The scene the others had imagined—Raven walking in with a voluptuous, stunning beauty, with a small waist and full hips—did not unfold. Not long after, there was a sound at the entrance of the hall, and a slender young woman walked in first. She wore a two-piece traditional outfit, the sleeves slightly rolled up to reveal a small section of her fair arms, the wrists so delicate they seemed almost fragile. Her skin was flawless, pale as snow, smooth and tender to the eye. Yet, her face, while not unattractive, was plain to the point where calling it delicate would have been an exaggeration. The only feature that stood out was her lips, tinged with a subtle red, curved into a faint smile, giving her an air of quiet grace and gentle elegance.
A group of burly men were a little stunned, exchanging glances, wondering to themselves, "This decent woman... Could she really be Raven's legitimate wife?" They hadn't heard anything about Raven settling down or marrying a proper woman.
The men fell silent, and the sound from the multi-angle screen mounted on the wall became even more conspicuous. The screen displayed a group sex scene—seven or eight men surrounding a woman, who was worn out by the relentless assault. Her moans were barely more than the sound of a cat mewing, yet they were strangely seductive. One of the men had just finished and was ejaculating on her face, causing the others to laugh shamelessly, their behavior utterly uninhibited.
The woman turned her attention to the screen at the sound, and with just one glance, the smile at the corner of her lips grew wider, as if she were even more pleased than when she entered.
Fortunately, a few of Raven's trusted subordinates were quick on the uptake. One of them immediately found the remote and turned off the screen. The room fell into complete silence, and the men began to murmur to themselves. If a promiscuous woman had entered, it would have been clear that Raven's past lovers wouldn't care, and everyone could continue eating and drinking without a second thought.
But in front of what could be the boss's wife, the subordinates knew enough to rein in their behavior.
But the next moment, Raven spoke up respectfully, almost causing the entire group to soil themselves in fear.
"Master Unknown, please take the seat of honor—"
Arabella glanced at him, smiling faintly, and without hesitation, took the seat of honor as directed by Raven. Raven then stood silently and straight behind her, just as usual. The man who had been grinning in the corner earlier, Caracal, now stood properly on the other side. The two men were towering figures, like two formidable, unapproachable statues radiating an aura of invincibility.
The men exchanged stunned looks, and each of them stood stiffly like a wooden stake. On one hand, they were shocked to hear the name of such a powerful figure attached to a seemingly fragile woman. On the other hand, their acknowledged leader was now standing with utmost respect. Were they supposed to just sit back down as if nothing had happened?
Arabella's eyes flicked beneath her lids, and with a smile, she gestured for the two towering figures to sit. "Sit down, everyone. Keep eating and drinking. I'm just here to observe. And you—turn the screen back on. It was quite lively earlier."
The man whom Arabella pointed out was the one who had just turned off the video earlier. He was a fugitive wanted by the country, originally a bright student. However, fate took a cruel turn when he angered the school bully. After being mercilessly oppressed, he decided to take matters into his own hands. He went to the bully's house, used a homemade bomb to injure the whole family, and when that wasn't enough, he grabbed a knife and decapitated every member of the bully's family.
He could be considered a ruthless person. Perhaps he thought the world was ruled by villains, so he decided to embrace that role. From then on, he went on the run to Doma. Among his subordinates, his physical skills weren't the best, but he was well-read and intelligent. Raven thought that having only brawny men in his crew wasn't a good thing, so he held this clever man in higher regard.
Before the man could cast a questioning look at Raven, he was interrupted by Caracal's sharp command, "Didn't you hear what Master Unknown just said?"
The man, guided by a stroke of instinctive wit, grabbed the remote and pressed the power button. As the screen lit up, the sounds of heavy breathing from men and women once again filled the hall, their provocative echoes heightening the eerie stillness of the surrounding silence, as if everything else had turned to lifeless stone.
Raven sat expressionless to one side, lifting the wine jar to fill Arabella's cup. She raised the glass casually, downing it in one swift motion. Without a word, Raven refilled her glass, and she drained it again, unflinching. After seven or eight rounds, she had downed half a jug of strong liquor. With a slight buzz, she showed a warm smile and greeted the room, "Feel free, everyone. Let's eat, drink, and enjoy ourselves."
