Finally, it started raining.

At seven in the evening.

A cigarette was lit in the rain.

The flickering light illuminated Ethan's face.

Today he wore a long coat dark enough to be pitch black, black leather gloves on his hands, and a bowler hat, a very typical Mafia ensemble.

He took a deep drag of the cigarette.

He rarely smoked, but this cigarette had more of a ritualistic meaning.

He placed the cigarette by the dock's edge, then walked into the rain.

Though the night was warm, the rain was nothing like real spring rain; the moment it fell, it was already intense.

It was the accumulated moisture of the whole winter, released from its solid form in torrents.

The loading of the ship was reaching its end. Ramon glared at the sluggish servants and couldn't help but yell fiercely, "Move faster, if you slack off any longer, you'll all stay in Wenster!"

He controlled the families of these men, all of whom were on board, so no one wanted to stay behind.

At this shout, the servants indeed picked up their pace.

However, he didn't notice that during this brief moment, someone had already silently climbed aboard from the other end.

The rain was relentlessly beating on Ramon's face. He grabbed an umbrella from the hands of a nearby servant and shouted again, "Set off immediately. If you delay your master's business, I'll make your life worse than death!"

He spat out the rainwater from his mouth and hurried into the cabin.

He had to attend to Casar.

This time at the cathedral, everything depended on the Black-robed Bishop.

Even his future was entirely in his hands; he was willing to do anything, even sell himself, if necessary.

Unfortunately, he was too old—perhaps the bishop wouldn't even like him.

Five minutes later, the ship finally set sail, moving slowly out of Wenster's harbor.

In the cabin, a particularly comfortable room had already been arranged, where Casar the Black-robed Bishop was flipping through the scriptures, waiting for his tea.

Drinking tea and reading scriptures before bed was a habit he had cultivated over many years.

Of course, his attention was always fixed outside the porthole.

Watching Wenster's lights fade into the distance, his mind finally felt at ease.

There truly was no need for concern.

He thought that in a city like Wenster, there wouldn't be any experts. With his level-six True Name strength, no one could be his match.

Who knew, as soon as he set foot in Wenster, he'd hear a piece of news: Solomon from the Kingdom Defense Bureau was also in the city.

Solomon.

This was a name the cathedral would never forget.

The church's disastrous defeat in the New Continent years ago, at least one-fifth was attributed to this name.

This made Casar extremely cautious.

Thankfully, everything went smoothly.

Until now, that dreadful name had not appeared before him.

Then the cabin door was knocked, and Ramon's voice came through.

Casar wasn't particularly fond of this person, too eager.

But there was nobody to use in the New Continent, so he reluctantly kept him around.

Besides, he indeed played a significant role in this operation.

"Come in."

Ramon hurriedly entered, carrying a cup of tea.

"Lord Bishop, it was hard on the ship, so I specially brewed you a cup of tea. I heard you love tea; this one is purchased specifically from Kolas in the central Kingdom. Please have a taste."

He approached eagerly.

Kolas's tea was indeed good, enjoyed even by the nobility of the Old Continent.

"Thoughtful, leave it." Casar nodded, lifting the cup.

"You need to keep a close eye on that person. No mistakes can occur."

"Rest assured, Lord Bishop, I'll conduct another check shortly, and besides, the Temple Guards you brought are also there, no problems will arise."

"Hmm." Casar finally took a sip of tea and frowned.

"What is it, Lord Bishop, is the tea not to your liking?" Ramon was extremely nervous.

"There's a pest on board, targeting that person. Go deal with it; don't disturb my rest."

"Yes."

Upon hearing this, Ramon dared not delay and quickly turned to leave.

Someone dared to sneak aboard, didn't know their limit.

He himself was a level-two Solar True Name, and the Temple Guard watching at the bottom hold was a level-three Solar True Name master.

Additionally, the servants and guards on the ship were well-armed, with formidable combat power.

To dare come aboard was certainly seeking...

"Dada-dada-dada..."

The word 'death' hadn't even surfaced in his mind before a barrage of clattering, like a typewriter, drowned out his ears.

Blocking his way.

A Wenster typewriter?!

Hearing that typewriter-like gunfire, his heart skipped a beat.

To his knowledge, only the Bolita Clan possessed such guns.

Could it be, that Ethan lad boarded the ship?

"Everyone, get up there for me!"

He hid behind a thick cabin plank, shouting for his guards and servants to charge forward and shield him from the bullets.

The reality was that the entrance to the bottom hold was already sealed off by someone with two guns.

Virel, at this moment, wasn't leaning on the golden cane.

With both hands wielding a Wenster typewriter each, positioned right there, killing anyone in his path.

He had a body full of bullets strapped to him, and bullets poured down like torrential rain.

No one could ascend.

Meanwhile, Ethan had already gone below with his men.

The bottom hold.

In a huge cage, Vincent, his entire body almost charred, and key joints impaled with crucifix nails, curled up like a trapped beast.

Hearing the gunfire, he suddenly opened his eyes.

Even in such a state, his eyes contained not an ounce of weakness, only the fury and stubbornness hidden beneath the bloodshot veins.

He had a smile on his face, albeit a bitter one.

Because he knew who had come.

That gunfire announced Ethan's arrival.

"That fool..."

"Indeed a fool, coming to die."

At this moment, beside him, the tall, bearded man dressed as an ascetic opened his eyes and continued Vincent's words.

"A stench like yours from the sewers..."

"Rats."

He spat out those words and then, suddenly spread his arms open, shouting towards the entrance, "O Holy Light, pierce through all darkness and filth!"

The next moment, intense light filled the dark bottom hold, also revealing the entrance area.

There, a man and a woman in pitch-black coats, each holding a finely crafted handgun, one black, one white, charged straight towards him like saviors from the mire!

The bullets had already started roaring.

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