A Piece of Cake

As they drove, Adam couldn't help but feel uneasy. He couldn't gauge Fanmuir's capabilities and debated whether it was wise to proceed. The Nazi operatives were formidable, and if Fanmuir wasn't up to the task, it might be better to wait for reinforcements from headquarters, even if it meant increasing the risk of the alloy being smuggled out. Acting prematurely could result in unnecessary losses.

Noticing Adam's hesitation, Fanmuir quickly surmised his concerns. Amused, he thought, Does he really doubt the Herschel family's name? Of course, Fanmuir wasn't about to reveal his identity as the family's head. Instead, he smiled and asked, "You must be related to Caesar Alexandero. What's Andrea to you?"

Hearing Fanmuir casually mention Andrea Alexandero by name, Sackray immediately realized the man in the back seat wasn't ordinary. Adam came to the same conclusion, sensing that Fanmuir must at least be on the same level as his elder brother. His anxiety began to ease.

But what happened next left Adam utterly stunned. Fanmuir lightly touched Adam's arm, and an overwhelming surge of pure energy flowed into his body. The warm energy not only healed his injuries instantly but also filled him with newfound strength.

As the energy coursed through his body, Adam was shocked to discover his abilities had advanced significantly. He had broken through the True Martial Warrior rank and ascended to the level of a Form Martial Warrior.

Overjoyed, Adam repeatedly expressed his gratitude, but his perception of Fanmuir became even murkier. Not even his father, Caesar Alexandero, could achieve such a feat—this was the realm of the legendary God Martial Warriors.

Though he had never encountered one, Adam couldn't shake the thought that Fanmuir might truly be such a figure. Reflecting on Fanmuir's tone earlier when mentioning Andrea, which carried an air of seniority, Adam's gaze toward Fanmuir was now filled with reverence.

Of course, even a typical God Martial Warrior couldn't accomplish such a feat. Only someone like Fanmuir, a pinnacle Blood Clan Prince, could perform it with such ease.

After healing Adam, Fanmuir ignored him and closed his eyes to rest.

The car soon arrived at the German company in Sergy Industrial Park. By now, the area was eerily deserted. Special Intelligence agents stationed there quickly approached upon seeing Adam's vehicle, ready to report.

"Sir, there are seven Nazis inside. They haven't left since entering. The facility is heavily guarded, and we didn't want to risk exposing ourselves, so we haven't probed further," an agent reported softly.

"Good work," Adam nodded approvingly.

The agent awaited further instructions, but Fanmuir spoke first. "This is French soil. We're here to catch thieves—why skulk around like cowards?"

Fanmuir's boldness immediately earned Sackray's admiration. However, thinking Fanmuir was simply an overconfident youth, Sackray replied, "We'd love to storm in and take them down, but without concrete proof and evidence on the spot, this German company could twist the story and turn the tables on us."

Fanmuir smirked dismissively and said, "Those seven clowns who've barely scraped the surface of Nazi techniques? They're not getting away from me."

Fanmuir's unwavering confidence, even when directed at the remnants of the Nazi Party, grated on Sackray. He found it hard to stomach the tone Fanmuir used in front of his boss.

But Adam Alexandero, having confirmed that Fanmuir was indeed a God Martial Warrior, understood that such self-assuredness was the hallmark of a true master.

Adam silenced Sackray before he could speak, addressing Fanmuir with respect. "With you here, we certainly don't fear the Nazis escaping. However, we still don't know their exact location. If we rush in blindly, we may end up chasing shadows, and they could transfer the alloy before we locate them. That would lead to unnecessary complications." Adam's tone was deferential, reflecting his newfound understanding of Fanmuir's status.

Fanmuir, ignoring the concerns of the intelligence officers, replied casually, "They're in the two-story office building at the northeast corner of the factory. Let's go there directly. While they're under my watch, I guarantee none will escape." With that, he strolled toward the company gates as though taking a leisurely walk.

