The intelligence suggested that the Thirty-Six Heavenly Spirits and the Seventy-Two Earthly Fiends were evenly matched in strength, on the same level as the Ten Army Generals. He had always intended to conquer them with sheer power; it was necessary, indeed inevitable.

Perhaps in modern times, many would consider such blunt methods relics of the past, fit only to become a laughingstock today. But Yang Yi didn't care. He just wanted to act according to his own will; even if it invited ridicule, as long as it achieved the desired effect, it was enough.

If one paused to think about it differently, anyone faced with someone vastly superior in strength would naturally develop a sense of inexplicable awe within their heart. This was reality, the most blatant reality.

And if ordinary people were like this, what was one to say about martial artists whose very spirits had been eroded by the modern age?

Extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures—this had always been Yang Yi’s modus operandi.

“Let’s go in,” Yang Yi said lightly, the familiar rogue-like grin still plastered on his face.

The three of them walked into the bar belonging to the Ice Cauldron Society without raising the slightest suspicion. After all, no one had seen them before; they were simply unfamiliar faces.

Reaching the main hall, they located a booth and settled in. Yang Yi signaled to a passing attendant: “Waiter!”

Waiter—the term for service staff. In mainstream society, regardless of one's education level, this noun has permeated consciousness through television and pervasive culture. It's a trendy modern colloquialism, especially favored in establishments like bars, Western restaurants, and even hotels.

Of course, one could simply call them a server.

He ordered a bottle of premium whiskey and several light snacks. Regarding alcohol, it had been mentioned before that Yang Yi and Fatty Lin were practically immune. Thus, the specific type of liquor mattered little to them; the atmosphere was the main event.

“Brother Yi, we really don’t have to pay for all this food?” Fatty Lin looked genuinely doubtful. While alcohol was inconsequential to him, this single bottle of whiskey was prohibitively expensive—nearly ten thousand for just the bottle.

Yang Yi smiled faintly. “You can choose not to eat or drink, you can choose not to believe, but I am certainly eating. I’m starving.”

Starving? Could snacks truly fill a stomach? What a joke. Of course, he said that, but both Fatty Lin and Feng Shi, however they rationalized it, knew it was just an excuse. The real objective lay further down the line.

Although the snacks wouldn't fill them up, they provided a temporary sense of satiety, simply having something in the stomach being better than nothing.

Meanwhile, in a spacious private room somewhere else in the building.

Seventy-one middle-aged men, all clad in matching black attire, aged between thirty and thirty-five, sat motionless, their eyes lightly closed. If an ordinary person stumbled upon this scene, they would likely be paralyzed by fear from the dark aura emanating from these seventy-one individuals. What was this? An illegal gathering, or something else?

Indeed, seventy-one men gathered in one large private room was enough to arouse suspicion, especially since they were all wearing black, a clear visual shorthand for organized crime. These people rarely frequented such places, making today's presence rather peculiar.

Simultaneously, the door to the room opened, and a more seasoned middle-aged man entered, his eyes faintly sharp yet hidden beneath a black suit identical to the others. He delivered a single instruction: “Go to the designated place first. I will guide him over.”

Without lingering, he turned and left.

The seventy-one men in black rose instantly, with a sharp, synchronized Shua! as they snapped their eyes open, a trace of coldness clinging to them. One of the men stated, “Let’s go. Today, we shall witness the current Dragon Lord’s true strength.”

“Yes!” The response, though subdued, resonated through the entire room, only to be swallowed by the so-called di music filtering in from outside.

And yet...

“It seems that old fox guessed my intentions after all. Heh heh, that saves me a lot of effort,” Yang Yi muttered internally, glancing casually towards the upper floor while slowly savoring the sharp burn of the whiskey.

“That must be him,” the middle-aged man in black murmured, holding a photograph. A faint smile played on his lips as his sharp eyes fixed briefly on the location of Yang Yi and his companions before he descended the stairs.

“Hoo! Damn, this is satisfying,” Fatty Lin gasped between large gulps, having nearly demolished every snack on the table.

Yang Yi let out a helpless chuckle, giving him an exasperated look. “Eat all you want, but at least have some manners! Have you forgotten our objective?”

“Uh...” Fatty Lin faltered, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed. Just as he was about to speak, a voice cut in.

“Is there a need for anything more?”

