a thirty-year technological gap between them and Dance.

Furthermore, in his previous life, Saint Ya had managed to conclude its decade-long civil war while Dance was still embroiled in a brutal, internecine struggle. By the time Li Xiao eventually took the reins of power, the chasm in technological capability was far too vast to bridge in the short term.

While formal collaboration at a state level was currently out of the question, a private partnership might actually be feasible. After all, the highly elusive, rare weapon-grade materials that this weapon savant desired most were precisely what Li Xiao possessed in abundance.

As a result of the high-density electromagnetic pulse, a massive blackout rolled across the residential quarters, plunging the area into pitch-black darkness.

Li Xiao steered his vehicle closely behind the secret guards’ transport, navigating through a labyrinth of makeshift shelters constructed from discarded aircraft fuselages. Half an hour later, they finally cleared Raven’s active bombardment radius, descending outside a dilapidated hull at the absolute periphery of the residential sector.

The surrounding landscape was choked by towering mountains of industrial metal scrap, giving the location the distinct appearance of an abandoned workers’ dormitory.

Song Jin pushed his door open and stepped out of the vehicle. Catching a glimpse of Li Xiao pressing hard against his throbbing temples out of the corner of his eye, he asked casually, “Can’t get up? Want me to carry you inside?”

Li Xiao replied in a flat, deadpan monotone, “Thank you for your deeply touching concern.”

Song Jin shot back, “Caring for my wife is only natural.”

Li Xiao tilted his head to look at him, “Does your entire body ache if you don’t take a verbal advantage of me?”

Song Jin smirked, “Ah, you caught me?”

Li Xiao: “…” What a childish brat.

The entire entourage was carrying injuries of varying severity, with the mustached Alpha and his core squad bearing multiple gunshot wounds.

Li Xiao waited until the secret guards had safely escorted the wounded into the hull before stepping out of the vehicle. He hauled Jin Dafu out from the rear seat and, under a guard’s silent direction, dragged the heavy warlord into a separate, isolated holding room to lock him down.

“How long until he wakes up?” Li Xiao inquired in a low voice.

Song Jin answered, “The chemical sedative is locked in for an eight-hour cycle.”

That meant they had until roughly tomorrow morning. Leaving a guard stationed on high alert at the threshold, Song Jin signaled for Li Xiao to accompany him down the corridor.

The interior of the archaic hull was heavy with the suffocating stench of oxidization and rust. Reaching a door at the end of the hall, Song Jin tested the handle twice. Finding it jammed, he simply delivered a violent, direct kick to the center panel.

The flimsy metal door slammed violently against the interior wall, rebounding back and forth with a series of harsh, grinding shrieks.

The hazy, ambient moonlight filtered through the narrow structural window, casting enough illumination to outline the standard dimensions of a military-style crew cabin. Though the square footage was tight, it was equipped with all the basic, functional amenities.

Song Jin strode over to pull the heavy privacy curtains shut, clicking on a tactical flashlight and placing it flat on the desk. He stripped off his protective goggles and peeled off his gloves, tossing them carelessly into a corner.

Shortly after, a secret guard stepped into the cabin bearing a specialized field trauma kit to dress their wounds.

Sensing the thick odor of copper and sweat clinging to his clothes, Song Jin turned toward the washroom, giving Li Xiao a subtle nod of his chin: “Treat him first.”

Li Xiao intervened smoothly, “I can handle my own dressings. Go see to your other duties.”

The guard didn’t push the issue, placing the trauma kit flat on the desk before spinning around to clear the room.

Li Xiao sank into the chair beside the desk, aggressively massaging his temples to blunt the lingering, dull ache from the acoustic shock. After a grueling night of high-stakes evasion, his frayed nerves could finally afford to unwind slightly.

He activated his personal terminal—the signal bar remained completely dead.

However, he pulled up an encrypted log transmitted by Jiang Chi roughly an hour prior.

Jiang Chi: [ Raven elements have officially breached N2533 airspace! I cannot believe how rapidly they isolated their secondary target. ]

The specific phrasing of the message carried a palpable undercurrent of sheer frustration—the distinct irritation of an operator who had failed to maintain a tight tracking sequence and was now kicking himself for missing out on a prime plundering opportunity.

