This malice was exceptionally strong and pure; even without the "deceitful spirits" or the scouts' sharp intuition, Zhang Yuanqing could clearly sense its presence. It was clearly not originating from Anne or Mr. Bill. Had the people from the Dionysus Club come to them? Hmph—Mr. Bill was a seasoned veteran, so why had he been so careless? Zhang Yuanqing recalled recent events and silently formed his own hypothesis. He feigned composure, smiling as he said, "Mr. Bill is unavailable? Then I'll visit you another time!" Though he wished to support Mr. Bill and Anne, he remained uncertain about his adversaries' strategies, their numbers, and, without bringing along the shadowed corpses, he decided to retreat first and call Fu Qingyang directly. As he spoke, he turned to leave—only to find himself staggering forward, nearly falling, as though his legs had ceased responding to his brain. It was not possession. Zhang Yuanqing had never encountered such a situation before, and quickly braced himself with one hand, narrowly avoiding a mud-entrenched fate. At that moment, a sharp "puchoo!" echoed, as a fatal bullet struck him from the left, hitting his skull precisely where he was unprepared. The force of impact caused his head to tilt sharply. For a star official of such defensive prowess, a large-caliber bullet striking a vital area at close range—though perhaps not immediately life-threatening—would still inflict significant damage. Yet the bullet merely "tinkled" upon landing, bouncing several times without harming the enemy. Undeterred, Zhang Yuanqing, unharmed despite the impact, focused his attention and observed that the bullet's head was silver, intricately engraved with patterns. ——As he had fallen, his other hand had already retrieved the "Shield of the Unyielding." "Puchoo... puchoo... puchoo..." The sound of gunfire continued to echo, as the attacker seemed unconvinced, firing successive shots that all struck his body, yet were entirely absorbed by a thin layer of "shell," leaving only faint ripples as the bullet heads emerged. Amidst the dense stream of banners, Zhang Yuanqing turned his head toward the end of the corridor and spotted a bald man standing at the entrance to the office area. Standing at 1.9 meters tall, he wore a well-fitted T-shirt, broad-shouldered and muscular, with intricate tattoos covering his arms. Green eyes, high nose bridge, and sunken eye sockets—typical of a Western face. "Hmph!" Zhang Yuanqing emitted a cold exhalation, rolled on the ground, and entered the Night-Wanderer state. He didn't immediately launch an attack but instead donned his "Lucky Necklace." The man had just seemed capable of manipulating his targets' bodies, causing them to fall unexpectedly without cause. Though the exact mechanism remained unclear, wearing the Lucky Necklace made him sufficiently fortunate, helping to mitigate the negative effects currently affecting him. Then, he summoned his Blood-Drinking Blade, grasped it firmly, and swiftly advanced toward the bald man. "Night-Wanderer?" The bald man's eyebrows raised slightly, clearly recognizing the opponent's profession. He quickly reached out, pulled out a shell from his hand, and blew softly into it, producing a series of low, mel Within the slightly sharp wave of sound, vast streams of ethereal seawater surged inside the conch, coalescing into a towering, majestic horse composed entirely of shimmering sea mist, which raised its head and roared, charging forward along the not particularly wide corridor. Behind it, waves rose and cascaded in layered, continuous surges. Though the horse's impact was powerful, for the star officials, it was within their defensive range—yet the cascading, wave-like surges, layered upon one another, were utterly unavoidable within this relatively narrow corridor. Zhang Yuanqing halted, gripped his blood-thirsty blade firmly in both hands, and drove a straight punch toward the charging horse. "Boom!" The ethereal space seemed to echo with the sound of waves rushing and breaking; the oncoming sea horse was shattered by his force. Yet his own body could not help but emerge, staggering and retreating a few steps. Could a star official wield such raw power to shatter a sea horse? This was beyond belief. The bearded man's face changed, his pupils glowing with a sense of drowsiness, his gaze now scattered, as though he had just become intoxicated. Immediately, he turned sharply, decisively abandoning the confrontation, and prepared The very next moment, a graceful figure in a vibrant red bridal gown materialized behind him, pressing closely against his back, leaving the bald man motionless. Zhang Yuanqing himself was unaffected—his form dissolving into a shimmering constellation of starlight, appearing behind the foreign man, his bloodthirsty