Chapter 36

Avalonia.

Towering snow-capped mountains stood majestically.

The snow on the peaks never melted year-round, gleaming with a cold, silvery light.

At the foot of the mountain, on a vast plain, an ancient-looking building stood quietly. Under the eaves hung several strings of wind chimes, making crisp sounds in the breeze.

Behind the building was a well-maintained backyard.

The yard was paved with bluestone slabs, surrounded by several sturdy pine trees whose branches and leaves swayed gently in the wind.

An old man wearing a dark blue martial arts robe stood in the yard.

His robe was washed until it was faded, yet it remained neat and clean. A black cloth belt was tied around his waist, making his figure stand straight as a pine tree.

The old man had white hair and beard, with a thin face, but his eyes were sharp as an eagle's. He held a katana in his hand, with a simple black scabbard and dark blue silk thread wrapped around the handle.

The old man slowly drew the katana, its blade flashing with cold light, like flowing autumn water.

He took a deep breath, his breathing long and steady, as if merging with heaven and earth.

Then, he moved.

The blade cut through the air with a soft sound.

The old man's movements seemed slow, yet contained amazing power and speed.

Each of his movements was precise and smooth, as if practiced millions of times, already ingrained in his bones.

The blade's light was like snow, weaving into an impenetrable net in the yard.

A moment later, the old man sheathed his sword and stood still, slowly exhaling a breath of stale air. The straw dummy in front of him had been cut into countless small pieces.

The cuts were smooth as mirrors, and even the straw stuffing inside the dummy hadn't scattered, showing that the old man's sword technique had reached an incredible level.

Just then.

Someone knocked on the backyard door.

The old man's eyes focused.

He nodded slightly at a servant nearby.

The servant went to open the door.

Soon.

The servant led two people in.

By this time.

The old man was already sitting cross-legged in a pavilion, with incense burning in front of him and a pot of coffee keeping warm.

"Vernon."

The two people who entered, upon seeing the old man.

The one in front immediately bowed respectfully, though he was leaning on a cane.

The old man looked at him and frowned.

"What happened to you?"

The old man looked at the leg of the man in front.

That's right.

These two people were Derek and Vincent.

At this moment.

Derek's right hand rested on a cane.

But his right leg was empty.

His right leg had been amputated.

Bobby had completely shattered all his bones, and modern medicine couldn't repair it. To survive, he could only have it amputated.

"Vernon, you must help me!"

Derek suddenly burst into tears and knelt down before the old man.

The person in front of him was called Vernon Ford.

He was his uncle.

At the same time.

He was also the head of one of the three departments of The Viper Crew.

Vernon looked at Derek kneeling on the ground, a barely noticeable cold gleam flashing in his eagle-sharp eyes. He didn't acknowledge Derek, but instead turned his gaze to Vincent, who stood to the side looking terrified.

"Vincent, you tell me what happened. Why is his leg like this?"

Vernon's voice was terrifyingly calm, as still as dead water.

But Vincent trembled all over.

He knew very well how terrifying this seemingly frail old man was.

Vincent lowered his head and shakily told the whole story.

After hearing it.

Vernon placed his cup on the table, his expression neither sad nor happy. "You're saying the Sanchez family broke his leg for some young man?"

"Yes... That's right." Vincent nodded respectfully.

"What's that person's name?" Vernon asked.

"He... his name is Jack," Vincent said in a low voice.

His body unconsciously trembled. Just mentioning Jack's name made him remember those terrifying eyes that sent chills down his spine.

"Jack..."

Vernon murmured softly, tasting the name.

"Alright, I understand."

"You can go now."

Then Vernon said flatly.

"Vernon..."

Derek suddenly looked up, his face showing disbelief.

The reason he came to find Vernon was to have him stand up for him and help him get revenge.

But he never expected Vernon's reaction to be so calm.

"What, do you need me to show you out?"

Vernon picked up his cup, gently blowing away the steam from the surface, his tone as indifferent as if discussing the weather.

Derek's body trembled, and the servant beside him had already bowed and said respectfully to Derek, "Executive sir, please."

Derek bit his lip lightly. Finally, he could only slowly stand up with Vincent's support, bow respectfully to Vernon, and say, "Goodbye."

Then he limped out with Vincent.

Vernon watched his retreating figure.

He tilted his head back and drank the coffee from the cup, his right hand gently rubbing the cup.

The next moment.

He crushed the cup with his bare hands.

He even ground it into powder in his hand.

Vernon's eyes instantly turned cold, releasing an uncontrollable killing intent that gushed out like a bursting dam.

"Jack..."

He spoke the name again, his voice no longer calm, but carrying a bone-chilling frost that made one's blood run cold.

Vernon had never liked Derek. His nephew was always causing trouble.

But still, Derek was his nephew.

And besides.

What they did was clearly humiliating the Viper Crew.

If he did nothing.

How could The Viper Crew continue to stand in Avalonia in the future?

Who would still respect them?

As a world-class gang, The Viper Crew's authority could not be disrespected.

So, whether for public or private reasons, he had to help Derek get revenge.

"Freya."

As Vernon's voice fell.

In the yard, a white figure suddenly appeared like a ghost without warning.

This was a woman.

A woman of breathtaking beauty.

Freya Jenkins wore a black dress with no decorations, with a black belt tied around her waist. Her slender waist looked very slim under the outline of the dress, and her long hair cascaded down to her waist like a waterfall.

Her appearance was unmatched in the world, devastatingly beautiful.

As her eyes moved, there was a certain charm, as if she could steal one's soul.

However.

She had a cold aura that kept people away.

She was like a sword, sharp and gleaming with cold light, making people afraid to look directly at her.

"Mr. Ford."

Freya walked up to Vernon and bowed respectfully. Her voice was clear and pleasant, but without any emotion, like a robot.