The localized tinnitus from the flashbang hadn’t quite faded, leaving Li Xiao feeling drained. He shut down the terminal and leaned his head back against the rigid frame of the chair to rest.

Inside the cramped washroom, Song Jin splashed cold water over his face. The moment the stream came into contact with the raw cuts on his hands, a sharp, biting sting flared up, serving as a jarring reminder of every engagement from tonight.

When he had initially intercepted the intelligence reports concerning N2533 back at the military academy, he had operated under the assumption that a centralized, high-volume blood vault existed here. He had never anticipated that the Shaman blood would be unveiled in such a violent, theatrical spectacle.

He recalled a previous strategic briefing from his older brother, who noted that Dance had long adhered to a strict domestic policy of aggressively preserving individual tribal traditions. While such a governance model was highly effective at securing grassroots loyalty, it simultaneously acted as a breeding ground for deep-seated, systemic racial friction.

He had no data confirming whether Kylin belonged to a specific indigenous faction within Dance, but tonight’s entire operational setup was glaringly engineered to systematically target the Bi-Que tribe.

Was this truly a case of simple, localized ethnic conflict?

Song Jin had personally audited the military intelligence files detailing the Bi-Que tribe from over a decade ago. The Bi-Que were an exceptionally minuscule demographic—their entire population density barely equated to the size of a standard rural village. A century ago, they had severed all ties with the external world, living a subsistence-level, impoverished existence. It was only over the last few decades that economic desperation had forced their youth to migrate outward into the labor market.

An indigenous group possessing that profile lacked the geopolitical leverage, funding, or infrastructure to instigate hostility with other syndicates.

Given Kylin’s considerable military footprint, it made zero tactical sense for them to expend this level of resources to ruthlessly persecute such a defenseless community.

Perhaps an analytical breakdown of the blood sample’s chemical composition would yield the answers they were missing.

Stepping out of the washroom, Song Jin’s eyes immediately locked onto Li Xiao, who was slumped against the back of the chair. The man appeared to have drifted off to sleep, leaving his scattered lacerations completely untouched.

Did the acoustic weapon truly inflict that much neurological trauma?

The blood across his face had coagulated, leaving a long, stark crimson track down his pale cheek. It lent his features a strange, fractured, and intensely beautiful aesthetic.

Song Jin studied Li Xiao’s face in silence for a brief moment. Rolling up his sleeves, he pulled a secondary chair over, sat down, and extracted a bottle of medical disinfectant from the kit to begin treating the cuts on Li Xiao’s face.

The man can die for all I care, but this face absolutely cannot be ruined.

The supposedly asleep Li Xiao: “…”

In truth, Li Xiao had woken up the exact millisecond Song Jin stepped back into the room. He had simply chosen to remain still because his head was splitting open. He genuinely hadn’t anticipated that this brat would take the initiative to tend to his injuries.

The kid’s technique was undeniably practiced and efficient, but his application was rough, agonizing, and showed a complete and utter disregard for his comfort.

Li Xiao endured the stinging burn for as long as he could before finally breaking his silence: “Are you actively attempting to assassinate me?”

“Oh, you’re awake?” Song Jin’s voice carried a lazy, detached drawl, his tone saturated with the clear amusement of someone who had known all along that the other was faking sleep. “Did you honestly expect elite, textbook medical care from me? If you’re dissatisfied, feel free to dress it yourself.”

Li Xiao silently unbuttoned his tactical jacket, sliding it off his shoulders before extending his bare arm toward him: “Just be gentler.”

Song Jin countered, “You’re asking for a favor and you still have the audacity to make structural demands? Is this how you display a proper attitude when requesting assistance?”

Li Xiao replied, “I have never had occasion to ask anyone for anything in my life. I have no baseline data on what kind of attitude I am supposed to manifest.”

Song Jin slammed the disinfectant down onto the table, pushing his chair back to leave.

Li Xiao quickly reached out, his fingers locking around Song Jin’s wrist as he offered an expression of complete, unblinking sincerity: “If you finish, I’ll buy you candy when we get back?”

Song Jin: “…”

Song Jin let out a cold snort, “Are you treating me like a three-year-old toddler?”

Li Xiao offered an alternative: “Then how about I take you out for a proper dinner?”

Feigning extreme reluctance purely for the sake of preserving Li Xiao’s face, Song Jin begrudgingly sank back into his seat to continue applying the medication. He added in a slow, casual tone, “I want the candy too.”

