The next day, late at night, on the sea ten miles off Jile Island.

A warship had shut off its engines, drifting aimlessly on the water. The ship was pitch black, with not a single light, looking like a ghost ship. But if you looked closely, you’d see the deck was crowded with men in black, each with a cold, stern face, exuding a faint but chilling aura of menace.

Charles Foster, the Five Elements brothers, and Little Brian were all on the deck, surrounded by dozens of men in black combat gear. Everyone’s gaze was fixed on one person—of course, that was William Carter.

The Soul Group was a syndicate supported by Japan’s far-right, with formidable strength. Its members were all highly trained, brave and fierce, unafraid of death, and extremely difficult to deal with. Even in close combat with regular armies, they might not be at a disadvantage. No organization in the world would underestimate them, though the Soul Group was now a shadow of its former self, with only a handful of diehards remaining.

William Carter didn’t seem to care about them at all. Even knowing that the assassins coming tonight were from the Soul Group, he was still leisurely fishing.

Charles Foster glanced at William Carter, then at the others, noticing that everyone’s face showed some degree of worry. He coughed lightly and quietly said to William Carter, “Dong-ge, the Soul Group might not come tonight. You should go back and rest. The sea breeze is strong at night—be careful not to catch a cold. Leave things here to us.”

William Carter sat at the edge of the deck, a cigarette dangling from his lips, though it wasn’t lit. He held a fishing rod in his hand, his long, narrow eyes half-squinting like two curved black lines. His gaze remained fixed on the sea as he said, “Old Liu’s information has never been wrong. The Soul Group will definitely come tonight.”

Charles Foster said anxiously, “But we’ve already been waiting for almost two hours.”

William Carter smiled and said, “Since the Soul Group has the patience to wait, don’t we have it too?”

Charles Foster sighed and said nothing more. He knew the Soul Group would come; asking William Carter to return to the island was for his safety.

The warship fell silent again, but everyone’s heart was restless. After half a year of peaceful living, a faint but persistent fear of battle seemed to have crept in.

William Carter looked around at everyone and smiled. No matter how sharp a blade is, if left unused for too long, it will grow dull. If you don’t sharpen it from time to time, even a treasured sword will turn to scrap.

Time ticked by, and there was still no sign of the Soul Group. Charles Foster appeared calm, but secretly, he had already reached for the Tang sword at his waist countless times out of habit.

“Ding-ling-ling!” A crisp, pleasant bell rang out, but on the quiet deck, it sounded especially jarring.

Everyone was startled, searching for the source of the sound, and finally, all eyes turned to William Carter.

William Carter calmly put down his fishing rod and handed it to Golden Eye beside him. He took out his phone, answered, and Henry Bennett’s deep voice came through the receiver: “Dong-ge, they’re here. Fifty-three people, eight speedboats.”

“Speedboats?” William Carter asked softly, uncertain.

“That’s right, Dong-ge, speedboats!” Henry Bennett confirmed.

William Carter nodded and said, “Don’t let them get within ten miles of Jile Island. If gunfire reaches the island, it’ll alarm the people there.” On Jile Island were William Carter’s parents and the families of many senior members of the Wen Dong Society. They had moved here for their safety, to keep the underworld’s vendettas far away and live peaceful lives. If they heard gunfire in the middle of the night, even if nothing happened, it would leave a shadow in their hearts. That was not what William Carter wanted.

“Understood, Dong-ge, I get it!” Henry Bennett was smart—after following William Carter for years, he understood immediately and replied crisply.

William Carter smiled and said, “Go do what you need to do.” With that, he put away the phone, took the fishing rod back from Golden Eye, and resumed fishing.

Charles Foster gripped the hilt of his Tang sword, hurried forward, crouched beside William Carter, and asked, “Dong-ge, the Soul Group is here?”

William Carter nodded and said, “They’re here!” Before he finished speaking, intermittent gunfire sounded in the distance. Everyone looked up. The night was hazy, the sea pitch black. Beyond twenty meters, even the sharpest eyes couldn’t make out much, but in the distance, they could see the flashes of gunfire as bullets were fired. That was gunfire.

At first, the shots were sporadic, but soon they merged into a continuous barrage, like beans pouring from a pod, mixed faintly with the sounds of people shouting and screaming.

Though they weren’t in the fight, the gunshots, shouts, and screams made it clear how fierce the battle was. Charles Foster and the others all clenched their fists, their fear suddenly replaced by a strange excitement, their blood beginning to boil.

After two minutes, the gunfire spread and seemed to be moving toward the warship.

Everyone’s expression changed. Could the enemy have broken through the Blood Killers’ encirclement? They quickly gathered around William Carter, saying in unison, “Dong-ge, it looks like they’re coming this way. We’d better take cover…”