Far south of the White Haven district, positioned extrely close to the massive third ring wall that separated the outer districts from the inner city, stood a wide and breathtakingly beautiful mansion that seed completely out of place in this sowhat run-down area.
The mansion was architecturally magnificent, built in a style that mixed traditional eastern aesthetics with modern luxury. White marble columns supported elaborate balconies. Carefully manicured gardens surrounded the property with exotic plants that must have cost a fortune to maintain. Golden accents decorated the walls and roof, catching sunlight and making the entire structure seem to glow.
But the beauty was deceptive. This was no innocent wealthy residence.
Guards patrolled the periter constantly, their movents coordinated and professional. These weren’t ordinary security personnel—every single guard stationed here was a cultivator of significant power. Even the weakest among them was a Level 2 Stellar Knight, which was far beyond what any legitimate business would require for protection.
This level of security made it abundantly clear that this mansion served as the headquarters for sothing dangerous and illegal.
Inside the mansion, in an extrely massive main hall that could easily accommodate hundreds of people, the true nature of this place beca even more apparent.
At the far end of the hall, positioned on an elevated platform, sat a literal giant of a man on an oversized golden throne. The man stood at least three ters tall even while seated, with muscles that bulged grotesquely beneath his clothes. His presence dominated the entire space.
Beside the throne, lying on the floor like an obedient pet, was an enormous wolf with jet-black fur. The beast asured roughly five ters in length from nose to tail, with paws the size of dinner plates and fangs as long as daggers. Despite its fearso appearance, the massive predator lay there docilely, occasionally nuzzling against its master’s leg.
This giant was Osborn, the notorious leader of the Shadow-Wing Gang—one of the most dangerous criminal organizations operating in the outer districts.
"What happened with the assassination team we sent out earlier this week?" Osborn’s voice rumbled softly through the hall, deceptively quiet given his massive size.
Three gang mbers were kneeling on the floor before his throne, their faces positioned toward the ground in submission. The mont Osborn spoke, all three of their expressions changed slightly with visible fear.
They knew from long experience that the calr and quieter their boss sounded, the angrier he actually was. When Osborn shouted and raged, it ant he was rely annoyed. When he spoke softly like this, it ant soone was probably about to die.
No one dared to be the first to speak and deliver bad news. The silence stretched uncomfortably as each lackey hoped one of the others would take the risk.
Finally, one of them couldn’t stand the pressure anymore. He gritted his teeth, gathered his courage, and opened his mouth to respond.
"B-boss, we have no idea what happened, but the team never reported back and—"
"Bang!"
Before he could finish the sentence, an invisible telekinetic force suddenly collided with the speaker’s body. He was sent flying backward like a kite with its string cut, tumbling through the air until he slamd into the wall behind him with bone-breaking force.
The giant wolf imdiately stood up from its resting position, whimpering softly as it looked at Boss Osborn for permission.
Osborn waved his massive hand in a casual gesture of approval.
The wolf turned into a black blur of motion, appearing directly in front of the man who was stuck against the wall, embedded in the cracked plaster.
What followed was accompanied by heart-breaking screams that echoed through the entire hall. Blood splattered across the pristine floor and walls as the wolf devoured the gang mber alive, eating his flesh and crushing his bones between powerful jaws.
The crunching sounds were horrifically loud—snap, crack, crunch—making the two remaining lackeys tremble violently in fear. They knew with absolute certainty that they would be next if they failed to provide a satisfactory answer.
One of them, a thin man with nervous eyes, quickly spoke up before Osborn’s patience could run out.
"L-Leader! We received intelligence that the target youth has beco friends with Young Master Sean of the Klein Family!" he stuttered rapidly. "It seems the target must have offered that powerful family so kind of benefits in exchange for protection. That’s the only explanation for why our assassination plan would have failed so completely!"