Li Xiao: “…” So you actually just wanted the candy anyway?

From Song Jin’s current line of sight, he had a perfect, unhindered view of Li Xiao’s profile. That haunting sensation of deep, unplaceable familiarity flared up once more. He masked his scrutiny, asking with engineered casualness, “Did our paths cross somewhere before you enrolled at the military academy?”

Li Xiao handed him a sterile gauze pad, a faint smirk playing on his lips: “Isn’t that line a bit too archaic for a pickup attempt, kiddo?”

Song Jin snatched the gauze from his fingers, “You sound like you have extensive empirical data on the subject.”

Li Xiao replied smoothly, “I am entirely innocent and naive.”

Song Jin: “…” This guy is begging for a swift punch to the jaw.

Once their wounds were fully addressed, the two stepped out into the main corridor.

Peering through the structural windows lining the hallway, they could see the distant crimson flashes of the orbital bombardment continuing to illuminate the horizon. The kinetic impacts were dropping lower and lower in altitude, indicating that Kylin’s interceptor grid was rapidly collapsing under the strain.

Having just concluded a heavy engagement against the Ulong Syndicate, Raven should have theoretically found a direct assault against Kylin’s home turf to be a grueling, resource-intensive affair. However, fortune had smiled on them; they had arrived the exact moment Song Jin’s customized electromagnetic pulse completely paralyzed Kylin’s command network.

Faced with heavy, military-grade hardware, Kylin’s high-end civilian assets were nothing more than fragile glass. They lacked the tactical capacity to mount even a basic defense.

Reaching the terminus of the corridor, Li Xiao pushed open a door. This particular chamber was slightly more spacious, heavily saturated with the sharp, clinical odors of blood and medical antiseptic.

The mustached Alpha had sustained two gunshot wounds, making him the most functional survivor among his crew. He was currently sitting alone in the center lounge area, binding his own lacerations with tension bandages so that the secret guards could dedicate their attention to resuscitating his critically injured comrades.

As Li Xiao and Song Jin crossed the threshold, the leader paused his movements, lowering his bandages: “How exactly did your unit manage to breach the final phase of the circuit?”

“Pure luck,” Li Xiao replied, pulling a chair up directly opposite him. “What about your squad? Your entry profile didn’t look like a standard civilian gold-hunting operation.”

“A gold-hunting operation?” The mustached Alpha let out a harsh, mocking laugh, though he offered no further elaboration. “Your group arrived with a fully integrated tactical setup. You don’t exactly fit the profile of casual civilian competitors either.”

Li Xiao stated neutrally, “We conducted extensive preliminary reconnaissance on the sector, which is why we pre-staged a fully mobile trauma unit nearby. However, we failed to anticipate that the organizers would be pathological enough to ensure that whoever cleared the final phase would be systematically executed.”

The leader fell into a heavy silence for a moment. He raised his eyes, locking his gaze onto Li Xiao: “Seeing as your unit pulled my men out of that meat grinder, I’ll give you a single piece of advice. In the future, if you encounter any competitive event where the baseline reward involves the Bi-Que tribe, do not register. Your luck will not hold a second time. You will die.”

Li Xiao feigned confusion: “Are you specifically referring to the monetization of the Shaman blood? Is the frequency of these matches that high?”

The leader crossed his arms tightly over his chest, his expression turning violently dark: “That blood has been artificially driven to an astronomical market valuation. It has evolved into a fully integrated, highly lucrative supply chain. Everyone wants to force their way into the market to secure a slice of the profits.”

Li Xiao pressed further: “They? Who specifically constitutes the market?”

The leader reached back down for his bandages, continuing to secure a deep laceration along his thigh: “For civilians of your tier, possessing that data yields zero utility. There are countless avenues to generate capital in this galaxy. If your life is forfeit, the capital means nothing.”

Song Jin accepted a cup of hot tea from a nearby guard, exchanging a swift, knowing glance with Li Xiao. He leaned casually against the edge of the desk, his tone conversational: “Based on your narrative framing, it sounds like your squad has repeatedly entered operations where Bi-Que blood was staged as the primary asset. If the risk parameters are that lethal, why do you keep throwing yourselves into the meat grinder?”

