Chapter Ten: The Underground Sewers

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Li Fusi moved stealthily between the rooftops and the shadows of alleyways, his figure melting again and again into the darkness. He did this to avoid being seen by ordinary people as much as possible; he had no desire to wake up tomorrow and find headlines on social media screaming, “Martial Master Returns to the World,” “Eastern Superhero: The Rooftop Man,” or “Gifted but Lurking in the Night—A Question of Morals or a Sign of This Generation’s Decline.”

As a field operative of Li Fusi’s caliber, the details of a rare and extraordinary creature like the weasel-wolf were etched in his mind. Back in Chen Kexin’s rented flat, the rarity of the creature had thrown him off, but its special nature made sense: whenever such monsters appeared—no matter how faint the sign—the Boundary Marker would exhaust all resources to stamp them out.

After hanging up on Lynx, Li Fusi thought to call Xuanzi and let her know he’d be late, but as soon as he pulled out his phone, he remembered she was still recuperating at the old family residence.

With a sigh, he put the phone away, refocusing his mind on the weasel-wolf cub being driven by Little Wicked Serpent.

The cub was already exhausted—its speed had dropped, and it staggered, often falling or tumbling when it tried to turn sharply. Little Wicked Serpent still had energy to spare but had long since grown impatient, darting up now and then to mock the cub—nudging it from the side or butting it from behind.

Yet without Li Fusi’s command, Little Wicked Serpent dared not truly bite down. Only when Li Fusi called out from a distance, “Agitate it, force it to call for help, but don’t swallow it yet—I’ll let you eat your fill soon,” did Little Wicked Serpent’s eyes gleam. It flicked its tongue, coiled low, and shot out like lightning, knocking the cub over with a strike of its head.

This time, before the cub could struggle up, Little Wicked Serpent was upon it again, sinking its jaws into the cub’s hind leg, whipping it about, and tossing it aside.

Such slow torment quickly left the cub covered in wounds, its black fur stained red with its own blood. But Little Wicked Serpent wounded without killing.

The cub was still not yet sentient. After several brushes with death in the serpent’s jaws, its nerves finally shattered. It no longer tried to shake its pursuers by darting about; instead, it began to flee in a straight line, crossing ditches, burrowing under walls, desperate and single-minded.

Where does a mouse go when in danger? To its nest, of course.

Seeing this, Li Fusi picked up his pace, shadowing them closely to ensure nothing went awry.

At last, in an old residential district, the weasel-wolf cub made a final leap and tumble, unable to rise again. It crawled forward a few more meters, pawing feebly at a sewer grate before collapsing and dying.

Li Fusi hurried over and saw a long, deep gash in the cub’s belly, with a length of intestine already spilling out. No wonder it had died.

He glanced at Little Wicked Serpent darkly.

Little Wicked Serpent coiled its body, lowering its head in fear under Li Fusi’s gaze.

Li Fusi paid the creature no mind—the wound had likely been made by a sharp object by chance; Little Wicked Serpent was not to blame. And judging by the cub’s dying actions, Li Fusi was nearly certain he knew where their lair was.

He examined the corpse—the blood-red pupils were now lifeless, the mouth filled with jagged fangs like rows of crooked nails, foul drool dripping from its slack tongue. The black fur was slick and matted, reeking of filth—truly a creature accustomed to rolling in the sewers.

Li Fusi kicked the corpse into a corner, sent a Beidou location pin to Lynx and the others, and left a message: “The underground sewers are likely the weasel-wolves’ den. I’ll go down to investigate first—follow when you arrive, and notify Headquarters of this development.”

After checking the time—dawn was near, though there would be no sunlight underground—Li Fusi reached out and, with a bang, flipped the manhole cover aside. In the same motion, he tucked himself small and dropped into the sewer below.

About twenty minutes later, four black off-road vehicles screeched to a halt near the sewer entrance. Lynx, accompanied by Boundary staff number Forty-Seven and a woman in black, was the first to get out. Almost simultaneously, Ma Mingming, Ma Qiqi, Niu Shan, and the four drivers—all sturdy men in black, also Boundary employees—joined her.

