Qianye asked, “Is there anything forbidden?”
William stepped back slightly, shrugged, and replied, “Not at all—you may act freely.”
Qianye nodded, then strode toward the shopkeeper, swiftly reaching out to seize him by the collar.
A Werewolf guard snarled in amusement, tightly grasping Qianye’s wrist in one brutal motion. “You little mongrel, you’re asking for death!”
Yet the moment he grabbed Qianye’s wrist, it was as if a bolt of lightning shot through his entire body. Jolting violently, his body abruptly launched backward through the air like a launched projectile.
Qianye’s movement wasn’t especially fast. However, an invisible force seemed to bind the shopkeeper fully, anchoring him in place such that he could neither retreat nor evade. With wide eyes locked onto Qianye, helplessly he could only watch as his collar was seized and his body lifted effortlessly from the ground.
At the instant of Qianye’s touch, the shopkeeper felt as though his chest had been slammed by an unseen hammer. Blood instantly flooded his throat. Qianye then gently flicked his fingers. Just like he had been struck directly by lightning, the shopkeeper jolted and convulsed, his rising blood choking back down.
The other Werewolf guard wildly lunged forth having just drawn his weapon. Roaring loudly, the spike-laced mace he wielded was about to smash down heavily upon Qianye’s head.
At this very moment, Qianye simply glanced at him once.
In that same moment, the guard felt an unseen ferocious bestial glare lock onto him. His heart pounded erratically with terror—he couldn’t bring himself to drive the strike home now, and was struck with a wild instinctive urge to run for his life.
Qianye gently lifted his foot—then pressed down with but one step.
At that moment, the entire ground abruptly shook violently—an unstoppable crushing force suddenly surged up below. The Werewolf was launched into the air and thrown dozens of meters away with explosive force.
Without another motion, Qianye suddenly let go. The grimacing shopkeeper dropped roughly with a thud. He might not be weak, but his body had just endured the twin impacts after being captured. Internally, his native power hovered on the verge of total collapse—and now he had no strength left even to stand back up.
Calmly composed, Qianye approached the table beside the stall, reached out to claim the level-five sniper rifle, then fished out a blood crystal. He tossed it down toward the merchant. The blood crystal bounced off the shopkeeper’s face, slid along his chest and belly, eventually dropping to land on his lap.
Lifting the rifle with an easy manner, he inspected the trigger chamber dispassionately without once giving the merchant his eyes. Then he murmured idly, “That pays for the rifle’s price. Try pulling something stupid again? I won’t give you so cheap a mercy next time. Arms? Legs? Or perhaps your head—I assure you, buying those wouldn’t be an issue.”
The surrounding circle of crowd stood in stunned silence. Hardly anyone continued shouting now. Most had looks of wary respect and deep realization—they all knew that Qianye’s harsh words spoke not only to the shopkeeper. But none in the circle showed open terror or alarm. They merely took one profound, long-looking glance at Qianye and William, fixing the memory of their faces into mind—and then silently dispersed back into the city’s streets.
It was now clearly evident how the brief test ended: this newcomer had displayed astonishing martial power and handled events in calm, balanced measure without overstepping—his approach and decisiveness was the mark of neither an amateur nor naive youth. Attempting to gain anything unjust from such a one was fruitless thinking—and yet working together might bring unexpectedly profitable dealings.
After hoisting the rifle over his back, Qianye called slightly to William. “Walk.”
Nodding slightly, William joined Qianye as they departed.
Their journey now led them toward a two-storied building in the western district of the city. This structure held within it a grand storefront well equipped with a large variety of commodities—rifled with shelves packed fully, selling such things as bloodline-based energy-guns, potions and elixirs suited to human users, down to spidersilk fabrics crafted carefully by the arachne, and more besides—it nearly held something for anything that could be desired in trade. All walks of life passed in and out, including representatives from every kind of tribe and species within the Grey District, not particularly dominated here by Werewolves, either.
Once crossing the threshold inside, pulling back his hood slightly revealed upon his collar within a small hidden pin—an identifying emblem. When seeing the faint azure radiance pulsing softly from its surface, the store’s attendant glanced once, quickly acknowledging it. Then promptly, gestured respectfully, guiding the two toward a hallway that led to the back of the store’s deeper inner premises.
Qianye trailed behind. As he stepped fully inward through the passageway, a cold glint flickered from his eyes’ corner—but nothing else on his face stirred one whit. Whether this still posture was shock-induced numbness or composure so profound it made matters of death trivial, none could determine. Calmly and with only a slight lift of gaze, he turned toward looking inquisitively at William’s figure.
Like cutting arcs of lightning, the concealed dagger suddenly reached—slapping tight yet still against his throat.
From the shadows emerged the wielder, a lean and muscular, bare-bodied young werewolf whose stare remained cold and fixed on Qianye. Coldly he uttered, “This one… he reeks with abloodscreams scent.”
