Have they been tailing me at the Dionysus Club? That—could have escaped my perception, at least at the level of a master-tier awareness. Mr. Bill felt a sudden chill, though he remained calm. For a moment, he even grasped the full sequence of events: the Dionysus Club had been quietly observing him all along, perhaps even from the moment of the attack. The wine-loving members wanted to use him as a conduit to reach the president, who had anticipated this very meeting and was now employing him as a lure. The choice of the downtown CBD area at dawn—where there were no residential buildings nearby—ensured that, even if a confrontation occurred, ordinary people would not be harmed, thus avoiding any moral deficit. "Still hungry for the steak?" the president, half his face silvered, suddenly pointed to the plate before Bill, where a half-serving of steak remained. How could he still be thinking about the steak at this point? The small soul within Mr. Bill was raging, yet on the surface he remained deferential: "No, no, I'll pass..." The Chairman nodded, lifting the tray with one hand and gently pressing on Bill's shoulder. Bill blinked, finding himself outside the restaurant, the entire CBD area dark as if the power had been cut off. The Chairman looked up toward the rooftop of the office building across the way, speaking casually: "Just you, the one chaotic ruler? Any reinforcements? If so, come out now—dawn is approaching, and I need to bring breakfast to my wife." Bill quickly lifted his head and saw a tall figure standing atop the 100-story office building. It was a robust elder, wearing a patterned square scarf around his neck and a wide-brimmed, high-crowned felt hat, the crown slightly sunken, with silver hair spilling out at the edges. His legs were clad in jeans, with a gun holster strapped to each thigh, a large silver caliber pistol inserted into the holster. His face was rugged, his eyes deep-set, and a silver beard lined his jaw. "Cowboy Locke?" Bill's face tightened slightly. As a Saint of the Merchant Guild, he instinctively uttered the title of this sovereign—Cowboy Locke, one of the three Apex Sovereigns of the Wine Club. His primary weapon was a revolver; it was said that anyone aimed at by him would inevitably fall to his gun. His bullets were never miss—each one claimed a life, and even sovereigns of the same rank, when faced with his empty barrel, could only endure the blows. "Of course, it's not just me," said the elderly cowboy calmly from the rooftop. "We all three have come." As he spoke, Bill heard a soft sound of high-heeled shoes approaching from the left side of the street. Turning to follow the sound, a tall, graceful figure stepped forward. A strikingly beautiful woman, wearing high-heeled shoes—ten centimeters tall—dressed in black leather pants and a short leather jacket, the zipper of which was open, revealing her sensuously curvaceous, snake-like waist and her exceptionally full, game-breaking chest, elegantly encased in a white bodysuit. She had brown short hair, neat and crisp, carrying a small cask of wine, her light green eyes drowsy and enchanting. "The Wine-Drinking Vanessa..." Mr. Bill felt a sudden jolt of nervousness. While not as well-known as cowboy Locke, Vanessa was no less accomplished—indeed, she lived up to her name. Vanessa was a true drinker, either sipping or passed out in a stupor. She rarely caused disturbances, for in her world, beyond wine, nothing else held any significance. Her favorite quote was, "Since ancient times, sages have been lonely; only the drinkers have left their names behind." She reportedly recited this line wherever she went, to underscore her refined taste. Few stories of her exist within the various organizations, though one notable incident stands out: several years ago, Vanessa stayed in a small town for fifteen days, drinking herself into a deep stupor, and her breath so intoxicated the entire town that it led to a major crisis. Thus, Vanne's moral standing was reduced to zero, her position revealed, and she became the target of high-level pursuits by numerous lawful organizations. In the end, she was forced to flee into the forbidden sanctuaries of the Church of the Deep, where she sealed herself away, just barely surviving. The man in the black suit lingered over Vanne's vibrant figure, murmuring, "To see me, you crossed half the globe, didn't you, beautiful one?" Vanne, her eyes still drowsy with wine, blinked in surprise, stressing, "I'm here to kill you." "You don't understand!" the chairman smiled, gently touching the silver mask on his face, "The prophecy of the Light Compass has come true—the war between Order and Evil is about to erupt fully. I can no longer remain solely concerned with myself." The chairman spoke fluently in several foreign languages. "Don't waste