blade inclined upward and piercing through. "Pffft!" The sharp tip of the blade severed the man's heart, and black-red blood surged instantly along the blade, flowing like a gentle stream onto the synthetic carpet. With his right hand swirling the hilt and his left clenched into a fist, Zhang delivered a side blow to the man's temple. "Thud!" The man's head tilted sharply, his cervical vertebrae snapping, his head now slanting against his shoulder. Zhang withdrew the blade and listened attentively for several seconds. The office area across the corridor remained utterly silent, as if untouched by the commotion outside. "This man has been stationed here—there must be allies within. The noise we just created would have been audible even to a blind person. The people inside surely must have noticed. It's only now, at the critical moment of the battle, that they've been unable to remain undisturbed." "Still waiting right at the door for a surprise attack? Fortunately, for Xingguan, this wasn't any problem at all." Zhang Yuanqing murmured softly, deciding not to rush in but instead carrying the body of the bald man to the front desk. He first located a makeup mirror on the young woman's desk, opened it, and glanced at his own facial features. His appearance remained unchanged—only the Er Gong sector was slightly dimmed, yet even that hadn't reached the point of injury. "Crack!" He closed the mirror, and the starlight in his eyes faded, replaced by deep blackness. Within the body of the bald man, the fragmented spirit swiftly gathered and coalesced into a translucent, writhing figure. Zhang Yuanqing activated his "Spirit Devouring" technique and swallowed it whole. Fragments of memories flashed by like a slideshow, allowing him to piece together the man's life story. The man's name was "Josh Inoke," a mid-level member of the Wine God Club, overseeing between ten and fifteen junior members, corresponding to the captain position within the Five Elements Alliance. This time, the elite membership team secretly arrived at Songhai to assist the club's top management in locating the chairman of the Business Guild. The exact number of top management members—whether it was the legendary founder who established the club, or several platinum-level members from the Operations Department—remained unknown to them. The elite membership team simply waited for instructions and carried them out. For this mission targeting "Bill Tarantino," the lead was Beck Farnell, a five-tiered Saint, with Yu尔 Ban, another Saint, and four mid-tier members serving as assistants. Notably, Beck Farnell, the five-tiered Saint, possessed a special item of the "Eternal Night" profession. To ensure the operation's success and prevent the target from escaping, he used the item to seal off the entire office area, isolating it from the outside world. Additionally, Zhang Yuanqing, through memory retrieval, learned that the members of the Wine God Club were all "drunkards." The office area has been sealed? It's no wonder the outside has been raging all this time while nothing's happening inside... There are two Sages and three Transcendentals inside, Bill and Anne are also Sages, though likely at level four. And neither Void nor Passion seems to be a frontline, direct-combat type—they're quite dangerous indeed." Zhang Yuanqing immediately pulled out his phone and called Fu Qingyang. "What's up?" The familiar tone of the Money Prince came through the speaker, clear and crisp, with a calm, composed edge. "Master, Bill and Anne have been attacked by members of the Dionysus Club..." He quickly outlined the situation as he saw it. "I understand," Fu Qingyang replied, his voice remaining steady. "Are you certain your appearance hasn't suffered any blood-related misfortune?" "Yes, I've checked twice today." Though puzzled by Fu Qingyang's seemingly unfocused questions, Zhang Yuanqing patiently answered. "There's a consumable item of Sage quality stored in our guild's warehouse, called 'The Bombardment of the Thunderer.' It's used to break the seal." At the beginning, the task of rescuing Bill has been entrusted to you," Fu Qingyang said. What? Zhang Yuanqing was taken aback. Fu Qingyang seemed to anticipate his confusion and explained: "We cannot be certain about the master of the Wine God Club, nor can we confirm whether the owner is quietly stationed behind the scenes, possibly launching a flanking attack. If so, my journey to the club now might well end in failure. Since you have studied facial features and are confident in your own safety, it suggests that the senior management of the Wine God Club sees only a minor player being summoned—someone they likely regard as unimpressive—and thus, they are choosing to remain passive, concealing their presence. Therefore, you