“Save your interrogation techniques,” the leader countered, keeping his head down. “I have officially disclosed the maximum threshold of data I intend to share. Whether you choose to integrate it or ignore it is entirely your prerogative.”

The three most critically injured Alphas regained consciousness roughly four hours post-emergency surgery. They refused to remain stationary for even a temporary recovery period, immediately gathering their gear to vacate the premises.

By the time the secret guards’ alert reached Li Xiao and Song Jin, the ten Alphas had already cleared the interior corridor, standing outside the hull.

“Why the frantic departure?” Song Jin’s eyes tracked across the three pale, heavily bandaged Alphas, his gaze settling on the leader. “Your personnel require extended medical stabilization.”

The leader replied curtly, “It’s unnecessary. Remaining embedded within your perimeter will only draw external complications down on your unit.”

Song Jin countered evenly, “Complications happen to be my primary area of expertise.”

The leader, however, refused to yield a single inch, firmly maintaining his trajectory out of the compound.

“What is your name?” Li Xiao took a step forward, addressing the mustached Alpha directly. “We stood in the same trenches tonight. Even if a formal alliance is off the table, exchanging basic identifiers shouldn’t breach your operational security, correct?”

Li Xiao caught the subtle shift in the background; the operatives flanking the leader immediately tightened their grips on their blades, their postures locking into a high-alert defensive stance.

The leader hesitated for a brief second before answering: “Hu Jiang. And yours?”

Noting the brief flicker of surprise that rippled through the operatives behind him, Li Xiao deduced that this was almost certainly his authentic designation. He replied in a low voice, “Li Xiao.”

He hadn’t anticipated that this disclosure would cause Hu Jiang himself to manifest an expression of profound, unmasked astonishment.

Song Jin tracked the psychological shift across the group, launching a subtle probe: “Is there something inherently offensive about his name?”

“No,” Hu Jiang replied, quickly pulling his composure back together as he fixed his gaze tightly on Li Xiao. “Keep your guard up. Protect yourself.”

Without another word, Hu Jiang turned and led his unit into the darkness.

Li Xiao was left entirely in the dark. Why on earth would hearing his name elicit that specific psychological reaction? Did they deduce his status as a prince of the Dance royal family? He had vacated the imperial palace at the age of eight, maintaining a non-existent public profile within the royal lineage. He could walk down the primary thoroughfare of the Imperial Capital Star without a single citizen recognizing his face—so how could a rogue paramilitary unit operating in a lawless border sector possess his biometric file?

Furthermore, that parting admonition to “protect yourself” carried an incredibly nuanced, loaded weight.

Song Jin flicked his fingers, signaling a pair of secret guards to initiate a stealth tracking sequence on the departing unit. Turning back to find Li Xiao deeply immersed in thought, his own mind was a tempest of strategic questions.

What structural link exists between Li Xiao and a paramilitary squad obsessed with the Bi-Que tribe?

Returning to the interior cabin, Song Jin stepped directly into Li Xiao’s path, blocking him: “As an active partner in this operation, don’t you think you owe me a disclosure?”

Li Xiao responded smoothly, “The moment the diagnostic laboratory finishes processing their blood and pheromone panels, ensure a copy of the telemetry is routed directly to my terminal.”

Song Jin let out a sharp, irritated laugh: “Fantastic. Let’s do an asset swap then. Give me intelligence, and I’ll give you the laboratory data.”

Li Xiao asked, “What specific intelligence are you tracking?”

Song Jin demanded, “Who exactly are those ten individuals?”

Li Xiao replied deadpan, “If I possessed complete data on their profile, I wouldn’t have accompanied your unit to this sector in the first place.”

Song Jin mapped Li Xiao’s facial expressions, calculating that this statement was likely a reflection of objective truth.

“Fine. Then let’s establish a baseline—who are you?”

Meeting Song Jin’s intense, calculating scrutiny, Li Xiao offered a completely calm, unbothered response: “Your husband.”

Song Jin: “…”

The secret guard stationed on the night watch registered the sudden explosion of violent kinetic movement inside the room and rushed down the hall. Upon breaching the threshold, he found Song Jin and Li Xiao locked in a furious, full-contact brawl, trading high-velocity strikes across the cabin.

The guard froze, completely torn on whether he should intervene.