Lynx first located the corpse of the weasel-wolf cub, cross-referenced it with monster profiles, and sent photos back to Headquarters. Then, her expression grave, she eyed the sewer entrance and ordered, “There are gear packs in the trunks—arm yourselves. We go down in five minutes to rendezvous with the Operative.”

She turned to Forty-Seven, who was about to leave, and added, “There’s some explosives in our trunk—you carry them.”

She paused, patting Forty-Seven’s shoulder with meaning. “You’re new at the Boundary. That stuff will come in handy for you.”

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Forty-Seven did not understand, but Lynx said no more.

Five minutes later, Lynx led the way, followed by Ma Mingming and Ma Qiqi, with Forty-Seven and the four drivers in the middle, and Niu Shan and the woman in black bringing up the rear. Together, they climbed down into the sewer.

The city’s underground water channels were narrow at their entrances. The bigger members of the group, like Niu Shan and Ma Mingming, had to squeeze through, scraping along the tunnel walls. If danger struck now, they would struggle to use even half their strength.

Beneath Kyoto, the sewer system was vast and labyrinthine. Once past the initial narrow stretch, it opened into another world. They were seven or eight meters underground; apart from reservoir chambers the size of small plazas, even the narrowest side passages were a meter wide and nearly two meters high, mostly semicircular in shape. The tunnels were fairly clean—some standing water, little trash—but the air was a foul, confusing mix of odors. The group pressed on with strong flashlights, wading quickly through the water, frowning at the stench.

Among them, Lynx was calm and composed. Niu Shan, while he often waved a hand to drive off the foul air with a look of disgust, moved with undiminished confidence.

The woman in black did her best to avoid touching anything filthy, her expression vigilant, alert to every sound behind them.

Forty-Seven, the new recruit, was tense and overly cautious in his movements. He’d seen monsters before, but only as corpses—this was his first real hunt. Even the four “drivers” seemed more at ease.

The Ma siblings were also on their first field mission. Ma Mingming, proud and conscious of his half-demon family’s reputation, suppressed his disgust, arms folded as he followed Lynx, scanning his surroundings with a haughty glare.

Ma Qiqi, a pampered young lady of her clan, could not stand the sticky mud and stench no matter how tough her nature. She picked her steps carefully, weaving about in the formation.

After about ten minutes, the tunnel widened enough for even Niu Shan to move freely. Lynx checked her watch and turned, asking, “Ma Qiqi, use your ability to see if you can sense any weasel-wolf nearby.”

Given space by her teammates, Ma Qiqi steadied herself, wiped her nose, exhaled, and drew her hands upward from her abdomen. “Scent Perception: Pathfinding!” she called.

Demon blood stirring, Ma Qiqi concentrated, searching for any trace of the weasel-wolf cub’s kin.

After a moment, she shook her head, disappointed.

Lynx was not surprised. The tunnels here, though crisscrossed, were straight and empty—not good for hiding or nesting. The real danger would come at the reservoir “underground plazas.”

“Stay alert. We’re moving too slowly,” Lynx warned. “From here, we run. There are too many branches—don’t get separated!”

With that, she led the way at a run. Ma Mingming clapped his sister’s shoulder in encouragement, then followed.

The Boundary sent maps of the Kyoto sewers to every member of Team Eighteen. Their priority was to reach Li Fusi at the Beidou location.

Soon, they reached the first “underground plaza,” a reservoir the size of a basketball court, ringed with stone columns. Here, the ceiling allowed Niu Shan to stand at full height. Apart from a few puddles, it was mostly dry ground. Most importantly, they found fresh droppings and scratch marks on the pillars—while not proof positive of weasel-wolf activity, it confirmed that something much larger than a rat was active in the tunnels.

Ma Qiqi used her sense again to check for danger; once certain it was safe, Lynx called for a brief rest.

Comparing the electronic map with Li Fusi’s coordinates, Lynx saw they were only a kilometer apart in a straight line—but with the maze of tunnels, the real distance was at least doubled.

The endless dead ends made route-choosing a headache, but time was pressing. This reservoir lay directly beneath the sector where “Operation Bloodstain” had deployed most heavily aboveground. The droppings and scratch marks heightened Lynx’s anxiety.