are safe. If all this is merely my speculation and no one is actively monitoring the situation, then you can still proceed now to save both Bill and Anne without needing my assistance." The logic was flawless. Fu Qingyang was indeed steady and cautious in his actions. Moreover, although I was truly just a minor player in the eyes of the true bigwigs, I shouldn't have put it so bluntly... Zhang Yuanqing muttered this to himself while opening the White Guard's guild warehouse and swiftly scrolling through the array of items. He located "The Roar of the Bombarder"—a package of C4 explosives with a square, compact design, intricate wiring, and a single red button on its steel surface. "Press the red button, and it will explode ten seconds later," he said. He immediately placed the bomb at the glass door and pressed the button. Then he dashed away, just as he used to when he was a child playing with firecrackers. Over a third of the employees fell in battle, and both sides' moral values plummeted, forcing them to speak more cautiously, retreating from area-of-effect abilities and focusing instead on precise micro-management to minimize casualties. The vast office space was effectively divided into two battlefronts, with Bill Tarantino and Beck Farnell commanding one. This seasoned gentleman, with his slightly grayed hair, has been holding his own under the relentless pressure of the 5th-tier Saint's assault, thanks to his stealth abilities as a Void-class specialist and his ample inventory of equipment. Now, he's also equipped with a pair of finely crafted black shoes, which he uses to execute a well-timed slide at critical moments—each one often turning the tide. Yet this cannot last. The other front belongs to Anne and her adversary, the 4th-tier Saint Yur Ban, a woman with silver hair, smoky makeup, and a leather vest with buckles. Alongside her, three extraordinary travelers have provided support—only one remains. The other two have shed their pants and now lie prostrate on the bodies of female employees, who have been steadily succumbing to their injuries. At the outset, Anne ignited the desires of both, flooding their minds with the thought of intercourse, burning their reason, and then, when they attempted to discharge their passion upon the unconscious female employee, she shattered the heads of the two extraordinary warriors. The remaining one possessed a wind mage's artifact that allowed her to sense the target's movements through airflow, thus enabling her to preemptively close her eyes and "ignore" Anne's allure, while maintaining a safe distance and firing from afar—thus avoiding the same tragic fate as her companions. Anne's situation was no better than Bill Tarantino's; she was not skilled in combat, faced two opponents, and the evil-aligned warriors inherently held stronger combat prowess than the lawful ones. Her ability to endure thus far stemmed from both the effective use of her own abilities and the accumulated resources she had built up over the years, sustained by her artifacts. In just a matter of minutes, three of her artifacts were damaged, she was struck three times, and two of her ribs were broken—her condition was indeed dire. Annie, barefoot and with a skirt torn open, bent low and hid behind an office desk, then surged forward as bullets struck the desk and pierced her body. The female employee lying on the desk, seemingly asleep, splashed two blooms of blood from her back and died silently. Damn it—she should have wrapped her chest first. With one hand half-cradling, half-supporting her trembling chest, she extended the other hand out from the desk to fire at the attacker. The gun in her hand was silvery-white, larger in caliber than a Desert Eagle—a self-targeting weapon. All the holder needed to do was aim at the target and press the trigger, and the handgun would automatically adjust its trajectory. It was a standard piece of equipment for scouts, possessing the ability to perceive. Though it was merely extraordinary in quality, its power was immense, and the bullets in its magazine had been enhanced by the wind mages, giving them exceptional penetration—capable of piercing through tanks with a single shot. The bullets pierced the floor with two sharp thuds, followed by a sharp sonic boom, and only then did the vast office area gradually awaken, stirring up gusts of wind that lifted papers and documents. Yet the enemy, blindfolded, had already anticipated the attack, having stepped aside in advance. Then Anne sensed a terrifying wave of menace closing in, and suddenly, a figure leapt onto the desk where she had taken shelter. It was Saint Yur Ban, the female saint with smoky eye makeup and a stern expression. With a steady knee bend, she lowered herself, sweeping her short blade across