A brave man may not live, but he cannot die

Chapter 297 Confrontation
ten minutes later.

The main living room on the second floor of Branson Estate.

The room, designed in the style of a palace reception room, faces the expansive balcony overlooking the Mirror Lake on one side, and overlooks the high-rise buildings of Cloud Avenue with frameless floor-to-ceiling windows on the other. The ceiling is covered with enamel paintings depicting stories from the White Sect, imperial lacquerware, and Eastern white porcelain. Several exquisite sofas and chairs were once treasures from noble castles.
Even city government ministers weren't qualified to enter this reception room when they visited; Ancourt and Quinn, representing Grindelwald, had once eaten dumplings here. This time, Elon gave Ike a lot of face.

"My father is not feeling well, so he has gone to rest. Please forgive him," Elon said politely, as if nothing had happened.

"My men are so naive," Ike chuckled dryly, even he, with his deep-seated shrewdness, felt somewhat embarrassed at this moment.

After Quinn's extremely abrupt prayer, the Branson family patriarch, a devout follower of the goddess, nearly fainted from anger, as if he had been slapped in the face by a dog-like sun worshipper. His daughter and Lucas were so frightened that they quickly called the servants to take him back inside for emergency treatment.

While there may not be overly intense conflicts between religious groups, it doesn't mean that believers can tolerate non-believers crossing boundaries to spread their faith. Most social circles are divided by religion, and the principle for harmonious coexistence among non-believers is to avoid discussing their faith. While they might respect others' religious customs in public, it's tantamount to blatant provocation for non-believers to come to someone's home to pray.

It's unclear whether Reev was angered or suddenly fell ill.

Fortunately, Elon did not pursue Shelby's offense. Such matters can be minor or major, and it looked as if the senator had done the Godfather a favor.

"I anticipated this guy might cause you inconvenience before I came," Ike admitted his mistake. "I didn't expect to bring poop. Please forgive me."

"Hehe. Not everyone in my family is a believer in the goddess. It's a good thing to have a firm faith."

Elon sat with his legs crossed, his laughter reminiscent of old-money types—the kind of laughter that Earth's billionaires love to use to liven things up.

He looked at Shelby, squinting with interest, and asked, "Is this the 'capable person' you were talking about?"

Shelby sat upright, with an ugly pug huddled at his feet, its nose twitching as if he smelled of meat.

Chaldale had told Quinn that her brother's dog was named "Hakimi".

This is yet another point of suspicion for Quinn that Elon is a time traveler.

Just like how people who have been in prison in the past don't call Uncle Hat "police" or "comrade" but "government"—you can tell he's been in jail just by his words.

Hakimi was an abstract element that became popular on the internet for a period of time in Quinn's hometown. There is no word root in the Taimulan language that sounds similar to it. Although it means a place name in Old Terra, it is obviously not a normal person to give a dog such an obscure name.

According to Chaldale, Elon found the dog while he was studying in Bavaria. It was just an ordinary mixed-breed dog, but it could understand human speech and was very intelligent.

"Sometimes she's more understanding than my brother." — Xia Dai'er, my dear sister.

All sorts of doubts, plus the most puzzling thing, is that the dog bit Jack on the street.

If it weren't for that sudden reminder, Quinn, who was only at Sequence Nine at the time, would not have noticed Jack across the street at all.

There's a basic logic on Earth: if you don't study math, physics, and chemistry, life is full of magic.

The other world is the opposite.

Any coincidence that can be explained by mystery has nothing to do with science.

The dog's many strange behaviors are no coincidence.

If Hakimi has any secrets, they are definitely related to its owner, Elon.

So before coming, Quinn made special preparations to be wary of the dog.

Dogs have such a keen sense of smell that they can detect contraband, so Quinn specially applied a special potion from the academy's laboratory—a secretion from a dream-spirit tree bear, originating from the biology department. These magical creatures, capable of roaming the spirit world in their dreams, are extremely lazy and will never descend from the tree unless absolutely necessary. Therefore, females need to secrete a bodily fluid with an extremely high pheromone density to spread their scent and attract mates from a hundred miles around for reproduction.

Humans can't smell it, but animals, especially dogs with their keen sense of smell, will perceive it differently. The impact is no less than when humans smell smelling salts, filling their minds with the scent of a female Dream Spirit Tree Bear in heat.