The fact that Fanmuir didn't correct Adam's respectful address made the latter's heart race. He was now certain Fanmuir was the legendary God Martial Warrior, removing any remaining doubts.

Adam's confidence in Fanmuir was unshakable. He had seen firsthand the unmatched power of his father, Caesar Alexandero, who was at the same level. Witnessing his father's dominance had left an indelible impression on Adam, making it the peak of his aspirations. If Fanmuir had known Adam was comparing him to his old servant Caesar—a man several levels beneath him—he might have found it amusing.

Regardless, Adam's confidence swelled. Even if dozens more Nazi operatives were present, he wouldn't hesitate to follow Fanmuir. With a resolute gesture, he signaled his team to move, leading the way through the company gates behind Fanmuir.

Fanmuir walked as if the premises were his own. The German security guards and their guard dogs remained frozen, entirely unresponsive. Even as Adam and his team passed by, the dogs didn't so much as twitch, oblivious to the intruders.

Curious, Sackray tapped one of the guards, only to see the man collapse instantly. It became clear that every guard and dog had been subdued by some unknown force.

Sackray and Adam exchanged astonished glances, each seeing the shock in the other's eyes. It didn't take a genius to figure out who was responsible—Fanmuir.

"My God. He took out all the guards and dogs without even lifting a finger. Is this even humanly possible?" Adam murmured, though he was already aware of the incredible power of a God Martial Warrior. Even so, Fanmuir's seemingly supernatural abilities surpassed his imagination, leaving his subordinates utterly stunned.

As if to explain their disbelief, or perhaps to marvel at Fanmuir's power, Adam muttered, "This is the power of a God Martial Warrior."

"Boss, are you saying Fanmuir is a God Martial Warrior?!" Sackray blurted out, forgetting all protocol in his shock.

"Yes, Fanmuir is most definitely one of the legendary God Martial Warriors," Adam affirmed, though he still underestimated Fanmuir. The power Fanmuir wielded far surpassed anything Adam could conceive. Watching Fanmuir's silhouette disappear into the distance, Adam's gaze was filled with awe.

In a world where strength determined respect, only the strongest could command both admiration and fear.

And Fanmuir was exactly that—a supreme figure among the world's elite. He was the pinnacle of power, the kind of legend whose mastery transcended comprehension. It was for this reason that his father had secluded him in the Alps for 1,500 years, where he trained from a fledgling vampire to a Blood Clan Prince, before stepping into the mortal world to further temper his abilities.

The young intelligence agents were left speechless, their faces a mix of awe and reverence. For them, a God Martial Warrior represented the ultimate dream—a goal they could only hope to chase.

Their eyes sparkled with admiration as they stared at Fanmuir's retreating figure. For Sackray, awe was accompanied by a deep regret for his earlier disrespect toward this unfathomable master.

The group reached the two-story office building without encountering any resistance. The structure, built in a distinctly German architectural style, stood as a glaring reminder of its origins. Fanmuir stood motionless before the building, hands clasped behind his back, his thoughts swirling. A German company erecting a German-style office on French soil, using it as a haven for Nazi remnants—such arrogance was infuriating.

A vast, oppressive force began to radiate from Fanmuir, blanketing the entire building with an overwhelming sense of dread. Though those standing behind him, including Adam and his team, were spared the brunt of this force, they could still feel its immense power pressing down like a tidal wave. At that moment, Fanmuir seemed to grow larger, towering over them like a divine figure.

Inside the building, the French branch president of the German company was mid-toast, raising his glass to the seven Nazi operatives gathered before him. Without warning, an apocalyptic wave of pressure descended upon them, reducing every person in the room to quivering wrecks sprawled on the floor. They were completely immobilized, some even trembling uncontrollably in fear.

The remnants of the Nazi Party didn't even require Fanmuir to raise a finger. A mere trace of his overwhelming aura was enough to subdue them. Turning to Adam, Fanmuir said calmly, "It's done. Go in and arrest them."

"Yes, sir!" Adam immediately signaled his team to move in. Eager to test the strength of his recent martial advancement, and with Fanmuir's unparalleled presence as backup, Adam boldly led the charge through the building's main entrance.

