Westminster Bank

"This is a robbery. Don’t like it? Come fight me."

Isabella’s threatening words hung in the air at the Dragon Gate, but no one dared to utter a word of protest.

Because the woman truly had the influence to back up her words and the power to act on them.

Until the new Patriarch of the Beowulf clan was officially confirmed, no one wanted to provoke this prodigy who was highly likely to break Silver Lion Wilder’s record for the fastest advancement to the Silver Tier.

The crowd of Trial Takers, including Dewey Gold and other descendants of the Old Blood Clans, exchanged glances, swallowing nervously.

The crowd of Dragon Guides, whether Black Iron or Bronze, were all slack-jawed—well, their jaws couldn’t be seen, but one could assume they were stunned.

This included Freya’s Bronze Dragon Guide. He had actually ignored Freya’s orders to get Master Jack’s autograph, proclaiming that Master Jack’s White Mask was, in fact, the exclusive mask of the legendary Golden Dragon Guides, and that he had been blind not to recognize such greatness.

The Dragon Guides gasped.

Golden Dragon Guide. The name alone implied a supreme existence within the Dragon Guide tier system.

It was likely that such a Tier had never even been registered since the Dragon Guide Association was founded under the Red Dragon Ordinance.

One Dragon Guide, sensing something was off, spoke up. "He may have opened the Dragon Gate... but shouldn’t a Golden Dragon Guide’s mask be made of gold?"

Freya’s Bronze Dragon Guide shot back, "Have you ever seen a Golden Mask?"

The Dragon Guide shook his head.

"Then what are you talking about? Master Jack easily opened a gate that two Silver Dragon Guides couldn’t budge. Can an ordinary Silver Dragon Guide do that?!"

"But his mask..."

The Bronze Dragon Guide grew impatient. "Are you still judging people by their masks at a time like this? If I put on your Black Iron Mask, would that mean I’m just a Black Iron Dragon Guide?"

He then turned to Baron. "I hear Master Jack is from Norway?"

Baron nodded.

The Bronze Dragon Guide’s gaze instantly grew solemn. "Is he familiar with the Antar Clan?"

The Antar Clan?

The Dragon Guides were puzzled. They had never heard of any such clan.

But Master Jack said, "I am."

Everyone saw the Bronze Dragon Guide’s expression change in an instant. He eagerly reached for Master Jack’s hand—though the Master deftly avoided his grasp.

"The Antar Clan has supposedly lived in seclusion in Norway for many years. The current heir is of the thirty-third generation... I heard that this thirty-third-generation heir is a Golden Dragon Guide. Do you know him, Master?"

While the crowd of Dragon Guides wracked their brains, wondering what on earth the Antar Clan was, what this thirty-third-generation heir was all about, and why they had never heard of any of it in their circles, they saw Master Jack nod.

"I do."

"Because I am he."

The entire area erupted in an uproar, the clamor even louder than when Master Jack had pushed open the Dragon Gate a second time.

The Trial Takers’ eyebrows twitched. This all felt a little too absurd.

But, strangely, no one voiced any objections.

Seeing this, the brothers Jose and Tune began to question their very existence. ’Could this Master Jack really be a once-in-a-century Golden Dragon Guide?’

’Isn’t this a bit too far-fetched?’

Just then, the Bronze Dragon Guide exclaimed, "I knew it!" He then gave Master Jack a pious bow, pulled one thousand pounds from his coat, and said:

"According to the ancient rules, whenever a Dragon Guide meets another of the Golden Level, they must pay five hundred British Pounds for each Tier of difference as a ’greeting gift.’ As a Bronze Dragon Guide, I am two Tiers lower, so it is only right that I present you with one thousand pounds."

’Pay one thousand pounds? A greeting gift? Are you kidding me?!’

After that, none of the Dragon Guides cared whether Master Jack was a real Golden Dragon Guide or a fake one. All they cared about was why *they* should have to pay him one thousand, or even one thousand five hundred, British Pounds.

After all, aside from the two Silver Dragon Guides and a few Bronze ones, most of the Dragon Guides present were Black Iron.

One thousand five hundred British Pounds was no small sum. Why on earth should they have to give Master Jack such an expensive greeting gift?!

Some of the Black Iron Dragon Guides were immediately outraged, especially those who had already been robbed by Baron.

Their hiring fees were already low enough for their Tier, and they were constantly risking their lives. Why should they have to hand over their hard-earned money?

Murmurs of discontent rose up once more.

At this, Master Jack took five hundred of the one thousand pounds and said, "Five hundred is enough. The Dragon Guides who already gave me a five-hundred-pound greeting gift on the way here don’t need to pay again."

The Dragon Guides froze. Then, Freya’s Bronze Dragon Guide suddenly slapped his forehead.

"I get it now! Master Jack, the reason you only made those Dragon Guides pay five hundred pounds earlier was to show that you treat all Tiers—Silver, Bronze, and Black Iron—as equals! And you only collected the five-hundred-pound ’toll’ because opening and closing this door twice has injured your very essence, and you need the money to buy Magic Potions to recover!"

"What more is there to say? Such magnanimity and kindness are truly admirable! As a token of my apology for ever doubting you, Master, I’m willing to give another five hundred pounds!"

With that, the Bronze Dragon Guide stuffed the remaining five hundred pounds into Master Jack’s hand.

Then, goaded on by the Bronze Dragon Guide and the other Dragon Guides who had been "forced to pay a greeting gift" earlier, some of the other guides obediently stepped forward, formed an orderly line, and began to pay their five-hundred-pound "greeting gifts."

Meanwhile, in a hidden corner, a silent conversation was taking place beneath the masks of Master Jack and the Bronze Dragon Guide, transmitted by miniature communication devices developed by the logistics department of Westminster Cathedral.

"How about it, Brother L? Not a bad plan, huh? We’ve got them all fooled. I even used that thing... With this many Dragon Guides, we can probably rake in tens of thousands of British Pounds. We’ll split it 50-50."