Hakimi sniffed, moved away, then sniffed again, and moved away again. His small, beady eyes were full of confusion. This smell was somewhat familiar. What was strange about it? This smell was somewhat familiar. What was strange about it?
“Let me introduce you, Shelby. Don’t let his white appearance fool you; this face is fake too,” Ike said, immediately exposing Quinn’s true colors.

"Oh?" Elon looked Shelby up and down.

No wonder Hakimi noticed something strange.
“He’s actually a Black man,” Ike boasted. “He’s from my hometown, I’ve known him since we were kids. We used to peep under women’s skirts together when we were little. He’s always been tight-lipped; even if you beat his leather strap to a pulp, he’d never admit to stealing the 200-pound auntie’s underwear from next door—”

Shelby flashed a perfectly timed gourmand smile.

He had no objections; whatever the boss said went.

"The matter to be done," Elon's tone turned serious, "how many people have you spoken to about it?"

"Half," Ike replied instantly.

He pointed to Shelby, who was constantly shifting his feet to avoid the dog's nose, and said, "I told him to play a person, but I didn't say who."

Shelby chuckled dryly, "The boss didn't even tell me he was coming here."

The awkwardness of a nobody and the roguishness of a gangster were perfectly embodied in him. He rubbed his hands together and told a not-so-funny joke: "If you had told me you were coming to the richest man's house, I wouldn't have diluted the orange juice I brought."

Elon stared at him for a long time.

An invisible pressure emanated from the eyes of this still-young man; it was the scrutiny of someone in power.

Thirty- or forty-year-old gangsters are all concerned about their image. Shelby tried to use a calm expression to prove that he was not afraid of being bullied by a young man, but the way he kept swaying his thighs, seemingly to avoid the dog's nose but actually to relieve his emotions, still revealed his nervousness.

“Hakimi,” Elon finally spoke, “Don’t be so rude to my guest. Go find Dale and see how Father is.”

The dog raised its head, barked once, glanced at Quinn one last time, then its wagging tail drooped down, and it slowly walked towards the door.

“What a smart dog,” Ike exclaimed. He saw the servants waiting outside open the door for it, even bowing as the dog passed by. This dog was being treated like a master in Branson’s house.

"Everyone, get out. I have something to discuss."

With a single sentence, Elon dismissed all the servants in the reception room and personally rose to serve tea to Ike and Shelby.

"Just a casual drink, please excuse any inadequacy in our hospitality."

Quinn looked at the deep ochre-red tea in the porcelain cup. Light shone through the clear, lustrous tea, creating a golden halo at the bottom of the cup.

He thought that if the hospitality was inadequate, what would be the point of the bottle of orange juice he brought—like horse piss?

"Mr. Capone—"

“I told you last time. Just call me Ike.” Elon raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Ike, what you’ve done these past few days proves your sincerity, and I’m very satisfied.”

"I'm just trying to make a living. Since you're willing to give me this opportunity, I'll definitely seize it."

Ike said calmly. He didn't take advantage of Elon's good mood to express his loyalty or make any sycophantic remarks about "what will happen in the future." In the end, his relationship with Elon was purely based on mutual benefit. Golden Wind's smuggling business needed to rely on him, and the senator just happened to need some behind-the-scenes support.

Elon was actually pleased with his attitude.

"I heard the leader of that Razor Sharps gang ran away?"

“Except for him, none of them escaped.” Ike said directly, “That guy is a Sequence Seven warrior, and he has an accomplice who is no weaker than him. I didn’t expect that. Although he is seriously injured and probably won’t be out for a while, we can probably find out who ordered Golden Wind to take action. You have to be careful.”

"How do you plan to deal with a hidden Sequence 7 superhuman?"

“I’ve gathered all the evidence, and then had two law enforcement officers come to compile it into official documents for submission,” Ike said calmly. “At the latest, this evidence will be submitted to the Grindelwald administration office tonight, in accordance with regulations.”

“A gang, a gang with superhumans, is attempting to harm members of parliament and their families. Sequence 7 is beyond the scope of the law enforcement officers’ capabilities. The school administration will intervene; if he dares to remain in the city, he will surely die.”

Elon nodded in satisfaction.

As a member of parliament, he was more aware than Ike of the school administration's capabilities in Eswell.

Catching a gang leader is not much more troublesome than crushing an ant.

There's not even a need for deployment; just find the location, tell the college's security guards, and they'll handle it.

When the owner of the Demar tavern recalled the man's many legends, Elon felt a kind of numerical beauty.

