<h4>Chapter 2222: Chapter 2222: The Note</h4>


    "Fourth brother!"


    Trent Marsh lunged forward, crashing his whole body against the sculpture.


    The pain pulled him back to reality.


    "Fourth brother! Fourth brother, where are you! What exactly happened back then!" He screamed hysterically, his eyes bloodshot from strain.


    The colors gradually faded, and the light slowly disappeared.


    All that was left was a pitch-ck, cold environment.


    What he saw was only the cold, lifeless sculpture.


    "Why!"


    Bang!


    Trent Marsh punched his own statue.


    He used all his strength, but the statue didn’t budge.


    "I want to know what happened back then! Fourth brother, I want to know!" Trent roared angrily, but it was to no avail.


    The images scattered.


    Turning into memories, remaining in Trent’s mind.


    But he was unclear about what happened afterward.


    He couldn’t find the answers either.


    "I must find out." Trent clenched his fists, ignoring the blood trickling down the corner of his mouth, his eyes unwavering.


    "Fourth brother!" His gaze once again fell on the throne.


    A dusty throne.


    Could it be that Silvio Reed is not dead?


    If he were dead, who could sit on it?


    Trent walked over, observing carefully.


    He vaguely discovered that the dust-covered part was slightly uneven.


    It seemed there was a protrusion on the throne.


    The creation and design of this throne involved the best personnel of the time.


    The materials and craftsmanship were the best, and such a w was impossible.


    Trent bent down and gently blew away the dust.


    He hoped so much that the throne was smooth.


    The uneven dust distribution indicated that Silvio Reed had returned and had sat there once.


    But as he ced his hand on it, rubbing it, his heart sank.


    It wasn’t smooth.


    Precisely because of this, the dust was unevenly distributed.


    "Why is it like this?" Trent squatted in front of the throne, examining it closely.


    When the throne waspleted back then, Silvio Reed had Trent check it out.


    Using the most demanding standards, Trent and his men examined it for seven days and nights, finding no issues.


    It was perfect!


    Absolutely wless!


    Such a throne couldn’t have problems.


    Could it have really been stolen, with a fake left behind?


    Trent turned back, recalling the barrier.


    Impossible.


    The throne couldn’t be taken away.


    Trent took a deep breath, reached out his hand, and gently ced it on the protruding area.


    No, it was wrong!


    The gold material felt off!


    Although still of high quality, when Trent’s fingers brushed over the gold, he distinctly felt some coarseness.


    Being wealthy, Trent could detect even a trace of impurity in gold through touch.


    Trent hurriedly stood up, went up to the throne, and gently scratched with his fingers.


    Indeed!


    Ayer of gold peeled off.


    Trent squinted, quickly tearing away the entire sheet of gold leaf stered on it.


    He found a piece of paper at the previously protruding spot.


    The paper was very thin, with words written on it.


    By rights, just by sitting on this chair, Trent could instantly feel the unevenness.


    He would sense something was amiss.


    But the dust umted over time made him notice the discrepancy.


    Trent hurriedly picked up the note and read the words on it.


    "The fourth brother has gone, don’t miss him. Sooner orter, I’ll give the throne to you, no need to fight for it. The path, I’ve paved for you. The power of the Underworld Hall is not as those people thought. Whoever moves, dies. Third brother, farewell."


    "Fourth brother!"


    Trent roared, mming his fist hard against the throne!


    "What is this! Giving it to me? No! I don’t want it!" He panted heavily but did not choose to sit on the throne.


    "If you’re not dead, no one can sit on this throne. Not even myself! If you are dead, I will certainly avenge you! To the ends of the earth, I’ll pursue him to the gates of hell!" Trent tore the note into pieces, shoved it into his mouth, and swallowed it whole.


    He walked away with his head held high, leaving step by step.


    "Fourth brother, you always took care of me this way. No matter how ambitious I, Trent Marsh, am, as long as you live, I’m your third brother. No one can change this."


    The Underworld Hall had long been part of Silvio Reed’s designs.


    Trent trusted Silvio Reed, unconditionally.


    All because of that word, "third brother," all because of that one call, "fourth brother."


    Now, he had to uncover the truth, discover what truly happened back then.


    Boom!


    Just as Trent reached the doorway,


    the entire ground shook with a tremor.


    Trent squinted, looking ahead.


    The path of the tremor was horizontal, not vertical.


    Indicating the strength came from the front, not from above.


    Trent passed through the barrier, stepped out from inside the statue, and stood before the Temple of Return to Heaven.


    The material of these sculptures was exceptionally sturdy, neither collision nor explosion could damage them.


    Trent stood before the statue, hands behind his back, looking forward.


    Boom!


    Finally.


    A muffled sound echoed, and the ground was covered in dust.


    An underground drill emerged.


    "Cough, cough."


    Amidst the dust, someone jumped down, coughing incessantly.


    "It’s really dirty; my trachea just gets worse by the day." Ilia Danvers covered his nose with one hand, waving the other.


    A gust shrouded the area, blowing the dust away.


    Everything cleared.


    "Hmm, it’s you?" Ilia Danvers stood before the drill, raising his eyebrows at Trent Marsh, surprised, "Weren’t you inside, turned to gold?"


    "I was, but now I’m out," Trent said ndly.


    Ilia Danvers, this guy, he knew.


    He was also aware the dragon was in Mont, having an inexplicable connection with this man.


    "Oh, then please, go ahead." Ilia Danvers stepped aside, making way.


    "If you want me gone, why are you still clutching a dagger?" Trent smiled at him, unmoving.


    "Haha, old pal, you’re spoiling the fun here. Pointing it out embarrasses me." Ilia Danvers stretched out his hand, spinning a small dagger made of dragon bone between his fingers.


    This dagger was no ordinary de; its sharpness was secondary, but the most feared aspect was that its wounds would never heal unto death.


    Those so-called Undead Tribes, so-called immortals, countless perished beneath this dagger.


    "Dragon bones?" Trent squinted at the dagger.


    A Divine Weapon, so named because it could be sensed even from afar.


    The invisible killing intent and chilling intimidation constantly reminded its opponents it was a fatal weapon.


    "Impressive, an expert," Ilia Danvers no longer concealed his intentions, slowly advancing: "Honest men don’t cheat. Let’s have at it. Just as well, I want to see if the notorious ouw Trent Marsh can survive this dragon bone dagger!"


    "I’d like to witness the powers of a man who’s been with a dragon for millennia!"


    Trent suddenly raised his right hand, flicking a finger forward!


    Boom!


    A force burst from the tip of his finger!


    Ilia Danvers leaped into the air, the ground where his feet had been instantly sted into a deep pit.


    "Good technique!" He pped the wall with one hand, hurtling himself towards Trent!