His Lordship Alexander Kane

Chapter 0454 Deep into the night, a chilling wind whispered through the desolate northern cliffs. At the base, an eerie, long-forgotten wooden shack stood, its door creaking open under the careful hand of Quinby Yanker. He slipped inside, his movements as silent as the shadows that danced across the walls.

That was the place, the exact location Zane's note had led him to.

The interior of the shack was a testament to neglect, with cobwebs every corner and decades-old decor buried under a thick blanket of dust. It was clear no soul had set foot there in ages.

"Thirty years ago, that was a hideout

for the Black Maple," Quinby murmured to himself. He paused, pulling out a northern map and marking it with a stark red 'X' before shaking his head and heading back to the door.

His every sense was on high alert. As a proud practitioner of the Divine Ape Backbreaking Fist and a protege of Zane, Quinby had been on many such missions, each executed flawlessly.

This night would be no different.

He had been vigilant since stepping into the shack, his focus razor-sharp, ready for any hint of danger. However, as he moved to leave, nothing had seemed amiss—until that final moment.

In a heartbeat, Quinby felt a shiver of premonition. Without a second's FT

his fist launching with the force of a wildfire, targeting an unseen threat

move of his martial art, swift and devastating. It was a

followed was

the toughest alloy, snapping his wrist bone clean through. The jagged ends of the bone jutted out from beneath the skin, a gush of

In the shadows, a figure too blurred for the eye to catch let out a raspy, chilling chuckle. With a nonchalant flick of his left

him shudder violently. He managed to force out a plea, "Mercy, sir, you've got it all wrong..." A misunderstanding? "Divine Ape Backbreaking Fist, and you're from the Yanker family, yet you claim a

to explain. With a fierce

as if it

to cross me." He turned northward, his wild, blood- red eyes flashing menacingly from beneath a

and imposing, crouched on powerful legs and

wind whipped through his hair, revealing a face that was a stark contrast of light and dark. One side was relatively untouched, the other a map of scars, as if mauled by a

base of Yewspire Mountain, within the solemn walls of the Yanker family's ancestral hall, a sense of urgency