Fanmuir observed with amusement as Adam and his team cautiously advanced, covering each other with unnecessary vigilance. He chuckled to himself, thinking, "Didn't I make it clear? This is an arrest, not a battle. Why are they so on edge?"

For Adam, this mission turned out to be the easiest of his career. Without lifting a hand, all their once-feared adversaries now lay incapacitated, scattered like discarded puppets. Some had even lost control of their bodily functions.

It was only then that Adam fully understood the meaning behind Fanmuir's simple directive: "Go in and arrest them." He was left awestruck once again by the sheer power of a God Martial Warrior.

In truth, Adam had overestimated the abilities of an average God Martial Warrior. Fanmuir's power far surpassed even the upper echelons of that rank, though Adam could scarcely fathom it.

With the hardest part of the mission complete, the rest was mere cleanup, left to Sackray and the others. Adam, recognizing the impropriety of asking a master like Fanmuir to linger, personally volunteered to drive him back to campus.

Having Adam Alexandero act as a chauffeur was a privilege few could dream of—not even the president of France. Adam, however, saw it as an honor, his face radiating pride as he escorted Fanmuir.

The military jeep soon pulled up at the men's dormitory of the Paris Science and Humanities Research Academy. Adam quickly stepped out and respectfully opened the door for Fanmuir.

Though Fanmuir didn't particularly care for such displays of deference, he still regarded himself as the leader of the Hershveil family, where respect for elders was a deeply ingrained value. He allowed Adam's behavior without objection.

Before leaving, Adam handed over his contact information with the utmost politeness. "Mr. Hershveil, if you ever need anything, please don't hesitate to call me."

Fanmuir appreciated Adam's thoughtful gesture. With a faint smile, he tossed two small pills into Adam's hands. "I've helped you advance a level. Take these when you get back to consolidate your progress."

Fanmuir turned away and stepped into the dormitory building, leaving Adam Alexandero frozen in place, staring dumbfounded at the two extraordinarily fragrant pills in his hand.

The dormitory's caretaker, an old man with decades of experience, immediately straightened up at the sight of Fanmuir. His usual shrewd demeanor transformed into one of warmth and respect, and he even took the initiative to greet Fanmuir kindly.

Adam, a seasoned high-ranking official who had weathered countless storms, was nonetheless rattled by the pills in his hand. His fingers trembled as he opened the car door, his throat dry with nerves. Once seated in the driver's seat, Adam took several deep breaths to calm himself, finally regaining his composure.

Just as he drove past the campus gates, Fanmuir's voice rang out in his ears:

"When you take the pills, find a quiet place. Consume each pill in five separate doses. Train diligently and stop embarrassing the Hershveil family. You couldn't even deal with a petty remnant of Nazi energy—what exactly has Kaisar Alexandero been teaching you lot? And don't come bothering me again unless it's something truly important!"

Fanmuir had employed a mystical technique long believed to be extinct. The shock caused Adam to instinctively slam on the brakes. Mystical arts of this caliber were thought to have vanished from the world ages ago!

Adam's emotions oscillated between joy and apprehension. He was elated to discover that someone as extraordinary as Fanmuir not only knew his father, Kaisar Alexandero, but also seemed to hold him in high regard. The instructions regarding the pills left no doubt about their incredible potency—so potent, in fact, that even a martial artist at Adam's Hua Wu level would need to divide a single pill into five doses. For Adam, whose progress had become increasingly arduous, the opportunity to advance was nothing short of a miracle.

But Adam was also deeply unsettled. From Fanmuir's tone, it was unmistakable that this seemingly unassuming freshman wielded an authority that dwarfed even his father's. And to think he had disturbed someone of such status over a trivial worldly matter—Adam shuddered at the thought. What would his father say if he ever found out?

Adam didn't dare let his thoughts go any further.

If Adam had known that the person he had disturbed was none other than the leader of the Hershveil family, it was impossible to predict how he would have reacted.