The London winter was cold and damp, and months of relentless rain had made the entire city, along with everything in it, feel as if it were sprouting moss. |/| As the heavy, gray clouds pressed overhead, when the twin-rotor helicopter Gu Xichen was in finally punched through the cloud layer and hovered just over three hundred meters above the ground, the London that spread beneath him was exactly as described in novels—shrouded in a disagreeable, gray haze. Over fifty towering spires of pure silver, shining faintly in the distance, coupled with the ceaseless chime of bells, signaled to every outsider that this was a city ruled by religious authority.

On Gu Xichen’s command, the helicopter skimmed perilously low over the squat cityscape, finally setting down within a manicured grove just south of London. The orderly birch wood stood bleakly against the cold rain, the countless large eyes carved into the trunks staring coldly at Gu Xichen as he jumped from the helicopter. The elite warriors of the Hell’s Angels Mercenary Group behind him couldn't help but shiver.

Patches of thin fog, no more than a meter high, swirled over the ground with the wind. Gu Xichen couldn't help but mutter, "This place is perfect for shooting a horror movie." A hand suddenly grabbed Gu Xichen’s sleeve, nearly prompting him to instinctively punch the person behind him into the air. The sudden grip belonged to a blond, middle-aged man named Jack.

Short and slight, Jack was the most seasoned appraiser in the Hell’s Angels Mercenary Group, an expert in the authentication and valuation of all manner of jewelry and artworks. Due to the unique nature of this mission, Commander Qiúrán had specifically requested Jack accompany Gu Xichen to London as his aide. Jack, completely drenched by the persistent drizzle, clung tightly to Gu Xichen, stammering in a low voice, "Dear Captain, this place feels utterly wicked!" "Hmph," Gu Xichen grunted, squeezing Jack’s shoulder firmly.

He drew a handgun from his waist and thrust it into Jack’s hand. "This place is certainly wicked, so protect yourself." Jack looked at the gun in his hand with an expression of tearless despair. A few mercenaries chuckled softly, clapping Jack on the shoulder as they clustered around him, following behind Gu Xichen.

A small path dappled with fallen leaves wound through the birch wood. After walking south along this path for about half a mile, more than a dozen English Foxhounds suddenly burst from the surrounding thicket. These purebred, superior hounds snarled, baring their teeth, and roared at Gu Xichen.

Gu Xichen let out a cold snort, fixing the pack of fierce dogs with a menacing glare. Immediately, the dozen hounds tucked their tails between their legs, whimpering as they scattered and fled. A bald old man, dressed in an immaculately clean tailcoat, walked slowly out of the path, his posture as rigid and unyielding as the rain-soaked London cityscape.

He glanced at the fleeing hounds with slight surprise, then offered Gu Xichen a stiff, shallow bow. "You've arrived? The Master is waiting for you in the study." Gu Xichen remained silent, merely turning his head to signal Jack and the others to follow him.

The bald old man led the group along the path, making two deliberate turns, before the scenery suddenly opened up. Amidst the dense birch woods lay a crescent-shaped lake. Directly facing the lake was a meadow spanning dozens of hectares, upon which stood an ancient, three-story castle built of granite.

To the left of the castle was a row of stables, from which came continuous, high-pitched whinnies. Over twenty sleek, purebred horses were nervously pawing the ground inside. "Oh, so many treasures!" Jack muttered under his breath.

"Captain, in today's market, a fine purebred horse costs at least fifty million! Our client is rolling in dough!" Gu Xichen’s eyes widened in surprise too. He shot Jack a look and squeezed his eyelid.

"Brothers, be careful. Anyone who can afford this many purebreds must have serious cash flow problems; this job won't be easy! Damn that bearded uncle, I hope he isn't setting me up?" Accompanying Gu Xichen to London, besides the specialist Jack, were thirty hardened warriors from the Hell’s Angels Mercenary Group.

These fighters were not thugs fresh out of federal prisons, but rather special forces veterans discharged from the Federation’s regular army. They were the elite of the elite, the warriors among warriors, and they too analyzed that this mission was unlikely to be simple! Satisfied to see his previously relaxed team members turn serious, Gu Xichen surveyed the castle before him and followed the bald old man toward it.

More than a dozen middle-aged men and women, dressed in the most traditional servant uniforms, stood before the castle to greet Gu Xichen’s party. The bald man led Gu Xichen and Jack through the spacious ground-floor hall and toward the stairs, while the other thirty warriors were directed to the reception room on the first floor, where hot milk tea and pastries awaited them. Ascending the winding, rich mahogany staircase to the second floor, they proceeded down a long corridor, a hundred meters in length, padded with thick wool carpet.

