A steam train belching thick black smoke pulled into the clamor beneath the cast-iron dome of London Paddington Station, and the mingled scents of coal, sweat, and the restless life of civilization surged through the window gaps.

That familiar yet foul air gave the three who had just returned from Dartmoor’s primeval wastes an almost unreal sense of relief.

They had come back, returning from the inner world of legends and monsters to this vulgar yet familiar place.

William leaned against the soft velvet seat and had long since fallen into a deep sleep;

this was the first time he could truly relax since being branded with the Mark of Death.

The usually hard lines of his face had softened, and he emitted a light, rhythmic snore.

Lin Jie sat quietly by the window, watching the surging crowds outside.

His body was equally exhausted, but his mind was sharp, running a silent replay.

He reviewed every tactical choice and its payoff in the battle, and noted every new ability and trait each teammate had displayed.

The spoils and points from victory were not the only gains;

the lessons bought with blood and wit were precious experience that could give them more chances when facing even more terrifying foes next time.

Ethan, meanwhile, had recovered his aristocratic composure.

His expensive hunting attire, torn in the fight, had been replaced at Exeter Station by a servant who had arrived early by telegram with a perfectly tailored new traveling suit.

His short blond hair had been groomed meticulously;

he held a steaming cup of Ceylon tea and gracefully leafed through the latest issue of The Times.

The deadly struggle in mud and fear was, to him, little more than a “small-scale conflict” that happened in a distant colony and had nothing to do with his life.

He only lowered the paper when the shrill whistle urging disembarkation sounded on the platform.

He greeted warmly, “Welcome back, gentlemen.”

“To celebrate our victory and to express my respect to both of you, tonight I will host a small private dinner for the three of us at the Traveler’s Club. I sincerely hope you will attend.”

When the name “Traveler’s Club” left Ethan’s mouth, even an outsider like Lin Jie, who knew little of London high society, felt the weight behind it.

It was not just a dining spot;

it was a symbol of an exclusive power-social circle at the top of the Empire.

Rumor had it that membership required not only vast wealth, but a distinguished surname traceable to the Norman Conquest and at least two hand-signed recommendations from current cabinet ministers.

This invitation was far beyond mere “thanks”;

it was recognition and acceptance.

William was gently nudged awake by Lin Jie, and when he heard Ethan’s invitation his sleepy face instinctively flashed resistance and discomfort.

The most upscale social venue he had ever been to was the crowded mess of the officers’ club, reeking of sweat and liquor.

Going somewhere where even breathing required etiquette made him more uneasy than fighting a UMA.

But when he saw Lin Jie’s look suggesting he accept, he finally nodded.

It was not for himself but for Lin Jie;

he did not want his own “ill-fit” to spoil the goodwill of the noble friend who had sincerely accepted them.

Before that, Lin Jie and William chose to return to The Underground City to report the mission and to write a letter to Julian thanking him for the Black Dog research materials he had provided.

At eight that evening, in the heart of the Empire, on Belmare Street in London’s West End.

Rows of neoclassical buildings built from white Portland stone lined the street.

Each building represented a prestigious family or a powerful organization that controlled the Empire’s economic lifeline.

Ethan’s private four-wheel carriage slowed in front of an especially magnificent building.

It resembled a palace, with tall Corinthian columns supporting an ornate pediment carved with exquisite reliefs.

Two Sikh doormen in deep-red tailcoats stood at the door, expressionless.

Their high turbans and thick beards were living trophies displaying the Empire’s colonial might.

This was the Traveler’s Club.

As Ethan led Lin Jie and William up the white marble steps, the air struck them with luxury, power, and strict hierarchy.

The club’s interior opulence was jaw-dropping.

Beneath their feet lay a silk carpet said to have been transported whole from a Persian royal palace, heavy enough to swallow every footstep.

Above hung crystal chandeliers hand-blown by artisans from Murano, Venice, shedding a brilliant yet soft light.

The walls were filled with exotic “collectibles” from around the world: the mounted skull of a ferocious African lion, massive rubies stripped from the seats of Indian princes, and monumental oil paintings by royal artists depicting the navy’s heroic territorial conquests across the globe.

Numerous well-dressed imperial elites clustered in twos and threes.

Some were throwing fortunes at green-velvet gambling tables, others lounged on premium leather sofas smoking Cuba’s finest cigars while they murmured insinuating double-entendres that only they could understand, discussing stock shifts and political tidbits capable of swaying world affairs.

Lin Jie and William’s arrival looked out of place amid the gilded splendor and quickly drew everyone’s attention.

Although William had, at Ethan’s strong insistence, changed into an ill-fitting black suit, his undeniable military bearing and a face written with stories of blood and fire still set him apart from the pampered “imperial elites.”

He stood in silence with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes alertly scanning the environment that made him palpably uneasy.

Lin Jie received a different, arguably more direct form of “civilized” malice.

His refined Far Eastern features were rarer here than UMAs.

He felt disdainful gazes projecting at him from every direction.

