Chapter Sixty-Three: Is Your Mistress Beautiful?

In the heart of the small city of Nia, atop a luxurious office building, a grand scene unfolded. The soaring, stained-glass ceiling—rising more than ten meters high—was adorned with immense crystal chandeliers that now blazed with light.

On the plush, comfortable sofa below sat Louis, his body ravaged by severe burns, his appearance wretched and disheveled. His face was likewise burned, though it had been coated with a special ointment, yet the searing pain still made his features twitch involuntarily.

Louis, who had never smoked before, now took a furious drag from the cigar clenched in his hand, accidentally inhaling too deeply and erupting into a fit of violent coughing. Specks of blood splattered across the expensive handwoven carpet.

Hans, his expression grave, sat nearby. Several other senior members of the Cerberus Organization were present as well—all summoned urgently from other cities because of this incident. No one had anticipated the disaster would be so dire.

First, they had lost more than a dozen elite members. Then, four Foundation-level Grand Magi perished. And now, even George—the true elder of their organization—was dead!

Louis had barely escaped with his life. Though he survived, his body had suffered grievous wounds.

"Senior Louis, you saw them with your own eyes. Who exactly was the assailant? Was it a powerful fire cultivator from the East?"

The speaker was a burly, black-haired man with a thick beard and a rather fierce countenance. He was Konstantin, the third-in-command of Cerberus and the organization's current spokesman to the outside world.

"No, it was a Westerner. A woman, no less." Louis’s hand trembled slightly as he set his cigar in the ashtray. The memory made his heart race. "And that young man from the East—Song Yue—he’s a remarkably strong cultivator. His level isn’t particularly high, but his strength is terrifying, just like George..."

At the mention of George, Louis’s voice grew heavy with grief, and tears welled in his eyes.

"That young man is both a martial artist and a mage, and he possesses a fearsome magical artifact. It was that artifact which crushed George."

"Richard said he was just a brute," Konstantin spat. "Damn Richard, he set us up!"

Hans, who had originally been responsible for this operation, wiped cold sweat from his brow. "But what about the woman? Who is she? I can't recall any Western female mage of such power."

Konstantin exhaled a slow stream of smoke. "There is one."

Hans frowned. "I've never heard of her."

Konstantin replied, "A powerful Western mage aiding a young man from the distant East, attacking our members twice—ruthless, decisive... If I’m not mistaken, she’s a Warrior."

Hans’s face darkened. He growled, "What exactly is a Warrior? I’ve heard the term, but never truly understood it."

Konstantin shook his head. "I don’t know much either. Only that there are people born with extraordinary talent, chosen by mysterious forces to enter a particular place and fight battles there."

"There are many such individuals, both East and West, but I don’t know their organization or who they’re fighting against."

"All I know is, it’s best not to provoke a Warrior—they are terrifying people."

Hans sighed. "So what now? So many are dead. Are we just supposed to let this go?"

Konstantin gave him a look. "Go to Richard. Demand he compensate for the losses and tell him—this matter ends here. If he’s not satisfied, he can call me."

Then he glanced at the distraught Louis and sighed. "Senior Louis, George has already gone to meet his maker—perhaps it was his fate. Don’t take it too hard. Focus on your recovery. The organization will see to your compensation."

Louis rose wearily, casting an unwilling glance at Konstantin. "If this really is related to those so-called Warriors, are we just going to let it go?"

Konstantin met his gaze. "Senior Louis, as an elder, you know our code better than I do. If our foes are truly beyond our power, any attempt at revenge could bring the whole organization to ruin."

Louis nodded. "I understand. Thank you, Konstantin. I’ll take my leave."

As Louis’s broken figure was helped from the room, Konstantin turned to Hans. "You were too reckless this time. It’s not all your fault, but the damage is immense. Before I came, there was an internal meeting..."

Hans’s face was bitter. "I’m to be punished, aren’t I?"

Konstantin nodded. "It’s the rules. But I spoke up for you. Everyone agreed—your duties are suspended for now. Don’t worry, once this has all faded, I’ll persuade the boss to bring you back."

Hans let out a heavy sigh. He knew too well that “coming back” was just a face-saving pretext—a polite way to step down. After a mistake this grave, the organization would never keep him in his position.

He had been a top-tier official in Cerberus, right at the core of power, but now he was out—his influence gone. For him, nothing could be more devastating. Especially since, over the years, he’d made plenty of enemies who would surely seize the opportunity to exact revenge.

After seeing Konstantin out, Hans, worried and anxious, dialed Richard’s number to explain the situation.

