Over the next three days, under Kai's lead, three separate Black Dragon Society strongholds were taken down—one per day. Forget the ones who got beaten so badly they couldn't even get up—just the number of people arrested had already exceeded thirty.
And based on the severity of their crimes, each of them was looking at close to a decade behind bars.
This kind of blow was no different than the Black Dragon Society chopping off one of its own arms.
Saoirse, always a force to be reckoned with, had no part in this disaster, yet still got caught in the crossfire. How could she possibly swallow that? She marched straight to Veil's door!
BANG!
The front door was kicked open.
Saoirse stormed in, flanked by dozens of fighters—each one fierce and sharp-eyed.
These weren't the average grunts. They were the Black Dragon Society's true elites—every one of them bore gnarly scars and battle-worn bodies.
Their presence alone could terrify any normal person into silence.
Thankfully, Alice had been busy at the orphanage these past few days and wasn't home. Otherwise, if she saw this scene, she would've been scared out of her wits.
"Geez, what's with the grand entrance?" Veil's voice rang out calmly, laced with amusement. "You came to visit, that's fine. But bringing this many people to protect me? You're making me feel bad."
He smiled lazily, motioning toward Saoirse—now dressed in a long black dress. "Don't just stand there. Come in, have a drink."
"Veil!" Saoirse's voice was cold as ice. "Stop pretending to be innocent. You know exactly why I'm here."
Veil rolled his eyes. "With everything that's happened between us, is there any need to be so distant?" He glanced at the people behind her. "Your crew doesn't need to come in. Let them wait outside. No wine? Fine. At least have some tea."
"Miss!" one of the bodyguards called out sternly. Their eyes were fixed on Veil, full of hostility.
Saoirse frowned and waved them off. "Wait outside. If I need anything, I'll call you."
She followed Veil upstairs to a quiet tea room.
Veil brewed the tea himself—rinsing, warming, steeping. His mastery of all twelve steps of the tea ritual was exquisite, flawless.
With the scent of sandalwood lingering in the air and a freshly brewed cup in front of her, the soothing aroma began to ease the fire burning in Saoirse's chest.
She stared at Veil, who sat across from her, completely relaxed as he sipped his tea. That sense of peace only made the anger inside her flare up even more.
She was the one who had suffered. She hadn't even begun to retaliate, yet Veil had already made the first move, flipping the tables on her.
How could she swallow that injustice?
Her voice turned sharp with rage. "Veil! You've gone too far. I haven't even settled the score with you about that night, and now your men have gone and hit my Black Dragon Society's bases?"
"Three of them! In just three days! What—are you trying to start a war with us?!"
Veil set down his cup, smiling faintly. "No interest in starting a war with the Black Dragon Society."
Even though three days had passed, the way Veil looked at her—teasing and unreadable—immediately brought back memories of that night.
Her temper exploded. She snatched up her teacup, ready to throw it in his face, but Veil raised a hand, stopping her.
"Hold on. Don't get mad just yet. I did all this for your sake."
"For me? You're destroying my Black Dragon Society for me?" Saoirse let out a laugh, cold and mocking. "Go on then—make up a better lie than that."
Veil sighed. "Don't tell me you still don't know what those three strongholds were really doing."
Saoirse's eyes narrowed, her tone stiffening. "The milk powder in those strongholds has nothing to do with the Black Dragon Society."
Her gaze turned serious.
That recent crackdown had resulted in more than thirty arrests—all because those strongholds had been caught distributing contaminated milk powder.
Though the Black Dragon Society dealt in underground affairs, Saomi had given strict orders: this kind of business was off-limits.
Now that such a scandal had surfaced, Saoirse couldn't afford not to take it seriously.
Veil took a slow sip of tea. "Of course it has nothing to do with you. But it does have something to do with the Black Dragon Society. After all, it was found on your turf."
Saoirse frowned deeply, biting her lower lip in thought. "You're saying… my father was running the operation behind my back?"
Pfft!
Veil nearly spat out his tea.
He couldn't help himself—some of it even splashed onto her face.
Looking sheepish, he reached over with a cloth to wipe it off. "You really don't know your own father, do you? He had nothing to do with this."
"This whole thing was a ticking time bomb. If that milk powder had built up or, worse, hit the market—your Black Dragon Society would've been done for. Even if it wasn't literal crap, you'd still be covered in it, and no one would believe otherwise."
"I took care of it before it could explode. At worst, people will assume those thirty-something dealers had a problem. That's damage control. You're welcome."
Saoirse paused, turning his words over in her mind.
He did make some sense. No matter how capable Veil was, there was no way he could've reached out to dozens of her men in advance.
"You're saying… there's a traitor inside the Black Dragon Society?" she asked, suspicion sharpening her voice.
She reached up to touch her cheek and felt something strange. Pulling it down, she stared at the tea leaf stuck to her skin. Then she glanced over and saw the cloth Veil had used—just lying there casually on the table.
Her eyes narrowed. "Was that… a rag? You used a rag to wipe my face?!"
Veil shook his head. "That's not important. What matters is that someone in your organization made a move without your knowledge."
"This was just a warning. But the Black Dragon Society is full of time bombs like that. This one won't be the last."
"I hate traitors," Saoirse growled, her voice laced with venom. "Whoever dared betray us—I'll make them pay a price they'll never forget."
She glared at him. "Aren't you supposed to be an information broker? Tell me who the traitors are!"
Veil didn't answer.
She leaned forward, fuming. "How much do you want? Name your price, you greedy bastard!"
Veil nodded slowly, then flashed her a grin—his eyes falling meaningfully to her hourglass figure across the table.