time talking to him—strike now." The old cowboy,洛克, drew his large revolver and fired two sharp shots. Before Bill could react, he heard two explosive sounds behind him and turned to look, only to see two craters forming behind both himself and the chairman. What had happened? He was momentarily bewildered, unsure of what was unfolding. But soon, he understood. At the very moment the cowboy Locke fired, his bullets had already struck their targets. Unlike ordinary bullets that follow a trajectory and must travel through the air, Locke's bullets inverted the very rules of engagement—this was a deliberate reversal of convention. It was a hallmark skill of the elite, heavy-drinking champions. Thus, Locke's shots were consistently accurate, never missing. Meanwhile, the Chairman effortlessly defused Locke's attacks, employing the signature ability of the Void-class—Stealth! A specialized, refined version of the skill, so seamless that it created an effect akin to "slip-and-slide shoes." "Let's work together!" The Chaotic One, Wright, clad in a black cloak, extended his right hand. His right hand was completely inverted—palms upward, backs downward—like a child's misaligned toy figure. With a firm grasp, he pulled it tight. Instantly, the world reversed itself: the sky descended, the ground ascended, and everything around became disoriented and warped. Bill felt dizzy, instinctively reaching for a skill to escape, only to realize he had forgotten how to use it. Watching the cowboy's gun spew flames, watching the wine-drinker Vanne pour a jet of fiery wine toward them, the President tossed the steak toward the chaos-causing Wright, smiling, "Why fight and kill? How about we strike a deal— I'll sell you the steak, and you sell me your skill. I think it's a win-win." As those words settled, the inverted, chaotic world instantly stabilized. Bill saw the President extend his right hand, firmly grasping it toward the cowboy Locke across the street. "Crack! Crack!" Cowboy Locke's body shattered, splintering into three pieces—shot by his own bullets. The President didn't look at Locke's splintered remains; instead, he raised the small wine barrel and caught the jet of wine pouring toward him. The wine mist was fully absorbed. Vanne's wine barrel had been snatched by the President at some point. "Give it back!" Vanne's drunken haze vanished instantly, and she rushed forward. "Exile!" the President raised his hand, and with a crisp snap of his fingers, the command rang out. The next instant, the stunning lady charging directly at them vanished. "Exiled! Exiled!" The president tapped his fingers twice, and the remains of the disordered ones, Lait and the cowboy Locke, disappeared one after another. Yet soon, the three peak masters reappeared, reversing the rules and returning to the bustling metropolis. Even the cowboy Locke fully restored himself, rising from the dead. "Exiled! Exiled! Exiled!" "..." The president kept tapping his fingers, sending the three peak masters back and forth to the city, only for them to be exiled again and again. A strange and comical stalemate ensued. It wasn't clear how long it had been before, after yet another exile, the three peak masters failed to reappear. Mr. Bill glanced around, filled with both surprise and admiration. "President, where have you exiled them to?" "I don't know—just scattered them randomly." The president lifted the barrel and took a long sip, then staggered, gritting his teeth. "The alcohol punch is strong—really strong!" He tossed the master-tier item aside casually, like a piece of trash, and said, "Bill, the real show's just beginning. You watch it yourself—can you send me away?" Upon hearing this, Bill sensed that things weren't over. He pressed close to the president, his eyes alert and scanning the surroundings. At that moment, he noticed something unusual—the street lamps' bulbs had changed direction, now pointing toward the sky. The traffic signals and surveillance cameras followed suit. This shift was unfolding quietly, intensifying over time. As time passed, more and more distortions emerged—skyscrapers leaned, trees stood upside down, cars rolled over, and trash bins floated mid-air. In the deep night sky, a city exactly like the one below rose up, forming a mirrored world. The two cities gradually merged, until even the sky vanished. Bill looked around. Flat streets stretched beneath his feet, and flat streets arched above him. With a leap, he could reach a building's rooftop, while beside him stood a slanted office tower—along its walls, he could walk as if on level ground. "Realm of Distortion!" the president's voice echoed. "That executive's rule-based items—well, Bill, we're stuck. I just tested the teleportation—it doesn't work. When the two worlds fully fuse, our bodies will warp and