My Xianxia Harem Life-Chapter 417 Books
After that incident, Riley’s name did not simply travel around the city—it exploded through it.
Rumors of his strength and ruthlessness spread like wildfire.
Some exaggerated his deeds, painting him as a lone monster tearing through the underworld.
Others whispered that he was a rising force backed by a hidden faction.
The common folk gossiped with wide eyes, the nobles murmured behind closed doors, and the various underground gangs cursed his name with unease.
But Riley, busy with his own affairs, remained completely unaware that far beyond the streets he had shaken, far above the level he thought he was dealing with... greater powers were watching him.
In a secluded chamber deep inside the capital, two men sat across a long obsidian table carved with ancient runes.
Heavy curtains muted the daylight, and only the flicker of enchanted lamps illuminated their stern faces.
"We don’t appreciate what you did, Edward."
The man on the opposite end spoke with a voice as sharp as a blade.
His eyes were fixed, cold, and unblinking. He wasn’t just angry—he was offended.
Duke Edward leaned back on his seat, maintaining the calm demeanor expected of his rank.
"If you’re referring to the Night Watch Gang," he replied, "then you’re talking to the wrong person. I had nothing to do with them."
"Bang!"
The other man slammed his palm onto the table. The lamps trembled.
A long crack appeared on the obsidian surface, spreading like a spiderweb.
"Are you talking to me like a child, Edward?!" he roared, half-standing now.
His anger surged outward, pressing against the air and making the room feel several degrees colder. "Do you think I don’t know what kind of games you nobles play? Don’t lie to me!"
Edward closed his eyes for a brief moment. A heavy pulse throbbed behind his forehead.
This is going to be troublesome, he thought.
He slowly raised his hand and waved away the oppressive aura.
"Sit down," he said quietly. "If you expect answers, then act like a man who wants them."
The other man hesitated, jaw clenched tightly, before lowering himself back into his chair.
His fingers drummed aggressively on the cracked table.
Edward continued, voice steady but with a flicker of irritation.
"I already said I’m not involved. Even if I were, why would I bother to deal with petty thugs like the Night Watch Gang? You insult my intelligence."
A tense silence settled. The only sound was the faint hum of the magical lamps.
The man across from him finally spoke again, voice low and simmering.
"Then who is Riley? And why did he destroy my assets? You expect me to believe this appeared out of nowhere? Everyone in the city knows that you bailed him out a few days ago or else he’d be busy rotting in the jail cells in the dungeons today."
Edward sighed deeply. His headache worsened.
He knew the truth. And he knew that it would indeed be hard to explain his involvement with Riley.
One thing was certain—
This was going to be a very, painfully long day.
***
A week passed, and Duke Edward’s life had turned into chaos.
Every morning began the same way—someone pounding on his office door, barging in with a pale face and a scroll in hand, shouting unbelievable news.
By noon, the reports only grew worse.
By nightfall, Edward found himself drowning in conversations he didn’t want to have, explanations he couldn’t provide, and accusations he refused to entertain.
He hadn’t slept properly in days.
"What? The Ember Jackals are all dead?!"
Edward nearly choked on his tea as one of his informants stuttered through the report.
Before he could process it, another man burst into the room.
"The Gutter Crowns have been eliminated as well—no survivors!" he blurted out, sweat dripping from his forehead.
Edward froze. Two gangs in one week was already enough to start a war.
But the universe wasn’t done with him yet.
A third messenger, breathing heavily as though he had sprinted across half the district, slammed the door open.
"More than that, Your Grace—last night the entire Blood Hounds faction was wiped out. Even their leaders were found dead in their own hideout!"
Edward sank into his chair, staring blankly at his desk as if hoping it would swallow him whole.
Every hour seemed to bring another disaster:
"The Rust Serpents’ headquarters have fallen!"
"The Bone Rats are gone too!"
"No trace left of the Iron Moles!"
The list grew longer and longer—
And one name appeared at the center of every incident.
.
..
...
In just a single week, over five major gangs—each with hundreds of members, secret hideouts, and years of accumulated influence—had been completely erased from the city’s underworld.