A middle-aged gentleman with an exaggerated handlebar mustache said in a not-too-quiet voice to his companion, “Ah, look, Ethan has brought an ‘Oriental guest’ tonight.”

“I suppose he must be the son of some wealthy merchant from one of our ‘Far East trading posts? I wonder if he knows how civilized people behave.”

Soon a few young aristocrats who fancied themselves “witty” lifted their glasses and moved in.

A blond youth of barely twenty with a typical Oxford drawl arrogantly addressed Lin Jie in English, “Good evening, sir, forgive my forwardness.

“I have always been greatly intrigued by your mysterious ‘Chinese Empire.’ I hear that your men wear very fine long braids to show loyalty to His Majesty the Emperor. I wonder why you do not…”

His words were cloaked in “naïve” curiosity, but the arrogance of an advanced civilization looking down on an inferior one shone through nakedly.

Before Lin Jie could reply, a freckled red-haired gentleman eagerly cut in.

“I also heard your country has a tradition that makes women’s feet small and delicate like ‘golden lotuses.’ Oh, how poetic! How I wish to see it!”

The ignorant, malicious questions continued to prick at Lin Jie.

He knew this was no simple curiosity;

it was a probing game of exclusion by the upper class.

They used this to flaunt their worldliness, humiliate the intruder, and shore up their fragile pride ruled by whiteness.

Lin Jie’s face remained composed, but an icy coldness flashed in his eyes.

He was about to respond with actions when a hand in a white silk glove gently landed on the blond youth’s shoulder.

Ethan had, without anyone noticing, come over holding two glasses of champagne, a host’s graceful smile on his handsome face.

But his gaze was cold as Dartmoor on a winter night.

His voice was soft yet warning, making the blond stiffen: “Good evening, Phineas.”

“I believe I heard you express considerable ‘interest’ in my friend Mr. Lin’s homeland?”

Phineas, terrified of Ethan, forced out an awkward smile and stammered, “Ah… yes, Ethan, I was merely…curious in an academic sense…”

Ethan nodded with a smile, then leaned close and murmured in a voice meant only for the two of them, cold as ice: “Ah, academic curiosity.

“Then as your friend, should I also be ‘academically curious’ and investigate why your beautiful fiancée shows much more interest in the Byron manuscript in my collection than in you?”

Phineas’s face drained white;

he stared at Ethan’s emotionless blue eyes and cold sweat trickled from his temple.

Ethan straightened and resumed his genteel smile, sweeping his gaze around and speaking in a tone loud enough for everyone nearby to hear: “Mr. Lin Jie and Sergeant William Keane are not merely my acquaintances.”

“They are the victors who, alongside me, hunted on Dartmoor’s wasteland and defeated the fabled Hell Hound that even my grandfather could not subdue.”

“They are my, Ethan Archibald Redgrave’s, lifesavers.”

His cold stare passed over every person present: “So any disrespect toward them I will take as a direct provocation against the Redgrave family.”

The room fell silent.

The expressions on those young aristocrats’ faces were priceless;

like roosters with pins at their throats, they could no longer crow and slunk away.

Ethan turned and handed a glass of champagne to Lin Jie, wearing an apologetic warm smile.

“Forgive me, my friend, for letting you see something… unbecoming.”

William watched the scene, and the tension that had always wrung his face eased;

a genuine relief showed in his eyes.

Lin Jie accepted the champagne and tapped glasses with Ethan.

“To the victors.”

What they drank was more than celebratory joy;

it was the friendship and respect of comrades transcending class and race.

At the end of the evening, in a reading room hung with a massive world map, Ethan sent all servants away.

He spoke earnestly to Lin Jie: “Lin, the reason I hallucinated in the mine was because that UMA stirred up a past I could never dismiss.”

He pointed to Egypt on the map: “A few years ago my father organized a large-scale archaeological excavation against an unknown pharaoh of the Fourth Dynasty, and I took part.”

“But something extremely terrifying and deeply sorrowful happened in that tomb, involving a legendary ‘cursed diamond’ and… a betrayal that could shame any family.”

“I barely escaped, but my best friend remained forever in that darkness buried by yellow sands.”

“That inner demon has haunted me. I once thought that if I became stronger I could forget it, but now I see I was wrong;

avoidance only emboldens it.”

He looked at Lin Jie with pleading expectation.

“One day, when I am ready and have the courage to return to that cursed land, I want to invite you, Lin, to come with me to unravel the mystery that has tormented me for years.”

“I need your wisdom to interpret the truth buried beneath those sands.”

Lin Jie neither agreed nor refused immediately;

he simply nodded, “If that day comes and I happen to be free.”

Ethan smiled and produced a refined calling card cut from black calfskin, with the Redgrave family crest stamped in pure gold, which he handed to Lin Jie.

“This is my private card. The Redgrave family holds modest influence in every major country on the European continent—not limited to finance, railways, and certain channels inconvenient to record in official archives.”

Ethan said with a smile, “If one day on the continent you encounter troubles that cannot be solved by hunters’ means, present this card;

it will clear many unnecessary obstacles for you.”