Jack Sullivan walked with steady steps, his hands in his coat pockets, as though he were headed to a casual brunch instead of a notorious death cave.Nie Mitchell trudged behind him, glancing nervously at the muddy footprints along the path. “Sir, uh… those tracks… someone’s already ahead of us. A lot of people. Probably armed. Maybe dangerous.”Jack didn’t break stride. “So?”“So… maybe we should slow down? I mean, this place has a reputation. Nine Scorpion Cave isn’t called that for the landscaping.”Jack smirked. “Relax. If we run into trouble, I’ll use you as bait.”Nie nearly tripped. “W-what?!”“Calm down,” Jack said lazily. “You’d die too fast to make good bait anyway.”Ashley, walking a few steps behind them, frowned. She hadn’t exactly planned on coming this far, but something about Jack’s calm, unbothered attitude made it hard to turn back.Better than staying with that discount peacock Brian and his giggling fan club, she thought. Besides… there’s something different about

The atmosphere near Nine Scorpion Cave crackled with tension. A dozen powerful figures had gathered—Jack Sullivan, standing casually at the front; Harold Quinn, head of the influential Quinn family from Westlake City; and beside him, his son Brian Quinn, still nursing bruised ego from earlier. Towering beside them, silent but imposing, stood Ron Taylor, the elusive leader of Pine Ridge.The air was thick with authority… until Brian exploded.“You think you can keep embarrassing me?!” Brian suddenly shouted, red-faced. “I don’t care who you are, Jack! I’ll shut that smug mouth of yours myself!”Here we go again, Jack thought, barely stifling a sigh.Brian lunged.Ron Taylor’s brows lifted. “Oh?”Harold Quinn stepped forward quickly. “Apologies, Mr. Taylor. My son’s just... passionate. Reckless, but passionate.”Ron chuckled. “Let the boy swing. Young men need to learn somehow.”Jack didn’t even move as Brian charged. One second, Brian was mid-air. The next—CRACK!Jack’s leg shot forwa

The air turned heavy.A low, grinding rumble echoed from deep inside Nine Scorpion Cave.BOOM.A sharp vibration ran through the ground. Pebbles trembled. The trees swayed unnaturally.Jack Sullivan turned his head slowly toward the cave entrance.“They’re awake,” he said simply.Nie Mitchell’s face drained of color. “T-That sound… I’ve heard it before.” He staggered back a step. “Oh no… the nest is disturbed. They’re coming!”Before anyone could react, Charlotte Shaw snapped her fingers.“Uncle Frank!” she barked. “Take the vanguard. Clear it before they spread!”Uncle Frank nodded. “Yes, Miss!”He gathered a dozen armored men and dashed forward, spear in hand, moving like a man half his age.Ashley stepped closer to Jack. “What’s inside that cave?”“Poison,” Jack said. “And stupidity.”She blinked. “What?”Jack exhaled. “You’ll see.”From the mouth of the cave came a horrifying sound—a clicking, hissing flood of chaos.And then they appeared.Over 300 venomous scorpions, each rangin

“I’m not here for The Ghost,” James Leonard said coldly. “Frankly, I didn’t like him much. Arrogant, sloppy… too obsessed with making a name.”Jack raised an eyebrow. “Then why come for me?”James cracked his neck. “Because he was still my master’s student. Victor Yates trained him. His death reflects on the Yates lineage.”He took another step closer, killing intent radiating off him like heat.“I’m not here to mourn a brother. I’m here to defend my master’s honor. And that means killing you, Jack Sullivan.”Ron Taylor’s throat bobbed. He really means to fight Jack… this is bad.Behind them, the Emperor Scorpion loomed, its stinger dripping, poised over Uncle Frank, who was barely holding on.“J-James…” Frank rasped, coughing blood. “Help… me…”James turned to him slowly, lips curling into something cruel.“You? Help you?” He chuckled, then raised his leg.Before anyone could react—BAM!James kicked Uncle Frank like trash, launching him straight toward the scorpion’s gaping pincers.

On a remote island far from the chaos of cities and scorpion-infested caves, an old man bent low over a patch of rocky soil. With slow, deliberate motions, he pulled up weeds that didn’t belong. His tattered shirt clung to his wiry frame, but a small swallow emblem stitched on the chest shimmered faintly in the sun.Victor Yates—once feared across nations, now a humble farmer. Or so it appeared.A young man approached, hesitating as he stepped over the jagged path of coral and dirt.“Master Yates.”Victor didn’t look up. “You found more wild yam?”The young man’s throat tightened. “No, Master… it’s about James Leonard.”Victor’s hand paused mid-pull.“Well?” he said, not turning.“He’s… dead.”The silence that followed was heavier than the sea breeze.Victor continued weeding without a word. The soil trembled subtly under his fingers—a sign of internal energy shifting beneath the surface.“Who?” he finally asked.“Jack Sullivan.”Victor exhaled slowly. “That name again.”“He also kill