Not by rival gangs. Not by hired assassins. Not by the city guard.
But by one man.
Riley.
His method was simple but terrifying:
Strike fast.
Leave no survivors.
Take everything.
After every destruction, Riley would calmly sift through the remnants of the gang’s wealth.
Gold bars, enchanted trinkets, stolen heirlooms, rare herbs, luxurious weapons—anything valuable ended up in his possession.
He did not act like a criminal.
He acted like a cyclone sweeping through the underworld, leaving silence and fear in his wake.
And he wasn’t doing it aimlessly.
Riley hoarded everything he collected, storing it all inside a massive, reinforced treasure chest he kept hidden somewhere only he knew.
To others, it seemed like greed.
To the noble houses, it looked like the birth of a dangerous new faction.
But inside his heart, Riley had a different plan.
One day—once he had enough saved, once his own goals were secure—
he intended to return a portion of the wealth to the poor.
To the people who had suffered under these gangs for years.
To the very streets he had grown up on.
But that time was not now.
For the moment, the treasure remained with him, and the underworld trembled.
No one dared to move recklessly. No one dared to speak his name too loudly.
And Duke Edward?
He sat in his chamber late at night, exhausted, rubbing his forehead with a long sigh.
Riley was becoming a storm.
And the city... was nowhere near ready for it.
***
The Duke did everything in his power to shield himself from the storm.
He denied involvement at every turn.
He pushed back against every accusation.
He argued, explained, shouted, and pleaded—anything to distance himself from Riley’s bloody rampage.
But the nobles and shadow patrons who secretly funded those gangs were not fools.
They had lost money, influence, manpower, and territory.
Their pride was wounded, their authority challenged, their long-standing networks shattered.
And there was only so much they were willing to tolerate.
When their patience ran dry, they acted.
No more negotiations.
No more polite warnings.
No more political pressure.
They sent killers.
And not just ordinary thugs.
They dispatched elite assassins, trained mercenaries, retired war veterans, poison masters, shadow stalkers—men whose names alone once made the underworld tremble.
These factions didn’t care about honor or fairness. They simply wanted one thing:
Riley dead.
The onslaught began immediately.
And then it continued.
And continued.
And continued.
For seven days straight, the nights around Riley’s mansion became a battlefield drenched in steel and blood.
The Bone Sentinels—those grim-faced city guards were not treated as mere corpse handlers who thought they had seen everything—soon found themselves completely overwhelmed.
Day after day, they dragged lifeless bodies from Riley’s gates. Their carts overflowed.
Their uniforms were soaked. Their expressions grew hollow.
By the fourth night, one of them reportedly muttered,
"I’d rather clean a battlefield than go back to that mansion..."
Because by the end of that week, more than 200 men had tried to kill Riley.
All of them died.
Not a single assassin made it back alive.
None escaped.
None even managed to wound him.
The mansion became a forbidden zone—
a place whispered about like a cursed fortress where death itself patrolled the halls.
The neighbors reported hearing clashes of steel, muffled screams, and the heavy thud of bodies hitting the ground throughout the night... only for mornings to reveal fresh corpses lying neatly in piles near the gate, as if Riley had stacked them himself for easy collection.
The city guard refused to patrol anywhere near the mansion.
Even passing by during daytime made men swallow nervously and avert their eyes.
.
..
...
When the week of blood finally ended, the entire city collectively settled on a new title—one that spread like wildfire through taverns, noble halls, and even among visiting merchants.
The Handsome Butcher.
A name both beautiful and terrifying.
Riley had a face that could make women blush and men envious...
and hands that could carve through a hundred enemies without hesitation.
People said he smiled too easily.
That his calmness was unnatural.
That he looked too unbothered standing atop a mountain of corpses.
Even the toughest, most cold-hearted men—those with broken knuckles, scarred faces, and years of killing behind them—found their spines trembling when Riley walked by.
Some whispered:
"He’s not human..."
Others said:
"The gangs weren’t destroyed. They were butchered."
And every faction—rich or poor, legal or criminal—finally understood what kind of monster they had provoked.
A handsome monster.
A smiling reaper.
Riley.
The Handsome Butcher.
