Chapter Six: The Whelan Tavern

Ethan felt himself once again sinking into a profound sea of darkness.

The entire world became overwhelmingly surreal; he drifted endlessly within it, yet no longer glimpsed anything resembling the earlier conversation between Joan and Fred.

Eventually, he arrived before a line of strange, indescribable script.

It was his “True Divine Name,” the originator and protector of violence.

The bizarre characters writhed slowly, their surfaces now utterly pitch black, yet within the subtle movements, a mercurial sheen faintly shimmered.

They flowed, suddenly enveloping Ethan, who felt something within his body being absorbed.

Before he could struggle or resist, he was awake.

He was still in the car, which continued moving forward.

He was no longer tipsy or out of control.

The only change was that the “True Divine Name” before him had grown much fuller, its color deeper and more unfathomable.

Recalling that he had killed Joan, who possessed a power he could control, a vague understanding dawned upon him.

The “True Divine Name” could absorb such power, and his earlier loss of control was likely due to the untransformed energy harvested from Joan.

Yet this was only speculation—he had been in this world too briefly, and knew far too little about names, authority, and the strange forces born thereof.

He would have to put this aside for now; there were other pressing matters to address.

Under Anya’s skilled driving, the car swiftly left the area where the Northern Star was located but did not exit the city; instead, it seemed to be heading deeper into it.

“Where are we going now?” Ethan asked.

“To the Viren Tavern,” Anya replied.

By now, Anya showed no sign of emotion, her eyes fixed ahead like a machine.

Viren Tavern…

Ethan had little concept of it; after all, his previous self had no involvement in the family business and held no affection for the Winter family.

“Viren was once the sharpest blade of the Al family,” Anya explained, reading his thoughts again. “He is also my teacher. His loyalty is beyond doubt… Since you, young master, have no intention of leaving, then to wage war, we need manpower.”

Ethan frowned in confusion. Hadn’t the family’s core strength been lost along with his eldest brother Leonardo?

“In fact, after Viren grew older, he existed as a hidden force within Al, so on that night, Leonardo didn’t have time to summon him,” Anya continued, steering the car onto a different route, clearly attempting to lose any possible tail.

She added, “According to the original plan, after seeing you off tonight, I would meet up with Teacher Viren to take revenge for Al.”

Though she called it revenge, it was essentially a suicide mission. Without Ethan, Joan wouldn’t have stood there foolishly, allowing a bullet through his forehead.

Yet Anya’s resolute tone and her calm narration left Ethan with an unusual sense of impact.

He said nothing more.

Only when the car came to a halt did he speak: “Now it’s settled. We can truly avenge my father and the entire family.”

“Mm,” Anya nodded firmly.

The two alighted from the car.

The Viren Tavern had closed for the night; its signboard was dim, and the interior plunged in darkness.

Yet Anya, familiar with the place, circled to the back and rhythmically knocked on a firmly shut door.

Soon, a small iron window on the door slid open, revealing the scarred face of a burly man. He scrutinized Anya before nodding.

“You’re here, Anya. Viren is waiting downstairs.”

He opened the door but froze briefly upon seeing Ethan behind Anya.

“Who is he?”

“Young Master Ethan.”

Anya offered no further explanation and led Ethan inside. Though the burly man was puzzled, he did not bar their way.

Inside was a modest room where several men drank or played cards under dim yellow lights. They glanced at Ethan and Anya but paid little attention.

Ethan noticed that these men were quite skilled—marked by the clear calluses and scars on their hands, evidence of frequent firearm use.

It wasn’t that Ethan’s insight had reached some terrifying level; rather, he was especially sensitive to anything related to violence.

Viren was not in this room. Anya led Ethan through it and down a corridor.

The corridor ended at a vast wine cellar.

No sooner had they stepped inside than a series of muffled gunshots echoed.

“Bang—”

“Bang—”

“Bang—”

Three shots, steady and seamless.

Merely by sound, Ethan could tell the shooter was an expert marksman, each bullet surely striking its mark.

And indeed, it was so.

Passing between oak barrels storing wine, they came upon a large, modified shooting range illuminated brightly.

Under the dazzling lights stood a slightly stooped man holding a gun, smoke still curling from the barrel.

The targets in the distance bore three perfect hits: the forehead, the heart, and the liver.

Not a single miss.

“Excellent marksmanship,” Ethan applauded softly as the man turned.

He was about the same age as Alberto but appeared older and more worn. His stooped frame lent him an air of frailty, yet his gaze as he met Ethan’s was as sharp as a hawk’s.

“Anya, you arrived earlier than expected. This is…” Viren lowered his gun, glanced at Anya, then fixed his gaze on Ethan.

“Young Master Ethan? How did you come here? You’re still not leaving? Anya!”

He questioned Anya sharply, wondering why she hadn’t sent Ethan away but brought him here instead.

Ethan was Alberto’s last descendant. Though Viren disliked this seldom-seen young master, he could not allow him to die in Winter.

“About half an hour ago, Young Master Ethan killed Joan, and the war has restarted, Viren,” Anya answered.

“What?!” Viren thought he must have misheard.

Joan was dead?

Killed by this young man before him?

He could scarcely believe it.

As an old-school member of the mafia, Viren had spent his life wading through the darkest mud. Naturally, he despised Ethan, who had spent years in the royal capital studying art, detached from the family business.

To be blunt, he looked down on such a person.

The family was the family; someone like Ethan was a coward who had abandoned it.

Yet now, someone was telling him that Al’s greatest enemy had been utterly destroyed single-handedly by this very young man he so despised: Ethan.

How could this possibly be?