By this point, her identity was already crystal clear. The group took their seats, speaking in hushed tones, not daring to make too much noise. After all, Arabella's reputation was formidable, ranking first internationally. Especially after her miraculous escape from the Mountains range, the story had become almost legendary.
This group of desperadoes had come seeking Arabella's renowned reputation, but now that they were face to face with her, their hearts were stirred with awe. As for presence, Raven was undoubtedly impeccable, and his skills were truly exceptional. They had only learned a small portion of his techniques, but even so, they felt their own abilities had improved drastically. This group of desperadoes had come seeking Arabella's renowned reputation, but now that they were face to face with her, their hearts were stirred with awe. As for presence, Raven was undoubtedly impeccable, and his skills were truly exceptional. They had only learned a small portion of his techniques, but even so, they felt their own abilities had improved drastically.
But the woman sitting before them, appearing fragile and weak, was rumored to be far more skilled than their boss, Raven. There were whispers in the international community that, aside from 'AE,' who ranked second, and 'Blade,' ranked third, no one could survive an encounter with Arabella. They chewed their food mechanically, the dishes tasting bland on their tongues, while their minds buzzed with disbelief. How on earth did such rumors come to be? The woman sitting at the center didn't even have arms as thick as their cocks, yet they felt they could easily overpower her.
For Raven, the thoughts of others were of no concern. His mind was focused on Arabella, though he knew well that she never wasted her attention on those who were of no use to her. He had to seize the opportunity to grow stronger—strong enough to make Arabella wary of him. Wary, too, was a kind of thought. He wanted her to use him, to command him, to direct him, until he became so indispensable that she could not do without him.
During this time, he suppressed every trace of longing seeping through his pores, devoting himself entirely to training his subordinates. This group, he knew, would one day be used by Arabella as bullets—shot out with no return. He cared little for the lives of others; what did it matter if there was no return? His sole responsibility was to hone those bullets to perfection—sharper, faster, and more lethal.
Before arriving, Arabella had been drinking alone, already finishing several bottles of fine imperial wine. But still unsatisfied, she had downed a whole jar upon arriving here, then licked her lips in contentment. Reaching out, she hooked her fingers around Raven's neck and whispered softly, "How's the training going here?"
At such close proximity to Arabella, Raven took a silent, deep breath, careful not to betray himself. He felt as though her entire being exuded a fragrance, though he knew well that Arabella, regardless of season, never adorned herself with perfumes or powders. There was no actual scent—yet to him, she was irresistibly, inexplicably fragrant, yet he still found himself drawn to her, as though the scent was the natural aroma of her skin, a delicious, fleshly scent that made his mouth water. That scent mixed with Arabella's aura of decisiveness and ruthlessness, creating an intoxicating atmosphere that made him feel almost as though he could lose himself in it, willing to sacrifice everything for her.
Being intoxicated was one thing, but this wasn't the time for it. Raven controlled his emotions and replied in a low voice, "Their skills are decent, but they need improvement with firearms. In terms of real combat, they're lacking."
Arabella hadn't expected Raven to turn this group of desperadoes into a regular army in such a short time. She was about to head to Jingle to meet with Julius, and this group of "bullets" would come in handy.
"Ready. In half a month, take them and head out." Arabella whispered into Raven's ear, then paused before casually asking, "Have you checked everyone's background?"
"What's wrong? Has something happened?" Raven, having followed Arabella for many years, knew her well enough to recognize that there was more behind her question.
Arabella didn't answer directly, instead patting Raven's head with a smile as sweet as a flower, then giving her order: "Give all the information to Caracal and have him recheck everything."
Raven took the smack on the head from Arabella without the slightest sense of offense. On the contrary, he was overjoyed—he relished any interaction with her. If her hand had shifted direction and landed on his crotch instead, he'd have been even happier. To him, that would be the pinnacle of "intimate contact."
Unaware of anything amiss, Raven didn't notice how inappropriate the situation was. But to others, it was shocking. Their once-imposing leader was being patted on the head like a dog by a woman, with his neck being held in a way that was simply intolerable.
"I said—are you Arabella?" A tall, muscular man stood up, almost two meters tall, his body rippling with muscle. He was a local from Doma. Previously a gunner, he had been skilled in wielding both firearms and artillery. About half a month ago, during the coup, his forces were utterly crushed by George, and the rebels he fought with were nearly wiped out. He had barely escaped with his life, stumbling upon Raven in a deep alley, where he was saved. Since then, he had become utterly loyal to Raven.