Except for the woman in black, almost everyone in Team Eighteen was on their first monster hunt—and for a rare, Class Hundred-Kill weasel-wolf at that. No matter how grave Lynx made it sound, only by living through it would these young operatives truly understand. Otherwise, her warnings would only weigh them down.

In this situation, Lynx was unsure of the three half-demons’ strength. The only real hope was to reach Li Fusi, second on the merit list, as quickly as possible if they were to survive this “Red Alert” mission.

Three minutes later, Lynx gritted her teeth and said, “Faster. Move out!”

Everyone sensed her urgency, but no one questioned it. In action, trusting the commander gave them a better chance of survival than wasting time debating.

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The ten-person team broke into a run through the tunnels, with Lynx repeatedly ordering Ma Qiqi to use her sense for early warning.

It was the first time Ma Qiqi had used her talent so restlessly and frequently, but under pressure, she met Lynx’s demands. She had just finished one scan, mentally relaxing, when danger—hidden all along—erupted.

They were at an intersection where three vertical tunnels met a horizontal one. Coming out of the center vertical channel, six branches opened before them. Lynx’s instincts screamed danger, sending a chill down her spine; she immediately signaled the group to halt.

She meant to ask Ma Qiqi, but as she turned, a chorus of scuttling rose up—close, too close.

Impossible, Lynx thought. Ma Qiqi had been using her senses—how had she missed such a massive disturbance?

The sounds were upon them. Without time to think, shadows surged from the left, right, and ahead.

The only blessing was that the group had bunched together, forming an irregular defensive ring. At the very front was Niu Shan, whose bulk shielded them from the brunt of the attack.

“Moo!”

At that critical moment, Niu Shan revealed a side utterly at odds with his usual gentle nature. Roaring from instinct, his voice thundered through the narrow tunnel, focused forward by the shape of the passage. The shadows screamed and recoiled.

It was not a supernatural gift—his skill had not reached that level—but thanks to the tunnel’s acoustics, the effect was amplified, and the team was spared any harm.

Meanwhile, Ma Mingming, proud and sharp, had the quickest reactions. As soon as he saw the shadows, he drew two black military daggers from his back, their star-shaped tips blossoming like flowers before him as he struck down several creatures with precise, ruthless speed.

Most surprising was the woman in black. Silent since their assembly, she was only a beat behind Ma Mingming—her body weaving, twin daggers whirling into a wind, forming the first line of defense on the right.

But she was no half-demon—her body lacked demon blood and innate gifts. The swarm was too great; she was forced to let some through for those behind to handle.

Ma Qiqi and the four “drivers” were surrounded in the middle. Even if she wanted to help, she risked breaking the fragile formation. The few creatures that slipped through were already enough to keep them busy.

The shadows ranged from the size of a washbasin to nearly a meter long. In the dark, their forms were indistinct—only glistening black fur and blood-red eyes caught the light. Whenever they opened their mouths to bite, a maw of jagged, nail-like fangs was exposed.

Chaos reigned in the darkness, and the team’s flashlights seemed feeble. In such close quarters, there was no chance to use the Boundary’s firearms—just shouts, the clash of weapons, and soon, screams of pain and death.

One shadow slipped behind Ma Qiqi; she only sensed the rush of air. Instinctively, she swung her flashlight back—the beam catching an ugly, rodent face.

It was identical to the corpse Li Fusi had left by the manhole, and about the same size. The sudden light blinded it, and with a shriek, it darted away.

Ma Qiqi’s crisis passed for the moment. She swept her flashlight around. At the edge of their ring—where Niu Shan, Ma Mingming, and the woman in black held the line—nearly a hundred weasel-wolves crowded the four-way intersection, a suffocating mass.

In that instant, Ma Qiqi suddenly understood why these creatures, not so formidable to half-demons and armed only with speed and fangs, were ranked as Class Hundred-Kill monsters—and why all of Kyoto had gone to Red Alert.

All this had happened in barely two minutes, and already the first line of defense was faltering. If they didn’t act soon, the weasel-wolves would break through and slaughter them one by one.

At that moment, crawling sounds rose behind them as well. Ma Qiqi turned, and her face turned to despair.

The tunnel they’d entered—more than ten meters long—was now filled with a solid mass of black weasel-wolves, about to surge over them like a tidal wave.