Days turned into a week as Lâm Minh recovered under the care of Commander Trinh's medical team.
His physical wounds healed with the remarkable speed characteristic of a Foundation Establishment cultivator, but the mental and spiritual toll of his encounter with the void-like entity lingered.
He dedicated most of his waking hours to cultivation, drawing upon the ambient Qi and the remaining high-quality Spirit Stones Trinh's department provided, slowly replenishing his depleted reserves and consolidating his understanding of his newfound Foundation Establishment abilities.
The unsealing of his Heaven Tier Spiritual Root (Stage 2) had plateaued at 95% after the Sumitomo incident, still requiring that elusive final catalyst.
Meanwhile, Operation Scorched Earth proceeded relentlessly.
The constant, dull thuds of deep-penetration bombs raining down on the Sumitomo Industrial Complex became a grim soundtrack to life in Hanoi's outer sectors.
The official story was a controlled demolition of unstable pre-invasion structures to prevent catastrophic collapse.
Only a select few knew the horrifying truth of what was being purged beneath the earth.
Lâm Minh received regular updates from Yan. The bombardment was… partially effective.
Sensor drones and remote probes indicated massive structural collapse in Sumitomo's upper and mid-levels.
The geothermal core chamber was believed to be buried, the "Crimson Altar" obliterated.
However, there was no definitive sign of the cloaked entity's destruction.
Its power was such that it could have easily shielded itself or simply departed long before the main bombardment began.
The XR-7734 identifier had vanished from all observable data streams, as if scrubbed from existence.
The Crimson Dream supply had, as predicted, been severely disrupted.
The Skulls were a broken, scattered remnant, their leadership gone. But a new, desperate craving now haunted the slums and the Rust Market.
Withdrawal symptoms among established Dreamers were horrific – uncontrollable tremors, violent hallucinations, extreme paranoia, and often, suicidal or homicidal rages.
The city's already strained medical facilities were overwhelmed.
This, Lâm Minh realized, was another facet of the entity's attack – the chaotic aftermath was almost as damaging as the drug itself.
Commander Trinh, through Yan, tasked Lâm Minh with his new directive: monitor the streets, the black markets, the scavenger guilds. Look for any new sources of Crimson Dream, any new gangs trying to capitalize on the vacuum, and above all, any trace, however faint, of the cloaked entity or its advanced technology.
His crew – Hạnh, Cường, and Tuấn – were proving to be invaluable.
Their Qi Refining training, though still in its early stages, had noticeably sharpened their senses and endurance.
Yan had equipped them with better gear and secure communicators.
While Lâm Minh focused on higher-level intelligence and potential encounters, they became his eyes and ears on the ground, particularly within the treacherous depths of the Rust Market, an environment they navigated with a familiarity he couldn't replicate.
Cường, with his booming voice and intimidating presence (now subtly enhanced by nascent Qi), was surprisingly good at "persuading" low-level informants.
Tuấn, with his stealth and agility (further augmented by his growing Qi sense), could slip into places others couldn't.
Hạnh, with her shrewd mind and extensive network of contacts built over years of survival, acted as their coordinator and primary analyst for street-level intel.
They reported directly to Lâm Minh, who then filtered the information for Yan.
One evening, Tuấn returned from a deep reconnaissance mission into a particularly blighted section of the Rust Market with a disturbing piece of news.
"Minh," he said, his usual calm demeanor tinged with unease.
"There's a new player. Or rather, an old one making a resurgence. The 'Iron Fangs.' You remember them? Pre-Skulls, they were one of the nastier outfits controlling the western fringe."
Lâm Minh nodded.
The Iron Fangs were a smaller, more disciplined, but notoriously vicious gang known for their use of crude cybernetic enhancements and salvaged military hardware.
They had been overshadowed by the Skulls' rise, but with Breaker gone, a power vacuum was inevitable.
"They're back, and they're… different," Tuấn continued.
"They're pushing a new batch of 'Dream.' Not Crimson, not exactly. It's paler, almost grey, but users say it gives a similar rush, maybe even stronger, but the crash is… worse. They're calling it 'Ash' or 'Ghost Dust.' And the Fangs, they're not just thugs anymore. They move with a weird kind of… coordinated aggression. And some of them, they seem stronger, faster than they should be."
Lâm Minh's interest piqued. "Stronger how? Awakened? Or just doped up?"
"Hard to say," Tuấn admitted.
"But their leader, a nasty piece of work named Silas 'Scrapetooth' – he used to be just a brute with a rusty power fist. Now… I saw him from a distance. He tore a reinforced plasteel door off its hinges with his bare hands. That ain't normal, Minh. Not even for a big guy."
A new drug, similar to Crimson Dream. A resurgent gang with enhanced members.
This was too coincidental.
"Where are the Iron Fangs operating?" Lâm Minh asked.
"They've taken over an old, abandoned metro station – Red River Line, Station 7 – deep in the Rust Market's worst slum district," Tuấn reported. "Fortified it like a bunker."
This required further investigation.
Lâm Minh decided to check it out himself, with Tuấn providing discreet backup and observation from a distance.
The following night, clad in his stealth suit, Lâm Minh infiltrated the area around Red River Station 7.
The place was even more of a hellhole than Tuấn had described. Desperate addicts, pale and trembling from withdrawal or wired on this new "Ash," littered the periphery.