The engagement lacked the lethal, life-ending intent of a true combat scenario; it bore the distinct, chaotic hallmarks of high-energy flirting between a pair of aggressive Alphas. Stepping in uninvited would almost certainly incur the severe displeasure of his young master.

The guard broke into a nervous sweat: “…” Forget it. I’ll just spectate from the shadows.

The crimson flashes of Raven’s orbital bombardment finally began to taper off as the first pale light of dawn broke across the horizon.

When Song Jin woke, his terminal was flashing with two distinct updates from his tracking detail.

First, Hu Jiang’s squad had successfully boarded a commercial civilian transport at Hangar 18 in the southern sector of Area B roughly one hour prior, officially vacating N2533 airspace.

Second, Raven had completed a total, scorched-earth purge of the Rubik’s cube and Kylin’s primary administrative headquarters. After plundering a massive fortune in localized liquid assets and precious metals, their fleet had cleanly exited the sector without encountering resistance.

Li Xiao piloted a vehicle toward the perimeter of Kylin’s former headquarters. From their elevated flight path, the landscape below was cratered by three or four massive, blackened impact zones.

Stripped of their heavy automated defense infrastructure, the Kylin Syndicate had been nothing more than sheep led to the slaughter. Considering the sheer volume of geopolitical chaos they had engineered in his previous life, Li Xiao calculated that seeing them neutralized ahead of schedule was an incredibly positive variable.

Upon returning to their temporary operating base, Li Xiao had barely stepped out of his vehicle when Song Jin caught his eye, curling his index finger to signal him toward the small holding cell where Jin Dafu was secured.

Jin Dafu remained completely oblivious to the fact that his entire empire had been liquidated overnight. Operating under the delusion that he had merely been intercepted by a rival syndicate looking for a quick payout, he held his head high, adopting an aggressive, unyielding posture: “Name your figure. There isn’t a price tag in this sector I cannot liquidate on the spot!”

Song Jin had activated a specialized bi-metric holographic mask, a shifting layer of pixelated mosaic obscuring his facial features.

“One metric ton of Bi-Que tribal blood.”

Li Xiao: “…”

Jin Dafu’s brows violently twitched as he stared at the masked figure in absolute bewilderment: “Do you have even a rudimentary comprehension of the market value of that asset?! A single standard vial commands upwards of a hundred million credits on the open market, and you have the audacity to demand a metric ton?!”

Song Jin drew his military blade in a flash, pressing the razor-sharp tip directly against the underside of Jin Dafu’s chin: “If your network cannot source the asset, I am perfectly content to substitute it with your personal volume.”

His vocal delivery was low, smooth, and inherently refined—yet to Jin Dafu’s ears, it sounded like the literal chime of a death knell.

“A metric ton is an impossible threshold! If you’re talking a few kilograms, I can potentially map out a procurement route!” Jin Dafu attempted to press his torso back against the wall, cold sweat pouring down his face. “If anyone actually attempted to stockpile a metric ton, the organic matter would putrefy before liquidation! How could anyone find a buyer for an unrefined asset of that volume?!”

Stockpile?

Li Xiao intervened, altering the angle of interrogation: “We can adjust the volume requirement downward. Disclose your primary procurement source, and our organization will handle the extraction logistics independently.”

Jin Dafu snapped, “That is an absolute structural impossibility——ah!“

Song Jin tilted the alignment of his blade, slicing a clean, shallow crimson line across Jin Dafu’s neck: “Your syndicate has clearly been executing localized harvest raids on the Bi-Que settlement to secure your inventory, correct?”

To their surprise, Jin Dafu’s expression shifted into a look of raw, unadulterated contempt: “The demographic remaining in the Bi-Que settlement consists entirely of the elderly, the infirmed, and the broken. How could organic material harvested from that trash command an elite market premium? Our syndicate deals strictly in premium-grade specimens!”

Song Jin pressed, “From what coordinates are you harvesting these premium-grade assets?”

“I am legally bound to withhold that——” Sensing the cold steel biting a fraction of a millimeter deeper into his flesh, Jin Dafu’s defiance broke instantly into a frantic stammer, “I don’t know! I swear to God I don’t know! Our syndicate operates strictly on a drop-ship model—whatever the upper tier allocates to us is what we liquidate!”

Li Xiao interrogated, “The upper tier? You sit at the absolute apex of the Kylin Syndicate; who functions as your administrative superior?”

