Real Men Are Forged in Blood

Latitude 64 North, Iceland, Black Sand Beach Prison.

This is the world's coldest and most remote polar prison, housing the planet's most ruthless mercenary leaders, financial moguls, and warmongers capable of igniting regional conflicts.

On this snow-covered wasteland where breath turns to ice, a custom bulletproof sedan plows through the snow, screeching to a sharp stop in front of the dark gray prison gates.

The car door opens, and a delicate foot in black stiletto heels with porcelain-smooth calves steps into the snow.

Evelyn, wrapped in a bright red coat, looks icy cold. Her stunning face cuts through the wind and snow like a blade.

"Ms. Thomas, this way, please," the warden says, personally swinging open the heavy alloy door while beads of sweat on his forehead freeze into tiny ice crystals.

Evelyn snorts coldly and slaps a fancy gold envelope onto the metal desk, "I'm here to call off the wedding. Get James Smith out here to see me and sign this agreement. "

She'd waited five years for this day.

Five years ago, the Thomas family hit rock bottom. The Smith family forced this arranged marriage on her, pushing their mediocre, penniless playboy James—who had even been kicked out of the family—onto her. Then James went to prison, and she thought she'd be stuck with this shameful engagement forever.

"This..." The warden goes pale, not daring to touch the divorce letter.

"What? Think the compensation's not enough?" Evelyn narrows her eyes, "Tell him, after the divorce, I'll make sure he lives comfortably for the rest of his prison life. That's more wealth than he could ever earn."

"No, Ms. Thomas..." The warden's voice quivers as he points to the blank monitor screen. "Mr. Smith... he escaped half an hour ago."

"Escaped?"

Evelyn laughs like it's the most ridiculous joke in the world. She shoots to her feet, furious, "This is Black Sand Beach! Hundreds of miles of empty wasteland and broken ice all around. James, a washed-up family heir—how the hell does he escape? You guys slacking off?"

"Deploy every guard immediately! Use radar, satellites, search dogs—now!" Evelyn barks in fury. She's not concerned about James's safety—she's simply furious.

She wants the divorce, and James dares to run first? It's like a slap to her pride!

"Go! Full armed search!" The warden starts to give orders when the whole building shakes violently.

Shrill alarms tear through the air, mingling with the screech of steel bars being twisted apart by raw force.

"Riot! Block One, 'Demon Doctor' rebellion!"

"Block Two, 'Blood Axe' breaking through the barricades!"

"Warden, we can't hold them! The war criminals heard Mr. Smith left—they've all gone nuts!"

Evelyn watches the monitors as top-tier criminals, who give world leaders sleepless nights, charge forward like wild beasts. The guards fall back beneath the onslaught, as if swept away by a raging tide.

"Bunch of losers!" Evelyn grabs the intercom, voice sharp, "This is Evelyn, daughter of the Lunaris Thomas family. I order you to contact Interpol right now and issue an SSS-level manhunt! I want James wanted worldwide. Dig three feet underground if you have to—get him back to sign this divorce paper!"

The warden looks miserable and sinks into his chair. "I can't do it, Ms. Thomas. That manhunt order... it's not going out."

"Why? Money's no issue!"

"Because..." The warden points to a blank photo in the file, voice hoarse, "No one in this world has a clear front-face photo of Mr. Smith. Anyone who tries to look him straight on either ends up dead or doesn't qualify to record it."

Ten miles away, on the freezing edge of the Arctic Ocean.

A pitch-black super speedboat, eerily silent as a ghost, tears through the broken ice—its engine's roar shattering the frozen polar stillness.

James steers with one hand, the other clutching a cheap bottle of hard liquor. He's in a thin black tank top, his bulging muscles steaming faintly in negative twenty-two degrees Fahrenheit cold—that's the sign of his qi at peak flow.

He wipes liquor from his mouth, glances at a family letter in his lap, tone helpless yet arrogant, "Old bastard, you set me up even on your deathbed? The illness was fake—you just wanted to trick me back for the wedding, right? The world out here's way more fun than this Icelandic jail."

He tosses the empty bottle backward casually.

Then, a faint buzz hums from the sky.

In the prison's command center, Evelyn scowls at the main display. Their most advanced reconnaissance drone, employing thermal imaging, finally locks onto a fast-moving black speck on the sea.

"Got you!" Evelyn grits her teeth at the broad back on screen, "James, you can't run!"

On screen, the man senses something without turning. He just tosses something back casually.

A clear bottle arcs through the air casually.

The drone, soaring at a thousand feet and clad in stealth coating, flies headlong into the target as though guided straight toward it, then erupts in a blaze of fire.

The big screen goes to static snow.

"How... how is that possible?" Evelyn's body jolts, eyes wide in shock.

That's a drone traveling at nearly two hundred miles per hour! A casually thrown bottle taking it down? That's far beyond her understanding of martial prowess.

Evelyn stands by the wrecked monitor, a nameless fire burning inside.

She tears the priceless divorce agreement to pieces, shreds fluttering through the air like falling snow.

"James, you think you can get away like this? Heading back home? Fine, I'll wait for you in Lunaris! Let's see what makes a jailbreaker who turns this Icelandic prison upside down worthy to stand next to me, Evelyn!"

Just then, the riot noise outside stops dead.

An eerie silence sweeps the island.

Evelyn and the warden step onto the balcony. Below, in the snow, three thousand eight hundred death-row inmates, each capable of shaking the world, kneel in perfect silent rows.

These killers and bosses, who slaughter without blinking, stare at the deep blue sea with fanatical yet humble eyes.

A thunderous roar splits the heavens, tearing through the clouds: "Give the boss a proper send-off!"

"Send off the boss!"

The cheers roll like waves, echoing between glaciers, refusing to fade.

Evelyn stands motionless in the icy wind, her red dress blazing like fire, her heart inexplicably quivering.

Boss?

What terrifying status does this James—shunned by everyone, exiled by his family—hold in the dark world?