The gang leader tilted his massive head slightly in thought, considering this information. It seed like a reasonable explanation. The Klein Family was one of the major powers in the city, and their protection would certainly explain why four Peak Stage Stellar Soldiers had been killed so easily.
"What do you think about this situation, Borne?" Osborn suddenly addressed soone else in the room.
From the shadows on his left side, an elderly man stepped forward into the light. The man had a completely shaved head, wore Buddhist prayer beads wrapped around both wrists, and had elaborate religious markings tattooed across his naked upper body. He looked like a peaceful monk, but his eyes held a predatory gleam that contradicted his holy appearance.
"Amitabha," the monk said with clasped hands, his voice soft and serene. "As long as this benefactor wishes anyone to achieve death and enlightennt, I am ready to work for your spiritual benefit and help convert their souls to the pure land of Buddhism."
Leader Osborn chuckled with dark amusent. "Then I will have to thank Monk Lin for your generous assistance. My soul draws ever closer to enlightennt with your guidance."
But internally, Osborn sneered with contempt. ’Damned hypocritical monkey! You’re obviously bloodthirsty by nature and want to kill people—that’s exactly why you ca to work for in the first place. All this talk about converting souls is just an excuse to murder people while pretending to be religious and innocent.’
"So this is the famous Shadow-Wing Gang hideout," a young male voice filled with genuine curiosity suddenly spoke, the sound carrying clearly through the entire hall despite no visible source.
"Who’s there!?" one of the lackeys shouted, spinning around.
"You dare barge into this sacred place?" the other lackey added with outrage.
Both remaining gang mbers frantically scanned the hall, trying to locate where the voice had co from, but they couldn’t find anyone. The hall appeared empty except for themselves, Osborn, the monk, and the wolf.
Suddenly, one of the lackeys froze mid-turn. His hands went to his own neck as blood began pouring from a deep slash that had appeared across his throat. His eyes went wide with shock and terror as he collapsed to the ground, clutching desperately at the fatal wound and gurgling incomprehensibly.
From the shadow cast by the dying lackey’s body, a youth’s figure seed to expand and grow, stepping out from the darkness as though erging from a pool of liquid shadow.
It was Vogue.
Osborn’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he studied the intruder. "Who are you, boy?"
The youth tilted his head with obvious amusent dancing in his eyes. "You don’t even know the face of the person you sent assassins to kill? That seems rather unprofessional."
Osborn suddenly chuckled, the sound rumbling through the hall like distant thunder. "I have heard the old saying about ’jumping from the frying pan into the fire,’ but I haven’t actually witnessed it happening until today. You’ve saved the trouble of hunting you down by walking directly into my ho."
Vogue laughed genuinely as he began casually walking around the hall, running his fingers along the marble pillars and admiring the expensive decorations with exaggerated interest. "You know, I could definitely turn this place into my own personal hideout after I’m done with you. Sothing like my own secret lair for conducting business. The interior design is actually quite nice."
"Aren’t you counting your eggs before the chicken has even laid them?" Osborn responded with a threatening edge entering his voice.
Vogue rolled his eyes dramatically. "I get it, you’re old and you like spouting ancient proverbs. But personally, all I know are the important ones like ’courting death’ and sothing about ’not provoking the tiger in its mountain’ or whatever. The classics."
The final remaining lackey was trembling violently in fear, but seeing her boss growing genuinely angry, she gritted her teeth and decided to act. She activated her talent with a desperate shout.
"Violent Storm!"
She slapped her hands forward as wind began swirling around her body. In a split second, a miniature hurricane materialized, composed of razor-sharp wind blades that could slice through steel. The entire violent construct rushed directly toward Vogue, the cutting winds slashing at his body from dozens of angles simultaneously.
Vogue didn’t dodge or defend. He simply stomped his foot down hard against the marble floor to anchor himself and held his ground as the hurricane assault struck his entire body.
His clothes and hair flapped as wind blades slashed through his flesh like hundreds of rotors.
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