"You've got to be kidding!" Saoirse shot to her feet. "Don't flatter yourself, Veil."
"No matter how angry I am, I'd never offer myself as payment!"
"Even if you weren't around, I'd still find out who the traitor is!"
...
Three hours later—
That blissful sensation was downright addictive.
"Ding! Congratulations, Host. Villain Points +1000*2."
"Asean! Liljay! If what Veil said turns out to be true—if you two really dared to betray the Black Dragon Society—then I swear, I'll make you pay a price you can't possibly afford!"
Seated in the back of a sleek black Benz, Saoirse was fuming with rage.
Those two—one the public face of the Black Dragon Society, the "clean" frontman meant for public relations; the other, like her, a 堂主 presiding over the Koi Hall, one of the society's three major divisions.
She had never even considered suspecting them.
But now? Now Veil's words had struck right at the core. He didn't just throw out names—he had details, down to their family backgrounds and the exact amount they'd taken in bribes. At that point, what was still impossible?
Once the private investigation confirmed it, she wouldn't hesitate. She'd deal with it swiftly and mercilessly.
Losing those two would be like cutting off both arms of the Black Dragon Society. But that was still better than having them stab her in the back at a critical moment and drag the entire organization into the abyss.
Shortly after Saoirse left, Veil received a call from Lisa.
"Veil, where on earth did you get the formula for the Beauty Pill?" Her voice was laced with disbelief.
She could barely believe the results. The pills, made strictly according to his formula, had proven to be nothing short of miraculous.
Not only did they visibly whiten and improve skin texture, but scientific testing had revealed a hidden benefit: they accelerated wound healing and even reduced scarring.
What did that mean?
It meant that the Beauty Pill wasn't just a beauty product—it was a bona fide healing medicine. And it came with no side effects.
Lisa, who'd spent years in the cosmetics industry, instantly grasped the product's potential.
Once it hit the market, it would cause an industry-wide frenzy. Its value and future prospects were unimaginable.
"Where it came from doesn't matter," Veil replied lazily. "What matters is, have you diluted it? And to what degree can it be diluted so that it still qualifies as a beauty product in the eyes of the market?"
He couldn't be bothered to come up with a story. What was he supposed to say—that it was a gift from the system?
Lisa's tone turned serious. "We've done tests. Right now, it's only been diluted fifty times. And even at that level, it still outperforms the best whitening masks on the market."
It was too powerful to be released as-is. Not only would it disrupt the market, but pricing it would also be a nightmare. More testing was needed to determine the optimal dilution ratio.
Fifty times?
Veil took a deep breath.
The formula he'd given her had already been diluted a hundred times. That meant the original system-grade recipe had been watered down five thousand times.
And it was still outperforming the top-tier face masks on the market?
Let's not forget, masks came in all classes—from a few bucks a sheet to the ultra-premium ones that sold for thousands. Some were so packed with rare ingredients and luxury extracts that their value rivaled that of precious herbs.
Clearly, the Beauty Pill was destined to become a money-printing machine.
Lisa, now thoroughly hyped, added, "I'm planning to compile a comparative analysis of major products on the market. Then I'll have the R&D team test and refine the formula into high-end, mid-range, and entry-level versions with different dilution levels for tiered pricing…"
She couldn't stop talking—her excitement bubbled over, turning her into a chatterbox.
Who could blame her?
She'd left Luxhaven City for Veyport years ago to start her business. While she wasn't exactly scraping by, her profits weren't spectacular—maybe a few tens of millions, at most a hundred million.
She used to think that, once the groundwork was in place, she could pull in a solid hundred million annually and finally shut the mouths of those critics in her family.
But now?
With a single Beauty Pill, she saw the potential to dominate the market.
If anyone in the family dared talk behind her back again—she'd slap them into next week.
Her tone dropped slightly, just a beat of hesitation before she asked, "Veil… about the production and distribution of the Beauty Pill. How do you want to handle it?"
Veil responded offhandedly, "What's there to handle? Windsor International has the R&D team and a full distribution network. It's not like those are things you build overnight. If there's a system in place, why waste the effort rebuilding it?"
"All production and distribution of the Beauty Pill—just leave it to you. I'll focus on collecting the money."
Lisa agreed without hesitation. "Perfect. We'll need to sit down and work out the finer points. Are you free now? I'm at the office, or we can meet later tonight if that's better."
"Don't worry, someone will be in touch to finalize the terms," Veil replied with a smirk, dodging the question.
Three days. He hadn't contacted her once.
That was deliberate.
But Lisa?
Was she really so busy with the dilution process?
Who was she kidding?
That was the R&D team's job. All she had to do was read the reports.
Three whole days, and she finally called him—but didn't mention a word about that night.
Was she too busy to remember? Or deliberately avoiding the topic?
Lisa kept the conversation going, fishing for topics, clearly reluctant to hang up. Veil, on the other hand, casually found an excuse and ended the call.
…
Meanwhile, overseas, inside a luxurious presidential suite—
Roy sat in silence, lighting a cigarette, the sharp lines of his face bathed in smoke. After a long moment, he looked toward the man kneeling before him and spoke in a cold, detached voice.
"What is it?"
The man, radiating a terrifying killing aura, answered grimly, "Sir, our forces in Congo were ambushed. The local authorities were heavily involved. We were sold out."
The Blood Wolf Mercenary Corp was infamous across international battlegrounds—renowned and feared, constantly receiving contracts for covert or high-risk operations.
But this time?
The unit dispatched to Congo hadn't even made it into combat. They were ambushed en route—five dead before they could fire a single shot, and over twenty injured.
It was a massacre.