"How many brothers died in the firefight?"

“Thirty-five people.” Ike said slowly, “Those elders of the Razor Gang were ruthless men who escaped from the Imperial Northern Prison. They were my most loyal brothers who died. They were very brave. These people must be killed without exception. Every one of them who escapes is a greater threat to you.”

Then, Ike said confidently, "After the razor gang is destroyed, I assure you, no one on Ashwell Road will dare to take on any job targeting the Branson family."

Knowing he was playing the emotional card, Elon still said, "If they have children or relatives, you can arrange for them to come to Eastwell. The Branson family will take care of their lives. Later, you can make a list and give it to my secretary. I will compensate Golden Wind according to the compensation standards for family bodyguards who die in the line of duty."

He paused, then added, “Including your injuries. If you’d like, I can introduce you to the White Bishop of Aswell.”

“You’re too kind. I’ll be fine on my own in a couple of days.” Ike shook his head decisively. “As for those brothers, our gang will handle their affairs after they’re gone. As the boss, it’s my responsibility.”

Elon rested his chin on his hand, leaning against one side of the sofa, waiting for him to finish his sentence.

“But,” sure enough, Ike continued, “many of our brothers who fought in the war are in prison. It’s no secret that I have good relationships with some officials. As you know, too many people were killed this time, and two fire scenes were photographed and published in the newspapers. Although the cheapness of life in Westville didn’t generate much buzz, the impact was still negative, and my friends couldn’t help.”

Elon, unsurprised, calmly asked, "So?"

"I hope you can find a way to spare my brothers a couple of days of suffering in jail," Ike said, revealing his true purpose.

Elon laughed. He didn't agree immediately, but instead crossed his legs and said, "In a couple of days, everyone in the Westville government will be saying that Congressman Elon is keeping a murderous and arsonist gang in Westville."

“Oh dear, that’s a really harsh way to put it.” Ike looked at his subordinate beside him. “Shelby, do you have a better way of putting it?”

"The civil society organizations that maintain order in Westville are backed by the esteemed Congressman Elon," Quinn replied instantly.

"Heh, haha."

Elon chuckled and shook his head. "You're more emotionally intelligent than you seem. That's good."

After he finished laughing, Ike sighed:
"Your Excellency, I intercepted the British shipment, and my name is probably on the assassination list now. So many brothers died trying to solve your problem. Now that the problem is solved, I've also sent you the list of the masterminds behind the assassination attempt on you. If this is not enough to prove our sincerity, then we little people really don't know what to do."

Elon picked up his teacup, avoiding eye contact, and began to savor the tea.

Ike was patient and waited for his response.

"I don't mind being accused of being bribed by the mafia. The media in Aishwell can whitewash a black lump of coal, so it doesn't matter. If it were an ordinary mafia, it would be fine, but you are not an ordinary mafia, but a smuggling company disguised as a mafia."

He looked at Ike with a scrutinizing gaze: "Once I step in to help you settle this matter, no matter what business Golden Wind does or what trades it engages in, government officials will be wary of me, and may even wonder if this is my doing. What you want is not to rescue people, but to use trains to smuggle goods from the airport to the black market, to do it with impunity."

“It’s not selling that well,” Ike said, scratching his head.

"You guys even managed to get your men a Hall rifle from the Eastern Kingdom, your equipment is almost on par with my air force, and you're still not selling well?" Elon sneered. "The law enforcement officers are really rotten to the core. I never imagined that a gang could run a smuggling operation on this scale right under their noses."

Ike's smile faded.

"I think you invited me here not to criticize the issues."

"not enough."

Elon said it bluntly.

Ike held up three fingers.

"That's the most I'll give you. Thirty percent of all the profits from Golden Wind's businesses. You don't need to do anything; I guarantee that all the money you receive will be clean."

Quinn looked at the boss but didn't say anything.

"not enough."

“I have two thousand brothers to support,” Ike shook his head. “Unless you give me three more shipping routes.”

“What I mean is,” Elon said calmly, “you haven’t delivered the arcane weapons I requested to the rebel forces in Lawrence Territory yet.”

“I understand, this is your investment in the future of Britain.” Ike met his gaze. “But the risks of your investment cannot be borne by Golden Wind alone. This will attract the British Deacon, a force that a gang cannot handle. I need more effective guarantees.”

So Elon asked:

Do you want to see the Child of Prophecy?

(End of this chapter)