Raven furrowed his brows and was about to speak when Caracal shouted, "Such lack of manners! That's Master Unknown!"
Arabella tilted her head, offering a playful smile as she silenced the booming voice of Caracal. She had never paid much attention to titles or forms of address—call her whatever you wished. Her power spoke for itself, and no one dared to disrespect her, no matter how they spoke.
Raven immediately stood up. He glared with wide, furious eyes and barked, "This is Master Unknown. From now on, we all follow her path, understood?"
The smarter ones immediately fell silent, knowing Arabella's reputation was well-established. Besides, Raven had spoken, and they had to give him some face. But the rough man shouted before, the fool, still grumbled angrily, "They say Master Unknown is powerful, but we should get a chance to see it for ourselves."
"Oh? How would you like to see it?"
"Of course, we should exchange a few moves."
As soon as the words were spoken, a chorus of agreement followed. After all, with someone already stepping forward, watching the show was safe enough—they didn't fear getting into trouble.
Raven observed carefully and immediately knew the rough man was as good as dead when he saw the smile in Arabella's eyes. Clinging to a sliver of hope, he spoke up, "He's an experienced gunner, been on the battlefield."
Of course, Arabella understood the implication in Raven's words—that she should teach a lesson but not kill him. Considering that the rough man might still have some use in the future, she suppressed her murderous intent. Half-warning, half-reminder, she lifted her gaze with a calm smile and asked, "Do you know what the price is for crossing swords with me?"
The rough man, oblivious to the fact that the gates of hell were opening behind him, asked in a rough voice, "What price?"
Arabella spoke calmly, her tone gentle, "Death."
At this point, anyone with a functioning brain would have heard the warning in her words, but the rough man must have lost his senses. Stubbornly, he braced his neck and retorted, "Who's afraid of death?"
At this moment, Arabella wanted to roll her eyes, but in front of everyone, she restrained herself. Upon thinking more carefully, she realized that keeping such a foolish gunner around would only cause trouble on the battlefield—he might mistake friend for foe and end up firing at his own side. He was useless, and it would be a waste to keep him. She remained calm, her expression unchanging, as she leisurely opened another jar of wine. Without haste, she poured an entire bottle of disinfectant alcohol from the table into the jar, then accepted the lighter handed to her by Caracal.
After finishing all of this, Arabella stood up, holding the jar of alcohol in one hand. She locked eyes with the rough man and, smiling, nodded in acknowledgment, "Alright—"
Perhaps it was a sudden flash of insight before his death, but the rough man suddenly realized that the woman who had always been smiling now had a cold, murderous intent hidden in her gaze. Before he could even get into position, he screamed in agony, but before he could finish, a deafening crash rang out. the rough man collapsed to the ground like a giant mountain, his body engulfed in flames.
The others took a few steps back in confusion, watching the rough man burn. None of them dared to approach, as the sight grew more and more terrifying.
No one saw Arabella make a move, nor could anyone fathom how the assailant had gotten so close to the rough man. Yet, in the next moment, a jar of liquor was doused over the intruder, and flames sprang to life as she lit it. The terrifying part wasn't the act of throwing the liquor—it was his utter stillness. Most people, once set ablaze, would instinctively flail and thrash in panic. But the flames, fueled by the potent mix of spirits and disinfectant, roared to life, and the rough man remained eerily unmoved.
But the rough man, sprawled on the ground like a marionette with its strings cut, let out gut-wrenching screams, her body completely motionless. Everyone present, seasoned fighters all, knew there could only be one explanation for such a sight: the rough man's limbs must have been utterly shattered, leaving her incapable of movement. She could do nothing but endure the flames, burning alive like a witch condemned to the stake in the cruel rituals of old.
How terrifying Arabella's skills were was almost beyond words.
There were at least forty or fifty people present, swallowing their saliva as they watched a nearly two-meter tall man burn into a shriveled pile of charcoal. The air was filled with a foul stench, while the one responsible for it was casually tearing into a chicken leg, enjoying the new video playing on the screen. It was a gang rape film, with the woman's screams of anguish echoing in time with the rough man's agonized cries.
The other men, who had been terrified earlier, was on the verge of crying as he stared at the woman sitting not far away, thinking he was looking at the devil herself. He kept wiping the cold sweat from his forehead—thankfully, he had obediently listened earlier.