On the other end, Richard sounded shaken as well. He knew a bit more about the mysterious Warriors—not the whole truth, but enough to know they were not to be trifled with.

He tried to comfort Hans, promising to help his family emigrate to another planet. Even if that Eastern youth didn’t come for revenge, Hans’s old enemies surely would.

Now Richard finally understood why Owenford had left so abruptly. That bastard must have known all along that the young man from the East was no ordinary figure.

Hans’s fall meant Richard’s most reliable partner in Cerberus was gone. From now on, using the organization’s resources would be much harder. Worse yet, he now feared that the young man from the East would discover he had been the mastermind behind it all.

If even George had fallen, how could Richard—a man with no cultivation—possibly withstand the vengeance of a young hot-blooded warrior?

"Seems I’d better find a way to leave Earth too."

"Damn you, Owen—you really screwed me over!"

Cursing under his breath, Richard began contacting Owenford through interstellar calls.

He had no intention of “explaining himself”—he might still need Owenford’s help to survive in the future. His tone would have to be humble, even pitiful...

The call connected.

"Hey, my old friend, how are you? It’s me, Richard."

Owenford’s voice was heavy. "I’ve just returned home. I’m exhausted. Old friend, do you have good news for me?"

Richard forced a bitter smile. "Sorry, Owen, it’s a disaster. We’ve suffered heavy losses..."

Twenty minutes later, Richard smashed his expensive interstellar phone to pieces. His cultivation wasn’t great, but breaking a high-tech device was no problem.

"Bastard!"

"Damn it!"

"Coward!"

Richard raged, cursing Owenford. He had only asked for help in arranging things for himself and Hans on the other side—hardly a big favor. And yet, Owenford refused.

"Sorry, my old friend, I really can’t help. I’m under family investigation after the failed mission and the casualties—I may be severely punished. If you really want to come, I can at most offer you a place to stay. Beyond that, there’s nothing I can do."

Richard didn’t believe him for a second.

Who was Owenford? A core member of the Owen family on Skyward Star, a legitimate heir with a powerful cultivation. Richard wasn’t going to Skyward Star as a refugee or fugitive—he expected to live a life of refinement and dignity. Yet Owenford’s response was so cold!

All this trouble had come about because of him.

After venting his anger in the office, Richard gradually calmed down. Maybe, he thought with a trace of hope, that young man from the East wouldn’t be able to find him. After all, this was the West—his own territory.

"There’s no way I’ll be frightened off by some young man from the East," he muttered, opening a bottle of whiskey and taking a heavy swig. His gaze became steady once more.

"Perhaps I’m overreacting. As for Hans... Sorry, my friend. There’s nothing I can do for you. I hope you make it through safely..."

But early the next morning, Richard received news: the previous night, Hans and his entire family—seven people—had been slain in their own home.

Cerberus had already launched an investigation and dealt with the matter. The killer turned out to be a former Cerberus member whom Hans had once betrayed, a man who had lost his own wife and daughter because of Hans.

When Richard heard the news, he was both melancholy and concerned, but he didn’t plan to attend the funeral. For now, he resolved to keep a low profile and go nowhere.

...

When Song Yue woke, it was already midday.

On the flight back, carried through the sky by Catherine, he had been so exhausted his consciousness flickered in and out. Even though he practiced the Celestial Sovereign Mind Technique, the battle with George had left his spirit deeply depleted. If not for the iron resolve of a martial artist, he would have collapsed immediately.

He found himself lying in a clean, tidy bed. The room was warm and simply furnished.

He got up and went to the bathroom, where he found fresh toiletries. After washing up, Song Yue stepped out to a mouthwatering aroma of meat.

A young girl in black emerged from the kitchen just then. Seeing him, she smiled. "You’re awake? I saw you before, at the secret realm. You rushed in as soon as you arrived..."

Song Yue blinked, recognizing her as well. "I remember you too—flying through the sky on a broomstick, and then at the entrance to the herb garden in the secret realm. You didn’t go in."

The girl in black was momentarily speechless.

She explained earnestly, "That was a high-level flying artifact, not a broom! And I’m not a witch—I’m a mage!"

Song Yue nodded with little sincerity. "Hello, little mage. By the way, where’s Aunt Lin?"

The girl rolled her eyes at him. "She’s in the garden. Aunt said you can eat first when you wake up. Whatever you want to talk about, wait until after you’ve eaten."

Then she leaned in, lowering her voice in a conspiratorial whisper. "Hey, are you Master’s disciple? Is your mistress beautiful?"