The next day, as evening settles, Lin Yu sits in a quiet room of one of his many eateries scattered across the city.
The Griffin Kingdom's cuisine, rich and heavy like Britain's of old, has never suited his taste.
So he had recreated dishes from the worlds he once walked, drawing from memory and fragments of flavour.
The ingredients here were not identical, yet the results carried enough of the essence to satisfy him.
These eateries became more than just a business—they were his way of shaping the city to his liking.
But in Grenton, no business could thrive without protection.
The streets belonged to gangs, crude and restless, and noble titles offered little shield from their reach.
Some gangs knew the limits of their power.
Most did not.
So Lin Yu founded his own.
A blade hidden in the dark, serving only him, ensuring his establishments stood untouched.
The leader of this gang now stands before him, posture stiff, eyes lowered.
He begins reciting the month's report, voice steady despite the weight in the room.
Lin Yu listens in silence, his expression unreadable, the faint scent of spices and simmering broth drifting in from the kitchen beyond.
After the report, Lin Yu asks, "Tom, is the head of the Whitmore family part of any gang?"
In his mind, he begins piecing the threads—Finn and the Whitmores tied together through hidden dealings, a gang at the centre of it, and the cursed stone tablet leaving blood in its wake.
Tom, the burly bald man who leads his street network, tilts his head.
"Master, are you talking about Fred Whitmore, whose family was massacred, with only the second son surviving?"
Lin Yu nods, taking a slow bite of the food in front of him, his calm masking the sharp edge of his thoughts.
Tom leans forward slightly, voice dropping lower.
"I think he was part of a thief gang—one that specialises in stealing valuables and reselling them through hidden channels."
Lin Yu nods again and, with a flick of his fingers, signals, "Come, have a seat."
Tom hesitates only a second before pulling out a chair, the wood creaking under his weight as he sits.
After a quiet moment, Lin Yu asks, "What is the problem with Marlowe Hollow's farmers? This time, they supplied us less blue onions."
Tom scratches his jaw, frowning.
"I checked, Master. They sold twenty-five per cent of the crop to the Greystone family instead."
Lin Yu slowly chews his food, his eyes half-lidded, then swallows before speaking.
"Did they forget our contract? We gave them the seeds of blue onion, and by the terms, they can only sell the produce to us."
Tom shifts in his seat, his heavy hands resting on the table.
"Some of them started having other ideas after the Greystone family offered more coin."
Lin Yu's gaze sharpens, though his voice remains calm.
"Then the contract stands. If they break it, their land belongs to us. Go, confiscate their fields and reward the extra plots to those who remained loyal."
Tom hesitates before adding, "Master, the Greystones have stationed men in the village. And one of them… likely extraordinary."
Lin Yu's thoughts flicker briefly.
He could crush a fledgling extraordinary with a gesture, but he created this gang to solve problems for him, not to lean on him for every obstacle.
His expression doesn't change as he says, "He must have only just stepped into the extraordinary. Continuous rifle fire and a proper ambush will kill him."
Tom nods once, the weight of the order accepted.
"I will take care of it."
He rises, ready to leave.
"Wait," Lin Yu says, lifting a hand.
From his pocket, Lin Yu takes out a thin book bound in dark leather and three veils of black liquid, setting them on the table before Tom.
"I promised you I would help you step into the extraordinary path," he says evenly.
He pushes the items forward.
"The book is the practice method of the Shadow Warrior. The veils will help you get started. Each veil holds twenty-one drops of body-refining liquid. Drop three into a tub and bathe daily. Three veils will last you three weeks."
Tom's face lights with ecstasy, his rough frame trembling with suppressed excitement.
He bows deeply.
"Thank you, Master. I will deal with the Greystone family's men swiftly."
Lin Yu's gaze lingers on him, sharp and calm.
"I also want you to establish a farm to raise Shadow Flower Serpents."
Tom's expression falters, hesitation tightening his jaw.
"Master… they are dangerous."
"The main ingredient for the refining liquid is their venom," Lin Yu replies without pause.
"My supply is finished."
Tom swallows hard, then asks, "Sir, the liquid itself—it's not dangerous, is it?"
Lin Yu's lips curve faintly.
"If it were, would I give it to you? Use three drops daily. Nothing more. Nothing less. You will be fine."
Tom nods, reassured, though unease still flickers in his eyes.
He gathers the book and veils, then leaves the room, determination heavy in his steps.
Lin Yu remains seated, a quiet eagerness burning within him.
He wonders what change will come when Tom cultivates the first wisp of shadow inner energy.
The Shadow Warrior path is his creation, born from his grasp of the shadow element and martial arts cultivation from other worlds.
What he truly desires is the feedback that will flow back to him the moment Tom succeeds, for in this world, every creator of an extraordinary path receives feedback when another cultivates their creation.
He learned this truth in his first year after arriving, during his relentless investigation of this world's laws.
If the feedback proves sufficient, he will spread the Shadow Warrior path among the elites of his gang.
And not only that—he has also forged two other extraordinary paths: Shadow Conjurer and Shadow Knight.
Together, these three are fragments of his true path, the Shadow Lord.
Finishing his food, he rises and leaves the eatery, his expression as calm as ever.
At home, he sheds his clothes and enters the bathroom.
From the shelf, he retrieves a veil of body refining liquid and empties the entire contents into the tub.
The water turns pitch black, bubbling and roiling as if alive.
He lowers himself in, resting his head against the side, and closes his eyes with a faint sigh of pleasure.
The liquid seeps into his body, refining flesh and bone, and he feels his energy surge higher with every breath.
Meanwhile, far across the city, Nora and her team step into a house reeking of death, the floor slick with dried blood and the air heavy with iron.
In the drawing room lies a circle carved with strange markings, unfamiliar words twisting across its surface.
Bodies are strewn around it, their wounds and positions showing clearly that the blood was drawn from them and made to flow into the circle itself.
Mark mutters, voice unsteady, "How? Is this the work of some ghost or devil?"
Anna snaps back, "Stop talking nonsense, Mark, there's no such thing as ghosts or devils."
Mark points at the corpses, his face pale, "Then how did their blood pour out and move on its own into the circle?"
Silence falls over the group, for none of them has an explanation.
After a moment, Anna says, "At this hour we can't investigate further—tomorrow morning we'll start again."
The others nod, leaving as patrolmen move in to collect the bodies and a painter begins sketching the crime scene.
Just then, a police carriage halts in front of the building, and all of them straighten and salute as the police chief descends.
Behind him follow two middle-aged men in dark, slick suits, hair combed back, their presence sharp and commanding.
Anna steps forward, frowning, "Chief, why are you here?"
The chief says flatly, "Anna, this case will now be handled by these gentlemen from the Black Guards."
Anna's eyes flicker with defiance, "But chief—"
He cuts her off, "You still have the tablet massacre case to solve. Leave this one."
Without another word, he walks into the house with the two men.
Ben leans close and whispers, "How is the murder of some lowlifes connected to the old nobles?"
The Black Guards—everyone knows—are the private enforcers of the ancient noble families, their dogs, erasing crimes that stain their masters' names.
Nora and her team exchange heavy looks, then sigh and step into their carriages, the night around them colder than before.