Iron Fang enforcers, many sporting crude, sparking cybernetic limbs or glowing optical implants, patrolled with brutal efficiency, their faces set in grim, almost unnaturally focused expressions.
Lâm Minh's Qi Sense picked up their auras.
They were chaotic, tainted with the same kind of disruptive energy as Crimson Dream users, but there was an underlying… artificiality to some of them, a discordant hum that spoke of crude technological augmentation rather than cultivated Qi or natural awakening.
He managed to get close to the fortified station entrance, using his Shadow Step and the warren of collapsed structures for cover.
He overheard snippets of conversation.
The Iron Fangs were indeed the source of "Ghost Dust." And they were consolidating power rapidly, absorbing smaller gangs or brutally eliminating rivals.
Then, he heard something that made him freeze.
Two Iron Fang guards, heavily augmented with mismatched cybernetics, were speaking in low, conspiratorial tones.
"...Scrapetooth's been meeting with the 'Silent Master' again," one said.
"Came back looking like he'd seen a god… or a devil."
"Yeah, heard the Master provides the 'good stuff'," the other replied.
"The stuff that gives us the edge. Not like that red shit the Skulls were peddling. This Ash… it's clean. Strong."
Silent Master.
The name sent a jolt through Lâm Minh.
It was new.
He needed to know more about this "Silent Master."
This could be the supplier, the cloaked figure operating under a new guise, or a new intermediary.
He decided to take a risk.
He needed an informant, someone from inside the Iron Fangs, or at least someone who had dealt with them directly regarding Ghost Dust.
He remembered Rat-tail, the jittery informant who had led him to Viper.
Rat-tail knew everyone, dealt with everyone.
If anyone could get him information on the Iron Fangs and this "Silent Master," it was him.
But finding Rat-tail was always a gamble.
Lâm Minh retreated from the Iron Fangs' stronghold and sent Tuấn a coded message to try and locate Rat-tail.
It took Tuấn nearly a full day, navigating the treacherous undercurrents of the Rust Market, but he eventually found him – holed up in a collapsed sewer pipe, paranoid and starving.
Lâm Minh met Rat-tail in a deserted, rain-lashed alley, the informant looking even more wretched than usual.
"Minh… you… you're alive," Rat-tail stammered, his eyes wide with fear and a strange sort of awe.
News of the Skulls' destruction, and vague, exaggerated rumors of a shadowy avenger, had spread.
"They say… they say you took down Breaker himself."
"Forget Breaker," Lâm Minh said, his voice low and intense.
He placed a pouch of high-value nutrient paste and a handful of credits on a crate between them – a significant inducement for the starving informant.
"I need information. The Iron Fangs. Their new drug, 'Ghost Dust.' And their supplier. I heard a name… 'Silent Master.'"
Rat-tail flinched visibly at the mention of the name.
His eyes darted around nervously.
"Silent Master… that's… that's bad talk, Minh. Real bad. People who ask too many questions about the Master… they disappear. For good."
"I'm not asking, Rat-tail. I'm paying," Lâm Minh said, pushing the credits closer.
"Tell me what you know. Everything."
Rat-tail looked at the food, then at the credits, then back at Lâm Minh's implacable gaze.
Greed and desperation finally won out over fear.
"Alright, alright," he whispered, snatching the pouch of paste and stuffing it into his rags.
"The Iron Fangs… they're supplied by him. The Silent Master. No one sees his face. He operates through… proxies. Augmented individuals, real quiet, real deadly. They call them 'Echoes.' The Ghost Dust… it comes from him. Makes the Fangs strong, yeah, but it also makes them… loyal. Obedient. Like puppets."
Puppets. Just like the servitors in Sumitomo.
"Where can I find this Silent Master? Or his Echoes?" Lâm Minh pressed.
Rat-tail shook his head violently. "No one finds the Master. He finds you, if he wants something. His Echoes… they sometimes meet Scrapetooth at a place called the 'Sanctum of Whispers.' It's an old, pre-invasion data archive facility, deep beneath the Kentron Industrial Sector. Even more fortified than the metro station. Only the highest Fangs, or those summoned, go there."
Sanctum of Whispers.
Kentron Industrial Sector.
Another deep, forgotten place.
It fit the pattern.
"Is there anything else, Rat-tail? Anything about the Silent Master himself? What he looks like? What he is?"
Rat-tail shivered, pulling his rags tighter around himself.
"They say… they say he ain't human, Minh. Not anymore. Some say he's a ghost, a spirit that feeds on the city's despair. Others say… he's one of them." He gestured vaguely upwards, towards the sky, towards the Madakaros. "But quieter. Colder. Like the void between stars."
Like the void between stars.
The description was chillingly similar to the aura of the cloaked entity from Sumitomo.
Lâm Minh had his next lead. The Silent Master.
The Sanctum of Whispers.
And his terrifying, almost certain, connection to the Maka Legion.
He gave Rat-tail the credits. "You've been helpful. Stay out of sight for a while. Things are about to get… messy."
Rat-tail needed no further encouragement.
He scurried away into the darkness, vanishing like his namesake.
Lâm Minh stood alone in the rain, the new information chilling him to the core.
The enemy was adapting, using new proxies, new methods. But they were still leaving traces.
His hunt for the Maka Legion agent was far from over.
And it was leading him ever deeper into the corrupted heart of his besieged world.