die, returning to the spiritual realm." "What now?" Bill's face grew pale. "Items that counter rule-based props are, of course, rule-based items themselves," the president laughed heartily. "Bill, let me show you the pinnacle of our void-based profession's offerings!" As they spoke, a golden glow emerged beneath their feet, spreading across the ground, and then splitting open—rising from the fissure, a slender golden sapling quickly grew and thrived. In an instant, it grew into a towering tree reaching a hundred zhang in height, with a thick trunk and lush, dense foliage, its canopy layered like a roof. Among the flourishing branches, numerous golden-hued items hung—swords, spears, halberds, jars, vases, jewelry, clothing, household appliances, cosmetics—and there were well over a hundred. As this divine tree emerged, the fusion between the two worlds came to a sudden halt, as if the gears had jammed. Bill's heart raced with intense longing and admiration, his merchant DNA stirred to life. He gazed痴ly at the tree adorned with these items, momentarily forgetting his peril. "Hmph!" A cold exhalation echoed from the endless expanse above. Then, the Twisting Realm resumed its operation, inch by inch descending. The divine tree that upheld both worlds gradually fractured, and the items suspended in its canopy exploded one by one. Crystalline fissures spread across the Twisting Realm as well. Both of the rule-based items sustained damage. Bill was deeply moved, turning his head to see the president also struggling, his lips trembling with emotion. "When do you expect to wait for?" the president roared. As the words fell, the world shook violently—a sword beam slicing through heaven and earth like a comet pierced the realm, leaving only a white, ethereal aftermath. Bill’s eyes stung, closed shut, and tears of blood streamed down his face. He had gone blind. Just one glance at that light had scorched out his vision with the sword’s aura. A cacophony of shattering glass echoed in his ears, followed by a sudden weight on his shoulder—as the president carried him into the hidden realm. At the very moment the brilliant sword beam cut through the Twisted Realm, it also severed the Sacred Tree. The Twisted Realm collapsed in splendor, and the items hanging on the Sacred Tree transformed into a dense shower of meteors, shooting out in all directions and vanishing into the horizon. "Wow!" the president exclaimed, his face pale as he watched the scattered items drift across the sky. "Damn it!" came the furious shout of the owner of the Wine God Club, echoing through the void. "Missed it..." The final words came from a voice that was both cool and dignified, yet soft and melodious. ...Dawn. Fu Qingyang was jolted awake by a sudden, urgent phone call. He rose from the bed, walked to the desk, and picked up his phone. The screen displayed the caller as the Dog Elder. Fu Qingyang answered, "You don't usually call me so early in the morning." The Dog Elder spoke with serious tone, "Something's gone wrong." "The counter-ambush failed, didn't it?" Fu Qingyang asked. "It succeeded—but it came with even greater complications," the Dog Elder replied. "The Marshal shattered the会长's Thousand-Valuables Tree, scattering over a hundred items across the grounds." Fu Qingyang paused, instantly grasping the gravity of the situation. If ordinary people were to obtain these items, each one would inevitably generate a 'superpowered' individual—unbound by moral constraints. Think of it: what would a normal person do when suddenly granted superpowers? Commit crimes and breach ethics! Some artifacts possess self-awareness—they don’t even need a holder; instead, they naturally influence surrounding beings based on their inherent qualities. According to the moral causality principle, the sins thus generated will be shared among the initiators—the Marshal, the President, and the head of the Wine God Club. These three half-gods will soon be formally summoned for pursuit by the Spirit Realm. Under the established rule that higher-ranking beings receive greater rewards, it is highly likely that half-gods across the world will converge on Songhai to hunt them down. "This piece of junk!" Fu Qingyang gritted his teeth. "I've told her time and again—her sword energy is too aggressive, its destructive power has reached its peak. It should now transition from yang to yin, becoming more restrained and refined..." She spends her days eating sweets and reading manga. Rubbish! The Dog Elder spoke softly, "Now is not the time for complaints. Headquarters has instructed us to immediately mobilize all available personnel and gather the scattered artifacts, resolving this matter before the Marshal’s moral value reaches zero. Five minutes later, the Senior Elder will convene the Council of Ten Elders. Get ready.