Realizing he had breached his own operational security, Jin Dafu’s eyes darted frantically around the room, his composure dissolving into raw panic: “An enterprise of this economic scale isn’t something a localized syndicate like Kylin manages in isolation! The upper tier refers to our primary wholesale supplier!”

Li Xiao demanded, “Identify the supplier. State their current coordinates and disclose your primary transaction protocols.”

The sweat pouring down Jin Dafu’s neck irritated the open cut, forcing tears of agony from his eyes: “It’s the Lietahu Syndicate operating out of N1926! Our entire inventory is procured directly through their logistics network!”

Song Jin demanded, “Where are the digital transaction ledgers secured?”

Jin Dafu hung his head, “The entire trade is executed using raw, unrefined rare metals via face-to-face handoffs. There are no digital footprints or ledger networks!”

Song Jin drove the tip of his blade upward slightly, his voice dropping to a freezing register: “I will offer this warning exactly once. If my analytical systems flag this data as a fabrication, prepare yourself to be systematically filleted into mince meat.”

Jin Dafu convulsed with terror, pleading frantically for his life: “Whatever capital you want, I will authorize the transfer! You’re young men—don’t let emotional volatility blind you to immense wealth! Liquidating my asset profile yields zero material utility for your group! I beg of you, grant me extraction clearance!”

However, neither Li Xiao nor Song Jin possessed even a fraction of a percentage of mercy for a human trafficker.

Suddenly, a realization flashed through Jin Dafu’s mind, and he blurted out, “My personal terminal houses encrypted text communication history with the primary executive of the Lietahu Syndicate!”

Li Xiao ruthlessly ripped the terminal from his wrist, navigating the interface until he isolated the message logs in question.

[ Qi Da Sha ]: A fresh batch of premium cargo has arrived in sector. Standard coordinates for the handoff.

[ Me ]: Copy that. I will deploy an extraction detail to your position in three days.

The structural syntax of the conversation didn’t explicitly prove that Lietahu functioned as the absolute apex supplier of the trade; it merely confirmed their heavy, systemic integration into the logistics of the network.

Song Jin gestured for the secret guard waiting at the threshold to step forward: “Have him systematically document every single organization, syndicate, and cartel currently integrated into this illicit blood trade. For every node he omits, sever one of his fingers.”

The guard saluted sharply, “Understood, sir!”

Jin Dafu’s hands began to shake violently, his voice cracking as he whispered, “Are… are you two assets deployed by the Dance military intelligence apparatus?”

Song Jin replied dryly, “Your cognitive capacity is remarkably functional.”

Jin Dafu scrambled to leverage the data: “N2533 is situated within the western front of the Nanming Constellation. This sector falls under the absolute administrative jurisdiction of General Meng Zhai, correct?”

Li Xiao tracked the statement, interjecting smoothly: “You are familiar with his operational profile as well?”

The moment the words left his mouth, Li Xiao noted a distinct relaxation in Jin Dafu’s brow—the man appeared to let out a mental sigh of relief.

So the Meng family is systemically colluding with the Kylin Syndicate as well.

The Meng family had consolidated their political and military influence within the Nanming Constellation over several generations; it was mathematically impossible for them to be blind to the operations of a syndicate as prominent as Kylin. For a criminal cartel to survive in such a cutthroat border sector, let alone establish a highly lucrative monopoly, the existence of an elite military umbrella protecting their assets was a logical necessity.

From a strategic perspective, the puzzle pieces were falling into perfect alignment.

Stepping out of the interrogation room, Song Jin deactivated his biometric mask: “If my memory banks serve me correctly, General Meng Zhai is the biological father of Meng Tao, correct?”

Li Xiao was busy processing the geopolitical implications, offering a distracted, low affirmation.

Song Jin fixed his gaze on him: “Is this systemic corruption the underlying reason your unit targeted him back at the academy?”

Li Xiao snapped back to reality, his expression turning neutral: “I didn’t target him.”

Song Jin raised an eyebrow skeptically, “Is that so?”

Li Xiao stated deadpan, “The Meng family represents the absolute pinnacle of high aristocracy. I am actively looking for opportunities to curry favor with their network; why would I dream of sabotaging him? Do not construct false narratives that jeopardize my survival.”

