Chapter 3 Looting the Treasury

The silence in the muddy street was absolute. Thirty hardened thugs stared at their fallen Sect Master, their chests tight with a suffocating, paralyzing fear. Gordon, the undisputed tyrant of Blackstone Town, was currently clutching his chest, coughing up blood, and shivering like a wet dog at Logan's feet.

Logan didn't spare the fallen giant another glance. He walked forward, his boots stepping over the iron rings of Gordon's discarded broadsword, and stood directly over the trembling sect master.

"The ten thousand gold coins," Logan said, his voice entirely flat, yet carrying the weight of a mountain. "Where is it?"

"I... I don't have that much liquid gold on me!" Gordon wheezed, his peak Iron-Skin pride entirely shattered. He looked up at Logan not as a boy, but as an ancient demon wearing a human skin. "It's at the sect headquarters... in the central vault! Please... spare my life, Young Master Vanguard! I will give you everything!"

Logan turned his gaze to the remaining twenty-four thugs who were still frozen in place. The moment his icy eyes swept over them, half of them instantly dropped to their knees, slamming their foreheads into the mud.

"You two," Logan pointed directly at the two lackeys who had broken down his door the previous day. "Stay here and guard my father’s shack. If a single fly disturbs his sleep while I am gone, I will peel the skin from your bones."

"Yes! Yes, Young Master! We will guard it with our lives!" they shrieked, scrambling to stand at attention outside the broken doorway like loyal hounds.

"As for the rest of you," Logan looked at the remaining thugs. "Pick up your useless master. Lead me to the Iron Tiger Sect headquarters. We are going to audit your treasury."

The Iron Tiger Sect headquarters was a sprawling, opulent fortress built in the center of Blackstone Town. It stood in stark, mocking contrast to the poverty of the regular townspeople. Built from imported black stone and guarded by heavy iron gates, it was the symbol of the syndicate’s absolute greed.

As Logan marched through the main gates flanked by the defeated, bleeding vanguard of the sect, the remaining guards inside panicked. They drew their swords, but one look at Gordon’s broken, bloody state made them freeze.

"Drop your weapons!" Gordon roared hoarsely from the shoulders of his men. "Open the vault! Now!"

The inner vault was sealed behind a heavy, three-inch-thick steel door. Logan didn't wait for the keys. He channeled a burst of golden primordial qi into his right leg and delivered a casual, front-kick directly to the center of the steel lock.

BOOM!

The massive steel door groaned, its heavy iron deadbolts shearing straight off as it flew backward into the vault, crashing onto the stone floor with a deafening ring.

Inside, piles of silver bars, chests of gold coins, and shelves filled with dusty jade boxes gleamed under the torchlight. This was the accumulated wealth of ten years of brutal extortion.

Logan walked past the gold entirely, his eyes scanning the shelves of medicines. He picked up a jade bottle and pulled the cork. A thick, bitter aroma filled the room.

Low-grade Bone-Refining Pills. To Logan, they were trash, but to a mortal body, they were exactly what he needed. He quickly found what he was looking for in a locked velvet box: a Three-Leaf Crimson Ginseng, a rare herb capable of regenerating broken bones and clearing blocked meridians. With this, he could completely heal his father’s crippled legs.

"Not bad," Logan murmured, packing the rare herbs and a heavy pouch filled with five hundred high-grade gold coins into a leather sack. He turned to face Gordon, who was being held up by two thugs at the vault entrance.

"Young Master Vanguard... you have your gold, and you have our medicine," Gordon pleaded, his eyes full of desperate hope. "Are we... are we square?"

Logan walked up to Gordon, his expression unreadable. "A hundred years ago, I showed mercy to my enemies on the battlefield. Do you know what they did?"

Gordon's eyes widened in horror. "W-what?"

"They poisoned my wine," Logan whispered.

Before Gordon could comprehend the words, Logan's hand shot out like lightning. His index and middle fingers struck Gordon's lower abdomen with explosive force.

Puff!

A dull sound echoed as Gordon's dantian literally exploded inside his body. The metallic grey tint instantly faded from his skin, his muscles withered, and he collapsed to the floor, screaming in absolute agony. He hadn't just been defeated; his cultivation had been destroyed. He was now a permanent cripple.

"I will leave you your tongue so you can tell the rest of this town what happens when you touch a Vanguard," Logan said coldly, slinging the sack of loot over his shoulder. "The Iron Tiger Sect is disbanded. Anyone wearing that tiger emblem by sunset will be buried beneath it."

Without looking back, Logan strode out of the fortress.

He had the resources he needed. Now, it was time to heal his father, master the Nine Heavens Tyrant Script, and prepare for the true forces behind the Empire's curtain.