the desk, her eyes now hazy and drowsy with a sense of intoxication. She had cast the "brain paralysis" spell upon Anne—under its effect, the target's limbs would lose control, becoming as uncoordinated as a drunken man, helpless and ready to be subdued. Feeling the wind rushing past her head, Anne seemed to realize her fate was sealed, tears welling in her eyes, her smile both gentle and poignant. Yur Ban, his face stern, felt a tremor pass through him, his gaze clearing of wine, revealing emotions of hesitation, compassion, and longing. Midway through his stroke with the short blade, he halted it abruptly. Charms! This skill is an enhanced version of charm, effective on both men and women—though women generally feel its effects less strongly than men. The profession of love and desire excels at diplomacy and negotiation, often thriving in complex social settings, precisely because of this self-preserving mastery. Seizing the moment, Anne raised her silver pistol and prepared to fire at Yur Ban—yet instead, she brought the pistol down and struck the enemy. Cognitive misstep! She acted like a tipsy man, forgetting how to use the pistol. "Disorder" is the defining trait of this wine-drinking profession. Within just a few seconds, the two saints each countered the other’s attack with their own techniques. Anne did not attempt to retrieve her pistol; instead, she barefooted, turned, and fled, simultaneously drawing from her inventory a silicone figure nearly as tall as a person and hurling it behind her. "Thud!" Yur Ban cleaved through the desk with a single stroke, missing the fleeing woman who had been so indifferent and graceful. As she prepared to pursue this insipid creature, she saw Anne fleeing ahead, who suddenly tossed behind her a figure of indistinct gender. The holy woman intended to strike the figure down with her blade, yet a deep sense of reluctance surged within her—like the figure was her sweet first love, her cherished childhood, an irreplaceable beloved in her life. At the same time, Anne’s own flight stirred the passions of the enemies. The holy woman’s gaze grew dreamy, her cheeks flushed, and she suddenly tightened her legs, her springtime warmth swelling beneath her pants. She abandoned the pursuit of Anne, embraced the figure, and gasped as she unfastened her belt. In the height of emotion, the crowd welcomed her with open arms—she no longer cared. Just as Yur Ban unfastened her belt, a sharp determination flashed in her dazed eyes. One hand remained enchanted, cradling the figure, as she knelt upon it, continuously rubbing against it. Yet the other hand had already slipped free from the belt and reached out, grasping toward the air A tin triangular symbol engraved with blue lightning patterns was pulled from her hands, and she firmly crushed it with her fingers. "Ssssshhhh—" Blue electric serpents, writhing and radiating like tendrils, surged outward from the core of her fingers in all directions. Eur Ban screamed in agony, her silver hair standing rigidly on end, her body convulsing violently. Annie in front was struck by one of the electric serpents, her form instantly stiffening and trembling in place. "Bang! Bang!" At the right moment, the extraordinary traveler who had been blindfolded, aimed and fired two shots at Annie—one at her back, one at her crown. As Annie was about to turn the corner, the bullet meant for her head was blocked by the wall column, shattering into fragments and creating a crater. The other bullet struck Annie's back squarely. The force of the impact sent her sprawling to the ground, her back instantly stained with blood. The dancing electric arcs gradually faded, and Eur Ban, holding her knife, staggered toward the fallen Annie. "Ahem… ahem…" Anne coughed violently, expelling blood-water tinged with bubbles. Her lungs had been obliterated by the gunshot. Hearing the approaching, stumbling footsteps behind her, she felt utterly hopeless. At that moment, a tremendous roar echoed from afar, a violent surge of wind carrying flames sweeping through the office area with unstoppable force. Bill Tarantino and Beck Farnell, struggling to hold on, both released their grips and turned toward the direction of the explosion. Yur Ban also raised his sword, stepping into a defensive stance. Who was it? Who had come? Anne strained to lift her head, her pale face peering through the gaps between the desks. Just then, she saw a shimmering streak of starlight appear behind the enemy, who was blindfolded. The starlight coalesced into the form of the Primordial Sovereign, who then swiftly plunged his blade into the enemy's neck. This incisive technique, free from any disturbance of air currents, left the enemy completely unprepared—his head rolled down from the neck before he could react.