In William grey-blue irises now sparked once, a glimmer passing so dazzling in vivid display that the shine was nothing short of brilliant—but just as quickly disappeared as William returned his calm visage once again.
Only then did his glance sweep aside, fixing the younger wolf firmly in its glare.
“This, my client,” he said coolly. “Disarm your steel. Refrain—you insult both our houses by troubling our guests with such rude spectacles.”
Fury boiled the younger man’s face crimson. “Insult who—the client? Ha! That weak nobody isn’t even fit to judge us—he dares to ‘disrespect?’”
William merely heeded this with a soft sigh.
Then came an abrupt shift—downcasting for just an instant in hesitation, the boy’s expression altered rapidly.
How strange—he hadn’t sensed this before!
For Qianye, his hidden dagger at this moment became a short-barrel firearm, raised now directly upon his heart.
This younger wolf felt icy trepidation in the realization—he had completely lost awareness! What was worse, the conclusion he reached afterward was even less satisfying for him. The only possible reality he could see—the foe who now held him hostage was more than likely capable enough to have simply and instantly evaded the blade which now so bravely menaced Qianye’s exposed throat just moments before.
So, to have seemingly captured the young predator’s blade and forced his foe? No, it was not so. It seemed the younger predator instead had not even earned a second consideration at all—thus allowing death’s edge that proximity.
The young werewolf hesitated for barely a heartbeat, then pulled back his dagger. Still breathing roughly, he spat low, “A vampire weapon he carries, reeks of the enemy’s stench upon his skin. Let no blood-sucker foul this home.”
William merely grew colder—without raising one finger—uttered but a growl.
It did not seem much louder in volume compared to any ordinary shout. Yet to the younger wolf it felt like an exploding bomb hit him directly, his full frame shooting backward like a flung sack. The walls burst beneath him, as he tore through two layers and ended finally on street surface—slumped motionless as if dead.
“Wait! This—it’s a mistaken misunderstanding!” Shouted suddenly by an elderly lycantrope who charged immediately forth in desperate interference before William again.
The elder wolf respectfully greeted William in apology. Said then, “Distinguished One, come bearing your sacred peaks’ blessings! It was no deliberate challenge—this rash one, he is my foolish son. Please understand—he is but hotheaded and prone to outburst, even in calm summer.”
He added further. “Only—we truly meant not to offend so directly. Still, though… We do wish you both enjoyment of this place, but this visitor is indeed undesirable here among us! Kindly ask your gentleman friend to please await you outside, if possible?”
William replied with a faint smirk, asking coolly: “Wait a minute—this is still Grey City. I’m very aware there had been no law of that variety until now. And who would imagine I’d have difficulty walking past the threshold even bringing in a fellow guest to this place?”
The older wolf merely nodded humbly in reply, saying nothing at all disagreeable outwardly—but also made no move showing any desire to accept compromise in his stance.
The cold humor in William’s smile widened slightly.
“Your White Claw tribe—do they hold so high station these days?” His voice grew sharper. “It seems three short cycles of guard service granted within our mountain lands—and immediately one finds your clan laws spreading like rot into urban territory unasked. I say: I am bringing this man inside. I suppose you might try and make me turn away.”
The old one stepped forward—bowing but resolute beyond all compromise. Declared solemnly, with utmost courtesy but clear finality: “That will not be acceptable, Distinguished one. Should you enter… We ask that you, respectfully, not set your foot in the threshold.”
A short pause—and against that moment William, though outwardly serene, broke into a chilling laughter.
“Ah, I see…” With voice suddenly lowered, he spoke in mock politeness: “It seems these sacred peaks truly are soft on such upstarts. When a second-rate pack suddenly dares even treat their superiors thus—you make your meaning loud indeed if you dare attempt so bold a challenge toward myself.”
With finality, he added with sudden force: “Shall this truly be the start of your clan’s declaration of war…?”
No more words.
At his final word, another growling burst issued—for the last time a single roar, but more deadly than before.
With its release the older wolfman shot away exactly like his younger counterpart had done—yet his escape was even less controlled: flying through the wall with more impact, even crashing into a separate merchant space directly facing the store street. Unknown how many buildings were torn inward from the shockwave his landing caused. Unknown where he ultimately came to lie.
William did not stop with that one. The after-resonance of his scream hadn’t fully dissipated and was radiating still outward in every direction throughout the entire chamber.
Yet within were gathered his own kith—and every Werewolf in their numbers was knocked from their feet like dry grass caught up before storm winds! Several crashed in midair even before they could hit the ground, some already spurting blood before reaching ground level at all.
Behind William, as Qianye stepped within range he felt it like entering the core of a hurricane made visible only in force.
The very energy in his being resonated instinctively at first. His innate energy instinct shifted to coalesce tightly within, compressing upon his intent in a spontaneous protective response.
With the movement of energy, a curious pressure formed—making each movement feel like being submerged within the waters themselves—as every action carried sudden heavy resistance.
More curiously still, his physical body seemed faintly to drift as well, subtly rising an inch off solid footing despite his awareness of remaining in place.
