"Stop playing these games with me, Ashwinder!"
Seeing Ashwinder walk into the threshold on his own, Alan immediately stepped forward and gripped his shoulder. To enter the headquarters safely, one had to maintain physical contact with the guide. Otherwise, there was no telling if Ashwinder would maliciously alter the landing coordinates mid-transit. The man was utterly despicable in Thunderbird's estimation. Within the club, one could never underestimate anyone, nor could one trust others without reservation. Such was the nature of the Silver Spears.
"You really can't take a joke. In all these years, have you ever actually tricked you?" Ashwinder shrugged, feeling rather bored seeing that Thunderbird was still so exceptionally cautious.
"Hmph. That's only because I've never given you the opportunity," Alan snorted coldly. "Of course, if you ever actually dared to try, the headquarters might find itself looking for a new doorkeeper."
Hearing the subtle threat in Thunderbird's tone, Ashwinder pouted indifferently. "Why do you always rely on threatening others to get things done? Can't you be a bit more gentle like the rest of us—like me?"
Hearing Ashwinder have the nerve to describe himself as gentle, Alan scoffed. "Because threats are simple and efficient. So, are we going or not? Or are you hoping to be caressed by another man?"
With that, Alan's hand tightened over Ashwinder's shoulder, pinching the muscle slightly. The sudden pressure made Ashwinder's shoulder ache. He couldn't help but curse inwardly; the bastard's grip was still just as brutal and rough. What he hated most was dealing with this man.
The reason Ashwinder put up so many mental barriers and petty resistance when entering wasn't because he genuinely doubted Thunderbird's identity; it was purely due to his own mischievous nature. Within the Silver Spears, the inner circle and the leaders had all consumed the Elixir of Life. After enduring such long, isolated lives, they were all more or less mentally unstable. Simply put, they were lunatics. Some became increasingly irritable over time, like Thunderbird, while others turned as neurotic as Ashwinder. In comparison, the Short Spears who had only been with the organization for a few years or a decade seemed far more anchored.
The unsuccessful Ashwinder reluctantly guided Alan through the magical barrier before them. After a dizzying sensation of spatial transfer, the two finally stepped into the headquarters.
The Silver Spears' headquarters did not appear as eerie or terrifying as one might imagine a secret criminal syndicate's base to be. What first came into view was a grand, majestic hall. The surrounding dark stone walls and structural pillars shimmered with dazzling magical light. The ceiling was exceptionally high, and torches burning with magical fire were bracketed into the masonry at regular intervals. This magical flame, known as the eternal fire, was quite fitting for the Silver Spears.
In front and on both sides of this main hall stood three large doors, alongside the entrance threshold behind them. Viewed from above, the entire hall formed a perfect square with a door centered on each wall. This main hall wasn't merely architectural decoration. Alan knew it functioned as the club's private dueling arena. When internal assessments were required, members would duel here. Ordinary admission trials didn't require its use, however. Generally, it was utilized only when senior members sought to unlock higher-tier reward redemptions, or when a Short Spear was being evaluated for promotion to leader, which required facing these internal trials.
Within the Silver Spears, redeemable rewards were categorized into three distinct tiers. To redeem rarer spells, forbidden potions, or highly restricted materials, a member had to undergo a formal evaluation. Above these three baseline tiers sat the Elixir of Life itself, and understanding the formulation parameters was the standard requirement for promotion to the inner circle. Therefore, despite the hall's empty appearance, the structural walls and flooring were of premier quality; standard spells simply couldn't scratch the surfaces.
Aside from the entrance, the two doors on the left and right walls of the hall corresponded to the club's secure archive and material vault, respectively. When a member required a reward redemption, Ashwinder would enter the vaults to retrieve the inventory, then hand it over to Deformation Lizard. Standard reward redemptions didn't permit ordinary members to enter the headquarters proper.
As for the large door directly opposite the entrance, it led to a reception room where members discussed assignments and occasionally held assemblies. Even though the leaders remained intensely wary of one another, they still gathered for meetings. The first day of every month served as the uniform safe period for all the leaders—a fixed calendar date known to everyone. Also connected to the central reception room was the localized ward matrix capable of generating Portkeys, alongside Ashwinder's private living quarters.
According to Thunderbird's personal logs, Ashwinder remained stationed at the headquarters year-round and possessed constant access to the advanced magic preserved within the archive, meaning his personal combat strength was likely terrifying, resting not much lower than most of the core leaders. Consequently, Alan remained exceptionally cautious when interacting with the organization. He had been forced to utilize every tactical tool and scheme just to bring down the real Thunderbird; the three core members and Phoenix currently operating in Germany might be even more formidable in active combat, making a direct confrontation impossible.
