God-Tier Extraction Talent: Reincarnated in a Game-like World! Chapter 491: The One-Eyed Sponsor

Over the next few days, the rumors surrounding the White Phantom showed no signs of fading. Players across the board stayed on high alert for any glimpse of him, all while speculating on why he had reappeared after such a long absence.

By day two, the Realm Hub forum brimmed with threads, theories, and distant snapshot clips. Some gamers insisted they'd spotted him close to the city gates. Others vowed he haunted the inn sector. A handful even sparked fierce debates on whether his return linked to the now-public tournament, a covert quest, or some backroom pact with a top guild. The real story eluded everyone, yet the discussions raged on unchecked.

What was amusing was how nobody mustered the courage to confront him head-on.

The Monkey Paradise fiasco lingered vividly in countless memories. White Phantom carried fame, sure, but he embodied the type of legend folks honored from afar. Respect came easy. Approaching unbidden? That was suicide. Thus, Stellar City hummed with gossip while maintaining a safe buffer.

Buried deep within Stellar City, concealed under mundane buildings and deceptive barriers, lay one of the Black Star Clan's hidden outposts.

This lair sprawled beneath a rundown estate that appeared forsaken at first glance. Crumbling walls and grimy shattered panes screamed neglect from years past. Yet beneath that withered facade, the true stronghold plunged through multiple fortified tiers.

The further down you descended, the hotter the atmosphere grew. Ducts snaked along the walls. Rusted portals barred tight corridors. Stone-embedded lanterns emitted a dim crimson glow, lending the space an oppressive weight.

On the deepest reachable level stood a vast chamber shaped like a training hall.

Its dark timber floor gleamed with polish and spotlessness. Bare walls enclosed the area, but the intense heat would drench any normal person in sweat right away. Right in the middle, however, a man sat cross-legged in deep meditation.

Torin Black Star.

Straight as a rod, his spine held firm. Palms lay flat upon his thighs. Eyes shut tight, he exuded an aura of such intensity that the chamber seemed to choke under its force. Motionless, he scarcely drew breath.

Footfalls echoed from beyond the chamber.

A servant halted at the threshold and rapped twice with precision.

"Enter," the serene voice replied from within.

The servant eased the panel aside and entered with utmost deference. His actions mirrored those of a traditional Japanese retainer, bowing deeply prior to uttering a word.

"Lord Torin."

Torin stayed in place, eyes sealed, and uttered without stirring, "Speak."

The servant dipped his head a fraction more.

"The assassination attempt has failed."

Torin betrayed no surprise, as if he'd foreseen it—which he had, since the strike served only as a probe.

With caution, the servant pressed on. "The mark endured. That said, Plan B succeeded. The revealed agent got silenced before spilling everything."

He held his seated pose unwaveringly.

The servant paused briefly, then appended, "Plan B delivered the killing blow flawlessly and escaped without detection."

Torin’s tone emerged once more, even and devoid of inflection. "Thus, the mark survives."

"Yes, Lord Torin."

Silence stretched again. The servant ought to have ended there—the update complete. Yet after a fleeting doubt, he inclined lower and compelled himself onward.

"One issue remains."

"Hmm. What issue?"

Gulping hard, the servant spoke.

"The mark might now realize the strike originated from us."

The chamber shifted in an instant.

Till that point, Torin had resembled an unyielding statue amid the sweltering dojo. But as those words escaped the servant, a far denser aura crashed down, disrupting the man's breath sharply.

Head bowed low, the servant froze in place. At the room's heart, Torin's lids flew open, unveiling deep obsidian orbs brimming with timeless insight.

"What did you say?"

Swallowing again, the servant answered, "I suspect the mark knows we launched the attack."

Still bowed, he elaborated. "The agent we sacrificed... he bore a Black Star headband."

Within the Black Star Clan, each affiliate wore a band emblazoned with the ebony serpent emblem. Far beyond mere insignia, it marked true belonging. Upon death, bands got reclaimed for clan archives—a sacred custom. Fallen members' bands stayed cataloged internally, never abandoned.

For stealth ops, operatives stashed their bands at base prior to deployment. That agent handled covert work. Yet the servant's search turned up empty, confirming the man took it along.

"If he died with the headband on," the servant stated deliberately, "it's likely ended up with the Adventurer Guild or even White Phantom himself."

This spelled disaster.

The Black Star Clan thrived outside the law, lurking in darkness and branded outlaws across multiple territories. Such a band in hostile grasp could serve as damning evidence, tying back countless deeds—including Stellar City schemes.

Torin held his seated form, yet the room's atmosphere thickened unbearably. His face had chilled to ice.

And inwardly, he questioned whether the payout for this contract justified the mounting headaches.

"Looks like I’ll be having another talk with that one-eyed man," Torin muttered. "If it's going to cause us this much trouble, I might as well ask for a higher reward."