The bald man led Gu Xichen to a wooden door. Along this short, hundred-meter stretch of corridor alone, no fewer than twenty extremely famous antique paintings hung on the walls. Gu Xichen didn't need Jack's expert appraisal to confirm they were originals.

It was hard to imagine a family about to secretly auction off its heirlooms could still maintain so many purebred horses, superior foxhounds, and this many genuine antique paintings. As the old man raised his hand to knock, Gu Xichen simply pushed the door open and walked in. The bald man froze momentarily, then reluctantly stepped forward to walk ahead of Gu Xichen.

It was a spacious study, about two hundred square meters, with bookshelves lining all four walls, stacked silently with countless volumes bound in red leather. In one corner of the study was a circle of comfortable sofas, and in the very center sat a colossal terrestrial globe made of jade, which was slowly rotating, driven by a motor, its diameter two meters across. On the floor of the study rested three custom-made metal crates.

Several sharply dressed men stood nearby, engaged in hushed discussion. Gu Xichen’s violent push of the door drew the attention of everyone inside; they all looked up in surprise. The bald old man rushed to speak first, "Master, my deepest apologies." Gu Xichen pulled the old man behind him, his hands resting on his belt as he surveyed the men in the study, nodding casually.

"My apologies, I was perhaps too abrupt. But I imagine that is irrelevant; we should get straight to business." A man with a bald head but a very imposing beard rose from the sofa and extended his hand toward Gu Xichen. "Mr.

Evil Dragon? I reviewed the documents your commander faxed over. You are far more imposing in person than in photographs.

Well, I am Lawrence Lee, your client for this engagement." Gazing deeply at Lawrence Lee, Gu Xichen walked over unceremoniously and sat down on the sofa opposite him. Crossing one leg over the other, Gu Xichen ignored the hand Lawrence had extended and said, "Let’s speak frankly then. I’m curious, Mr.

Lawrence. Given your family background, I hardly think you need to resort to liquidating family treasures for liquidity. Hmm, I saw the horses in your stable, and the enthusiastic welcome from those hounds; it’s clear your lifestyle has always been quite opulent." A young man standing beside the three metal crates stepped forward angrily, pointing at Gu Xichen and snapping, "You vulgar..." Lawrence Lee shouted, "Silence!

Mr. Evil Dragon’s suspicion has merit!" The study fell into a tense quiet. Gu Xichen watched Lawrence with keen interest.

Lawrence’s face cycled rapidly through shades of red and white before he finally sighed, sat down, and gestured to the bald old man standing silently by the door. "Old Peter, tea and pastries. Have you forgotten how to receive guests?" Old Peter bowed respectfully to Lawrence before turning and exiting the study with stiff, meticulously precise steps.

Lawrence turned his gaze back to Gu Xichen, who stared back just as intently. Their eyes met for a prolonged moment until Lawrence finally yielded to Gu Xichen’s aggressive gaze. He shook his head with a wry smile.

"Your eyes are truly intimidating, though I suppose your profession dictates as much. Uh, are all mercenaries as cautious as you?" "Others are not. But I," Gu Xichen admitted frankly, "am afraid of death!" Lawrence was rendered speechless by this bluntness for a long moment.

Another middle-aged man in the study gestured furiously toward the doorway. "If you fear death, then get out of here! A mercenary’s duty is merely to satisfy the client’s needs; you are nothing more than..." Gu Xichen cut him off, barking without courtesy, "Mercenaries are tools, yes, but I am responsible for my men!

Mr. Lawrence, I now sense that you must be in a major predicament—a predicament large enough to force you to secretly auction family treasures. I expect you to be open about this trouble, or I will advise our commander to refuse this assignment." Having a Sacred Unicorn nearby was dangerous enough, but when Gu Xichen realized this mission seemed to involve something else entirely, he began to consider not just the mercenaries accompanying him, but his own survival.

"We are mercenaries; we only consider the risks we are obligated to bear. If it exceeds a certain limit, we will not continue the task," Gu Xichen stated plainly. Lawrence offered a bitter laugh and shook his head.

"Actually, Mr. Evil Dragon, the situation is not quite as you imagine. Even if there is risk, it shouldn’t involve you." Before the words were fully out, a heavy engine rumble sounded from outside the castle.

Gu Xichen leaped forward, pushed open the study’s French doors, and rushed onto the balcony. A medium-sized vertical take-off and landing transport aircraft was slowly descending from the high altitude, spewing pale blue plasma flames. Still dozens of meters above the ground, the intense heat from the plasma flames dried and ignited the damp, withered grass, sending wisps of black smoke rising, the turf beneath utterly scorched and destroyed.