After surveying the hall with his peripheral vision, Alan walked straight toward the large door directly ahead. Based on his brief observations, he concluded that the outer hall was far too spacious to effectively install surveillance equipment. He would have to identify a viable blind spot inside the reception room. Fortunately, he had previously obtained copies of the headquarters' structural blueprints from Sphinx, making him aware of the localized magical protections. So long as he remained meticulous, any specialized surveillance tools he planted would remain entirely undetected.
Watching Thunderbird walk directly into the reception room, Ashwinder didn't object and silently followed him inside.
The decorative style of the reception room was entirely distinct from the outer hall. While the hall projected an understated, majestic luxury, the reception room felt remarkably warm and comfortable. The floor was covered with thick, soft carpets. Alan could tell with a glance that the materials beneath his boots were pieced together from several immaculate Chimera pelts. The floor space spanned hundreds of square meters, representing an immense fortune.
At the same time, the walls were covered with warm-toned wallpaper. All the sofas, chairs, coffee tables, and cabinets were wrapped and accented with various precious magical creature furs. Several perfectly preserved heads hung along the walls, mirroring the trophy rooms of traditional pure-blood estates.
*Just looking at the interior decorations reveals the absolute brutality and immense wealth of the Silver Spears,* Alan thought, looking at a Griffin head mounted on the wall. *All of these assets will be mine in the future.*
He silently reinforced his personal resolve: to claim these riches—no, to protect these rare creatures from further black-market exploitation—he had to thoroughly dismantle the Silver Spears. He was entirely irreconcilable with smugglers and dark syndicates.
Despite his internal calculation, his outward demeanor remained entirely flat as he walked to a sofa and sat down.
Seeing this, Ashwinder felt his mischievous nature resurfacing. He strolled over to a mahogany liquor cabinet, poured a glass of wine, and looked back at Thunderbird. "Long time no see. How about I pour you a drink?"
Alan stared through his silver mask at Ashwinder, who was similarly disguised. *You're wearing a full-face mask and you're inviting me to drink? What kind of petty game are you playing?*
Alan didn't offer a direct refusal. Instead, he slowly raised a hand toward the edge of his mask and responded mockingly, "Very well. But drinking alone is far too tedious. If we are going to indulge, let us do it together."
"Hey, no, no, no. I was merely jesting. Why must you take everything so literally?" Ashwinder said, instantly turning tense as he saw Thunderbird actually preparing to unlatch his mask. If Thunderbird genuinely uncovered his face, it would place them both in a highly awkward logistical position. *The bastard can't tolerate a single casual joke,* Ashwinder cursed silently, reluctantly setting down the crystal glass before moving to a sofa a short distance away.
"Tell me, you've only been gone for four months and yet you've already returned. What exactly is your objective?" Although he dropped the playful act, Ashwinder's tone remained characteristically flippant and lazy, masking the mind of a wizard who had lived for nearly a century.
"Two objectives," Alan said, extending two fingers. "First, I intend to draw an Elixir of Life allotment in advance, along with a set of long-range Portkeys for travel between America and Europe."
Ashwinder shrugged. Thunderbird's request wasn't particularly out of the ordinary; drawing an Elixir allotment wasn't like a child requesting an early lunch; there was no rigid administrative rule dictating it could be issued only when the current supply was entirely exhausted. So long as a leader's accumulated merits were sufficient, they could claim up to a year's worth of the serum at once. Thunderbird's operational metrics were remarkably high; the entire North American smuggling sector had been established through his and Black Dragon's direct efforts. Drawing a single advance allocation was well within his ledger.
However, Ashwinder found the sudden logistical demand for transit keys slightly strange. Had Thunderbird developed an obsession with international travel recently? Why was he burning through long-distance Portkeys so rapidly? He had utilized a key to North America a year ago, and just over four months prior, he had cleared a specialized key to travel directly to Britain. Now he was demanding another? *Is he planning a holiday?* The spatial mathematics and rare materials required to anchor a Portkey capable of crossing the Atlantic were immense.
"Second, the strategic objective of establishing a secure transit hub in Britain has concluded in a total failure. I have already initiated withdrawal parameters from the territory. I will return the localized clearance rights of Unicorn to headquarters, and I intend to return to the United States shortly," Alan stated, delivering the massive piece of intelligence in a flat, indifferent tone.
Hearing Thunderbird's statement, Ashwinder, who had been lounging lazily across the cushions, instantly jolted upright. He stared intently at the man opposite him, his posture turning rigid behind his silver mask.