Song Jin countered, “Then how come I have yet to see you attempt to curry favor with me?”

Li Xiao shot back, “I have already entered into a legal marriage contract with you. Exactly how much more sycophantic do you require me to be?”

Song Jin: “…”

Li Xiao deliberately examined his facial expression, a teasing glint in his eye: “Are you manifesting jealousy?”

Song Jin shoved his hands deep into his pockets and spun around to walk away, muttering in a low, detached voice, “What is a marriage contract supposed to signify anyway? Given how utterly frivolous your personality profile is, this is probably your third or fourth marriage for all I know.”

Li Xiao: “…”

Li Xiao picked up his pace to match his stride, shooting back: “Ah, yes, because your profile is the epitome of conservative restraint. Proposing a lifelong marital commitment to an Alpha you have known for a grand total of seventy-two hours—you are truly a shining beacon of traditional values.”

Song Jin: “…”

Song Jin shot a lethal sideways glare at him, “Are you actively soliciting a physical altercation right now?”

Li Xiao replied smoothly, “Only toddlers resort to physical violence at the slightest provocation.”

Fantastic. Two short sentences, and Li Xiao had managed to trample directly over every single one of his behavioral triggers. Song Jin’s knuckles literally itched with the urge to strike. Without warning, he threw a high-velocity tactical punch straight toward Li Xiao’s face.

Li Xiao shifted his torso half a step backward, executing a clean evasion: “My caloric reserves are depleted. Let’s secure sustenance first.”

Song Jin pursued him down the hall, throwing a rapid combination of strikes: “Pre-meal conditioning. It stimulates the metabolism and aids digestive efficiency.”

Further down the corridor, the secret guard on duty tracked the trajectory of the scuffle, pressing his face against the corner of the wall to observe the data. Setting his young master aside for a moment, he got the distinct impression that the kid named Li seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the physical engagement.

The sudden, overnight liquidation of the Kylin Syndicate sent shockwaves of panic rolling across Sector B.

By noon, Li Xiao and Song Jin drove their vehicle into the primary commercial district to assess the shifting socioeconomic landscape and locate an open dining establishment. The volume of civilian foot traffic had plummeted sharply; the vast majority of storefronts remained completely shuttered under emergency security locks. Li Xiao brought the vehicle to a halt near their familiar noodle shop, and the two strolled over.

The establishment was entirely devoid of clientele. The proprietor was sitting on a low stool outside the threshold in his slippers, drawing heavily on a cigarette.

Upon catching sight of their approach, his eyes widened in sheer disbelief: “You two are actually alive?!”

Li Xiao and Song Jin took their standard seats at the outdoor table.

“Did you possess an empirical expectation that we would be liquidated?” Song Jin asked conversationally.

“How could I not?” The owner barked a command toward the kitchen staff to drop a fresh batch of noodles before dragging his stool over to join them. “The kinetic display last night was enough to induce heart failure! The orbital bombardment sustained itself through the entire night cycle—it was mathematically impossible to sleep!”

Li Xiao offered an innocent, clean-cut expression that instantly bypassed the proprietor’s suspicion filters: “You had previously indicated that the Rubik’s cube was a high-risk perimeter. My brother and I processed your assessment and elected to bypass the event entirely. We never anticipated a catastrophic explosion would tear through the sector.”

The owner let out a sigh of relief, patting Li Xiao’s shoulder with genuine warmth: “This is precisely why I appreciate sensible children who actually integrate veteran advice! If your unit had breached that perimeter last night, you wouldn’t have survived the extraction.”

Song Jin inquired, “Does this sector routinely host engagements of that destructive magnitude every month?”

“Absolutely not,” the owner whispered, validating the perimeter to ensure no eavesdroppers were in range. “The operational parameters shift with every tournament, but the percentage of competitors who successfully secure the gold bullion and exit the circuit is practically non-existent. Let’s be real—the Kylin Syndicate didn’t build its infrastructure by running a charitable foundation. However, a body count of this scale is completely unprecedented in the sector’s history. It simply validates my baseline theory: that Bi-Que tribal blood carries a profound curse.”

Li Xiao pressed, “What are the specific parameters surrounding that blood asset?”

