Charles was suddenly struck by a powerful urge—he had to go find William Sullivan, he had to ask this adoptive father face to face who he really was and what his intentions were.

However, he never made it out of the blood-scented embroidery room; the moment he stepped out the door, he found himself already losing his nerve.

"That's right," Charles thought in a daze, "with the knowledge and learning that Mr. Sullivan occasionally reveals, how could he be a down-and-out scholar who has repeatedly failed the exams?"

Although William Sullivan seemed idle and carefree, he carried the bearing of a nobleman's son. Even when living under someone else's roof, he never appeared the least bit destitute or embarrassed... how could he be just an ordinary ruffian?

He should have realized all this long ago, but whenever he closed his eyes, all he could think of was William Sullivan propping his head up, keeping vigil by his sickbed.

If that, too, was just a pretense—

The nosy old cook poked her head in as soon as she saw the door open, hurrying over with a fawning smile: "Young master, today..."

Charles looked at her with bloodshot eyes.

The old cook was so startled by his gaze that she shuddered, and only after a while did she recover, clutching her chest and grumbling, "What are you trying to do..."

Before she could finish, she caught sight of the scene inside the room.

The old cook froze, then staggered back three steps and plopped down on the ground, craning her neck and letting out a long, inhumanly shrill scream.

At the same time, a piercing alarm suddenly sounded in the city.

No one knew who had triggered the alarm whistle in the city tower. The two-foot-long whistle, swirling with white mist tinged with purple-gold, shot up into the sky with a "woo," its sharp wail rippling out for thirty or forty miles, shattering the bleak peace that had lasted fourteen years in Yanhuicheng.

James Sullivan, who was busy sorting his steel armor, looked up. The next moment, the main gate of the Shen family was kicked open from outside, and James Sullivan snatched up the heavy sword he had just removed from his armor.

"It's me," William Sullivan said in a low voice.

James Sullivan said gravely, "The barbarians made their move early?"

His question was short and low, but the half-deaf William Sullivan caught every word: "There are barbarian spies on the giant kite. The people hidden on the returning ship aren't ours."

As he spoke, William Sullivan strode quickly into the inner room, raised his palm and struck down at the bedside. With a loud crack, the bed board split in two, revealing an empty space beneath.

A set of dark iron armor lay hidden under the wooden boards.

William Sullivan's nimble hands pried open a secret compartment on the chest of the armor, taking out a black iron token. The cold metal cast a bluish tint on his fingers. He suddenly turned around, his usually slouched back now as straight as an iron spear. The wind blowing through the wide-open door lifted his thin, plain blue robe, as if intimidated by the chilling murderous aura emanating from him, curling past his side.

Sixteen said, "David Green."

"David Green" was James Sullivan's courtesy name, never used in front of outsiders. The two of them often bickered over household matters, as close as real brothers. But now, James Sullivan stepped back and dropped to one knee: "At your service."

"Since they've come early, it's the perfect chance for us to close the net amid the chaos—I'm entrusting the Fourth Prince to you. Get him out of the city first."

James Sullivan: "Yes."

William Sullivan swiftly grabbed his outer robe and the sword by the bed, turned, and left.

☆ Chapter 7: Enemy Attack

That day, the old soldier in charge of the city defenses was surnamed Wang. He had spent most of his life idling away in Yanhuicheng, and liked to drink a little wine when he had nothing to do. When he drank too much, he'd gather people to brag, always claiming that he had followed Old Marquis Gu on the northern campaign in his youth.

Whether it was true or not, no one knew, but it wasn't impossible—after all, the old marquis was human too, and needed someone to cook for him.

But no matter how unreliable he was, Old Johnson didn't dare drink on the day the giant kite was due to return. All the officers had to line up in order, and no one wanted to make a mistake and embarrass themselves.

Unfortunately, what you fear is what comes to pass. This day was destined not to be peaceful.

Old Johnson craned his neck to look at the alarm whistle rising slowly into the sky, and started shouting hysterically, "Which little bastard with a full bladder picked today to go crazy? Go make a scene on your wife's kang, what are you sounding the alarm for? You think the old man is some kind of skyrocket?"

At the end of the dark river was a large pool waiting to receive the giant kite, surrounded by iron railings. The railings had already been half opened, but the young soldier in charge of the latch was startled by the sudden alarm and, not knowing what was happening, didn't dare move. He quickly locked the latch again, so the big iron gate was left half open, half closed, like a gaping mouth, just wide enough to trap the dragon head of the giant kite.

The soldiers waiting to unload the purple-gold alloy from the ship had been standing at attention, but now all turned their heads in confusion. The centurion in charge of the supplies pulled out a small copper megaphone and shouted at the soldier by the gate, "What are you daydreaming for? The giant kite is stuck—can't you see?"

Before he finished speaking, a burst of scorching fire suddenly erupted from the deck of the giant kite. With a "woo," a huge cloud of white mist exploded, and a steel arrow as thick as an arm shot savagely into the sky. Amid cries of alarm, it struck the wailing alarm whistle with unstoppable force.

The alarm whistle instantly fell silent, pausing in midair before dropping straight down. For a moment, there was silence all around, then suddenly an uproar exploded.