Lin Hao strode past the cowering guards, their earlier mockery frozen into fearful silence. The Kung Fu Fly circled overhead, its wings humming a lethal lullaby.
The Fly held its own against a second-tier warrior earlier, he mused. But with 1000 combat power, it barely matches that level. The Wolf Spider’s 500 makes it first-tier—unacceptable.
“System. Evolve my pets.”
A holographic panel materialized in his mind’s eye. He selected the Fly’s icon and tapped Primary Enhancement.
Ding! Enhancement successful. Kung Fu Fly combat power increased to 2000. 10,000 taels deducted.
The gold note vanished from his sleeve as data streamed through his consciousness:
[Kung Fu Fly]
Code: 001
Master: Lin Hao
Combat Power: 2000
Lifespan: 499 days
Skills: Bloodedge Scythe-Claws
Evolution Tier: C (Primary+)
Satisfaction warmed Lin Hao’s chest. Now it could shred that bearded fool in seconds.
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“A fly with combat prowess…”
The raspy murmur came from behind a vermilion pillar. Chief Steward Zhao Rong emerged, his gnarled hands clasped behind his back. “The master was right. You’re no ordinary leech.”
Lin Hao paused mid-stride, the Fly’s compound eyes transmitting the old man’s calculating gaze.
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The treasury’s iron doors loomed ahead, guarded by sigils that glowed faintly against theft. Inside, ledgers stacked ceiling-high chronicled the Zhao Clan’s decadence.
A sharp-featured clerk glanced up, rat-like eyes narrowing. “Well, well. The blind beggar comes begging.”
Chen Si—Fifth Assistant to Zhao Rong, embezzler of three concubines’ dowries, and current obstacle.
“Six months’ stipend. Thirty thousand taels.” Lin Hao’s tone could frost summer wheat.
Chen Si sneered. “What does a worm need with gold? Be grateful for scraps.”
“Scraps feed dogs.” Lin Hao’s fingers twitched. “You’ve feasted long enough on mine.”
The clerk shot up, chair clattering. “You dare accuse me?!”
“Embezzlement’s a delicate art.” Lin Hao’s lips curved. “But clumsy thieves leave trails—like the missing funds from last autumn’s silk shipment.”
Chen Si paled. How could the blind wretch know?
“Guards!” he shrieked, rounding the desk. “Remove this slanderous—”
Fire blossomed in Lin Hao’s palm.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The clerk froze, pupils reflecting dancing flames. “M…mage?!”
“Care to test your flesh against fire?” Lin Hao rotated the searing orb. “Or perhaps my pets?”
The Kung Fu Fly dive-bombed Chen Si’s desk. Scythe-claws flashed—oak splintered as the massive table cleft in two.
Chen Si stumbled back, urine darkening his robes. “M-monster!”
“Monsters?” Lin Hao stepped closer, the Wolf Spider emerging from his sleeve. “Or justice?”
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Zhao Rong observed from the threshold, his aged pulse quickening. The Fly’s afterimage still burned his retinas—a crescent moon of destruction.
He’s awakened. The realization chilled deeper than winter. A cripple turned beast-tamer and pyromancer? Even the Third Young Miss’s fourth-tier talents paled in comparison.
Yet when Lin Hao turned, milky eyes seemed to pierce the steward’s hiding place.
“Enjoying the show, Chief Steward?”
Zhao Rong stepped into the light, face schooled to neutrality. “Merely ensuring clan assets are properly managed.”
Lin Hao tossed the embezzlement ledgers onto the trembling clerk’s lap. “Then manage this.”
The Fly alighted on Zhao Rong’s shoulder, mandibles clicking. A warning.
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That evening, thirty thousand taels heavier, Lin Hao reclined in his chambers. The Kung Fu Fly patrolled the rafters while Wolf Spider spun poison-laced silk across doorways.
Ding! Host’s reputation as a Mage-Beast Tamer spreads. Contracted creatures gain +15% loyalty.
Laughter bubbled in his throat. Let Zhao Gaolie scheme. Let Ling’er dismiss him.
Every coin stolen, every fear harvested, fueled the storm gathering in a blind man’s palms.
And when it broke?
The Zhao Clan’s gilded towers would burn.
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Extorting the Chief Steward
Zhao Rong’s eyes narrowed as he observed the Kung Fu Fly’s enhanced speed and precision. Earlier, it matched a second-tier warrior. Now it rivals third-tier… How?
Lin Hao, seated casually, addressed the air where the steward stood. “Since you’re here, let’s settle the accounts.”
Zhao Rong stiffened. “How did you detect me?”
“Footsteps.” Lin Hao tapped his ear. “Each has a unique rhythm.”
The old steward entered, ignoring Chen Si’s trembling bow. His gaze locked onto the Fly—its wings humming with newfound lethality.
“This clerk claims my six months’ stipend records are lost.” Lin Hao’s tone dripped mock concern. “What say you, Chief Steward?”
Zhao Rong snatched the ledger Chen Si offered. Pages rustled until he froze at an entry: Lin Hao – Monthly Stipend Received. Every month. For half a year.
“Explain.” The steward’s whisper could frost hell.
Chen Si collapsed to his knees. “Mercy! I…I yielded to greed!”
“Threefold restitution,” Zhao Rong decreed. “Or lose your thieving hands.”
The clerk scrambled to produce three gold notes. Lin Hao cleared his throat.
“A family matter,” Zhao Rong forced a smile. “Double compensation for your discretion.”
Lin Hao’s milky eyes glinted. “Tenfold.”
“Five!” The steward’s cheek twitched.
“Done.”
Fifteen thousand taels changed hands. Zhao Rong’s pulse throbbed at the financial hemorrhage—and the realization he’d underestimated this “cripple.”
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Lin Hao emerged into sunlight, wealthier by 150,000 taels. The Fly scouted ahead as he veered into a tailor’s shop. Minutes later, a hooded figure in black robes and steel mask exited—the persona of “Jing Ke,” phantom benefactor of Tianwu City’s underworld.
His altered voice, raspier and deeper, practiced as he walked: “The Black Market awaits.”
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Zhao Rong watched from a teahouse window, jasmine cup trembling in his grip. The masked stranger’s gait—too familiar. That slight limp from Lin Hao’s childhood injury…
“Summon the Shadow Falcons,” he hissed to an attendant. “Track that man.”
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In a dilapidated storefront reeking of sulfur, Lin Hao faced a one-eyed alchemist.
“Phoenix Marrow. Ten drams.” The disguised voice echoed within his mask.
The vendor’s eye widened. “That’ll cost fifty thousand!”
Gold notes slapped the counter. “And five Hellspider eggs.”
As transactions concluded, the Kung Fu Fly’s wings stilled—a warning. Four silhouettes materialized on nearby rooftops, qi signatures suppressed but lethal.
Lin Hao smiled beneath cold steel. Let them report a mysterious buyer. Let Zhao Gaolie chase ghosts.
The real prey still gorged itself in gilded halls, oblivious to the viper coiling beneath its throne.