The owner hesitated, calculating his personal safety risks before dropping his vocal register even lower: “History indicates that whenever that specific organic blood asset is staged as the primary tournament reward, the corresponding gold-hunting circuit experiences an exponential spike in human mortality. It’s a absolute meat grinder.”

This data aligned perfectly with the operational warning Hu Jiang had disclosed.

Human psychology was inherently driven by capital; when dangling a premium asset valued upwards of hundreds of millions of credits, it wasn’t surprising that a high density of mercenaries would gladly gamble their lives.

“The structural future of Sector B is completely volatile now,” the owner mused, shaking his head as he stared toward the blackened, structural ruin of the distant Rubik’s cube. “Raven has executed hit-and-run raids on this sector countless times without altering the baseline power balance. I never anticipated they would manifest this level of offensive capacity, completely liquidating Kylin’s entire apparatus in a single deployment.”

Li Xiao and Song Jin exchanged a brief, calculating look. Li Xiao asked with casual curiosity, “Raven has initiated deployments against this sector multiple times in the past?”

The owner exhaled a dense plume of white smoke, his expression tinged with a nostalgic melancholy: “Based on my personal historical tracking, we are looking at roughly seven or eight distinct deployments over the years. Raven is a notorious, long-standing thorn in the side of the major syndicates. If you analyze their hardware, their weapon specs don’t even rank within the top tier of international mercenary syndicates—they simply possess a pathological compulsion to instigate conflict. They arrive, deploy a few heavy salvos, and cleanly exit the sector.”

Song Jin followed up, map-stamping the chronology: “What is the historical timeline for these specific deployments?”

Operating under the assumption that these two youth simply possessed a healthy appetite for legendary border stories, the owner willingly broke down the precise narrative parameters of every historical Raven deployment he had witnessed.

The earliest recorded raid had occurred exactly five years ago—the identical calendar year that the Rubik’s cube had been constructed to serve as the localized arena for the gold-hunting circuits.

Li Xiao’s mind instantly flashed back to their deployment on N2781. When he had successfully infiltrated the primary administrative tower of the Ulong Syndicate, he had personally overheard the senior executive named Zhong mutter a highly specific phrase: “A single, minor provocation, and their organization completely loses its composure.”

Could this “provocation” be a direct reference to the exploitation and monetization of the Bi-Que tribal blood?

In the natural ecological hierarchy, a raven was a highly aggressive, apex avian predator capable of physically tearing down larger raptors in mutated ecosystems.

Li Xiao recalled a specific folk narrative an Omega had recited to him during his early childhood. In the foundational mythology of the Bi-Que tribe, the Raven was revered as the Fifth Guardian Divinity—the ultimate cosmic symbol of absolute justice and unyielding vengeance.

Song Jin stared across the table at the silent, analytical expression settling over Li Xiao’s features, a wave of irritation mounting in his chest. This guy has unquestionably integrated another critical layer of the puzzle.

Whether it was the indigenous history of the Bi-Que tribe or the operational profile of paramilitaries like Raven, these variables were deeply embedded within the domestic intelligence channels of Dance. As an outsider, his personal investigative infrastructure was severely restricted; he lacked the comprehensive, localized data stream that Li Xiao naturally possessed as a native.

The kitchen staff arrived, placing two steaming bowls of beef noodles onto the table. Song Jin instantly plunged his chopsticks into the bowl, lifting a thick, succulent piece of beef and extending it directly to Li Xiao’s lips: “Babe, your physical systems must be severely depleted after last night. Open up.”

Li Xiao snapped out of his tactical analysis, his eyes dropping to the meat: “…Set it down.”

Song Jin flashed a soft, mocking smile, “But I possess a profound emotional desire to manually spoon-feed you.”

Li Xiao replied deadpan, “The specific expression your face is manifesting right now is deeply sinister. I am experiencing genuine psychological terror.”

Song Jin: “…” Completely immune to both soft diplomacy and hard pressure, huh?

Observing the intense friction between the two, the owner silently scooped up his stool and vacated the area. Young couples. Truly an eyesore.

Amidst the silent standoff, Song Jin’s personal terminal suddenly vibrated. A highly encrypted message had bypassed the localized blackout, routed through the secret guards’ tactical military sub-network.

[ Field Detail ]: Master, our reconnaissance units have isolated an unmapped, anomalous underground facility precisely three kilometers southwest of Kylin’s primary administrative headquarters.