Unbeknownst when or how, some strange, undetectable force surrounded everything. Objects began lifting gently within the open space. Even small ones slowly rising.
And it all happened as William’s cry pressed forward, colliding into Qianye’s defensive barrier from the sides. A resounding impact that sounded like a deep echoing thunderclap—reverberating in all directions with no clear point source.
Caught directly within it, Qianye’s expression first paled for a moment—then recovered.
With great clarity only now, he could see what lay dormant before; he truly comprehended—deep beyond comprehension now. William hadn’t displayed his total potential back at the Darkblood City.
In that fight, had William truly exerted every drop, he himself wouldn’t have even been able to challenge Black Dragon’s armor and the two adversaries who’d stood together, unless he wanted certain ruin.
William, already half turned before then, had extended out an arm where a swirl of indigo-colored glow coiled like a shield intended to shelter Qianye. Yet unexpectedly the side-force of this clashing pair impacted. At the sight of what resulted, William blinked once—his own eyes widening at the sudden unintended chain.
Unbidden still—the room abruptly trembled under an incoming malevolent aura.
Into the room came a thin tall humanoid—an Arachne in full male human guise. Striding briskly in without ceremony, taking the entire surrounding wreckage into a quick scan before frowning, he addressed the pair in clipped tones.
“Gents, Grey City welcomes your trades freely—but even free people seek a little order, and silence.” Then asked flatly with authority and suspicion both laced together: “What has happened here—and should you perhaps explain?”
William’s lips curled slightly in irritation—replied curt: “This place: our land. Wolves guard our house, and we decide who may enter. What you hear here is our business alone—and none you have claim upon. Be off now—leave at once. Before things worsen for your presence here.”
The arachne fully bore the human transformation form—so clearly marked as a battle chieftain class entity of some renown within their hierarchy. Though he received William’s cold, sharp remark, he did flare at first with a flicker of fury on instinct—however, abruptly it vanished.
As his sight swept past William’s throat where was a seemingly mundane, minor tattoo.
His face changed.
That anger evaporated into thin air. As quickly, replaced by deep unease he felt growing—replaced with something heavier—like deep contemplative caution.
Then, looking Qianye over a few more moments, an increasingly odd reaction took shape. The only one standing beside William was this quiet human, a fragile little being… but somehow, the feeling he received from him stirred a vague sensation, not unlike a threat.
But this human—his aura was only weak—perhaps with minor ties to the bloodline clans? His curiosity flicked slightly. His sight settled upon the sword and pistol at the youth’s waist—these weapons, too—they felt like the blood-crests. Normal humanity wouldn’t wield two of such in tandem without reason.
Still, with these thoughts swirling, slight resentment still simmered within him—this arachen could easily find cause to regain a sliver of composure. And now the opportunity offered itself readily:
Thus, with controlled authority he raised his voice sharply—“Then—if this territory matters not to our kind—what, pray tell, brings a powerless human intruder among your ranks in this room?”
William frowned, irritation growing as his lips parted with impatience rising within to address things.
But Qianye, eyes up, looking directly at the Spider-Kin emissary, released only a single breath—an invisible strand of aura rippling out subtly from his core.
“I have… taken life in recent fights—I intend to sell spoils for credits.”
That sentence landed like icy air in their lungs—but his tone remained idle, conversational. As the very air thickened with some hidden menace—an old fear awakening from memory.
As if confirming some worst hidden nightmare, color drained from the Arachne’s face with his immediate reflex:
“Aaaaahhhh!” The shriek tore from his mouth, as stepping back instinctively he staggered. He blurted out before regaining control:
“*Brahmas*! Did you defeat Brahm the Viscount? The Blood Lord of Mire Marsh… it was *him*?”
It was Brahmas’ very essence—what Qianye just casually emitted from himself.
During that fateful clash in the mudfields of the Black Marsh Qianye drew deeply from the dying body, consuming part of the Viscount’s very essence, enough to retain fragments of the noble predator’s identity itself.
Yet seeing it radiate this easily before them?
It chilled the Arachna to the bone.
Now the Spiderman recoiled. “May the Fates smile upon your time here,” he blurted—spelling his farewell.
In his hurry to escape—the noble Arachne warrior vanished from the scene like prey fleeing certain carnage.
Shaking his head at it, William’s brows rose at Qianye. Amazement lacing tones as he asked, “Brahma? The Viscount? Remember—his brains worked so poorly… yet with power rivaling true titans?” He added: “This one? *Defeated him?”*
Qianye smiled faintly, simply saying: “Not exactly. I merely finished the final strike, that’s all.”
William turned to face him full now, eyes narrowed.
“But hold tell—if you had his aura sealed away… why on sacred soil would you need it? Some collection obsession?”
A calm response: “For chasing away beasts.”
William’s eyebrows twitched. Finally, he turned around—rolling his eye skywardly.
The silence that followed could not be mistaken—this time, it meant *‘Shut up, please. Before I actually slap you.’*
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