The newcomer was a middle-aged man dressed in black. Feng Shi’s eyes flashed with a cold light upon seeing him, but she remained silent.

“No need, we’ve eaten our fill. Thank you for your hospitality,” Yang Yi replied with a calm smile, treating the newcomer as if he were an old acquaintance.

Fatty Lin merely looked at him questioningly for a moment before his own expression shifted into an undeniable, knowing smile.

“I must say, it is remarkable for someone your age to already command the position of Dragon Lord of the Black God Gang, and to have earned the recognition of our Society Master... but I wonder about your actual power?”

The man in black spoke those words with clear skepticism, even a slight edge of condescension.

“Why the beating around the bush? Do you find this game enjoyable?” Yang Yi acted as if he hadn't registered the man’s veiled challenge at all.

“You must understand, to effectively control the Ice Cauldron Society, you must first conquer us, the Seventy-Two Earthly Fiends. Although we share a common origin, in the end... it depends entirely on whether you possess the strength,” the middle-aged man said. He couldn't see through Yang Yi’s depths and was internally shocked, yet his face remained fixed in a pleasant smile.

“Didn’t you hear my Young Master tell you to cut the nonsense?” Feng Shi interjected coldly.

“Heh heh, little girl, it’s been many years. You’ve really grown into a woman,” the middle-aged man remarked casually.

Swish! Feng Shi’s figure blurred, launching her straight toward the man.

The middle-aged man swiftly raised his hand to block, resulting in a muffled Pa!—the force behind the blow was considerable. “Don’t be so rough, girl. Although your Ten Army Generals are not weak, in our eyes, you are all on the same tier as us...”

Before he could finish, Fatty Lin stood up with a gentle smile, locking his gaze on the man. “And what about me?”

The middle-aged man retreated two steps, seemingly trying to put distance between himself and both Feng Shi and Fatty Lin. His eyes hardened, and the smile vanished from his face.

“Alright, enough playing around,” Yang Yi stated. He knew perfectly well that this man was merely trying to intimidate him—a fact he could guess with his toes.

“Then... please follow me this way!” The middle-aged man seemed to agree that the threshold had been met. These two individuals were currently beyond his ability to gauge or comprehend. The Old Dragon Lord certainly found a worthy successor, he thought suddenly, turning to lead the way.

Yang Yi’s expression immediately flattened. He narrowed his eyes, following the man, and instructed Fatty Lin and Feng Shi as they walked: “No matter what happens next, do not interfere.”

“Why not?” Fatty Lin asked, confused.

“Are you asking for a beating? Did you not hear what I said?” Yang Yi shot him a sidelong glare.

Fatty Lin winced, glancing at Feng Shi, who nodded. “Brother Yi, you really don’t want us to step in?”

“Relax, I can handle this little matter,” Yang Yi replied calmly, understanding Fatty Lin’s concern.

In a short while, Yang Yi and his group followed the middle-aged man to another section of the bar—an area set up as a basketball court, presumably for staff recreation.

Over seventy men in black were lined up there. The moment Yang Yi and his companions stepped onto the court, those men looked over, their eyes devoid of emotion, filled only with profound indifference.

“Truly worthy of the Seventy-Two Earthly Fiends,” Yang Yi muttered to himself inexplicably, though he managed an air of calm composure.

The core pillars of the Ice Cauldron Society; defeating them was tantamount to defeating the entire organization. Outsiders would never suspect that the outwardly glorious Ice Cauldron Society was, in reality, beginning to rot from within.

“Dragon Lord of the Black God Gang, please allow me to address you as such,” the middle-aged man who had guided them suddenly turned, his voice icy.

Yang Yi raised the corner of his mouth, smiling without speaking.

“I trust we share the same objective, otherwise you wouldn't be here. So, shall we begin?” The middle-aged man recognized the absurdity of the situation in the eyes of any outsider.

But whether it was Yang Yi or the Seventy-Two Earthly Fiends, they both believed this was the only viable course of action right now.

“A free-for-all brawl!”

To prove everything with strength.

“Seventy-Two Earthly Fiends!” the middle-aged man suddenly roared the command.

“We are here!” A chorus of black-clad middle-aged men responded.

Yang Yi narrowed his eyes, staring at them, and raised his hand behind him.

Fatty Lin and Feng Shi understood and retreated a few steps, their gazes locked not on the supposed Seventy-Two Earthly Fiends, but intently on Yang Yi.