Chapter Seventeen: Reinforcements

A sudden hiss sliced through the air, a ripple of compressed force appearing and vanishing in an instant. The grotesque head of a weasel-wolf, with needle-thin pupils and bulging eyes, fell cleanly from its shoulders.

Click, click, click...

The sharp staccato of high heels echoed incongruously through the dank, shadowy confines of the sewer. From the darkness emerged a striking woman in a form-fitting skirt, her one-inch heels splashing through the filthy water without hesitation. She strode directly to the severed head of the weasel-wolf and ground it beneath her shoe with a vicious stomp.

“Do you have any idea how much these shoes cost me? It’d take three of your heads to pay for a pair, you miserable mutt!”

She kicked the head away in irritation, then turned to look back along the tunnel. Straight-backed, her hips and waist traced a perfect, peach-like curve, radiating the magnetic allure unique to a mature woman.

From the passage behind, a dim yellow glow grew steadily brighter—as if heralding the rising sun—and the elongated shadows of four figures came into view.

At their head was a well-proportioned figure, hair tied in a short ponytail at the back, with two long strands framing the face. On most men, this style would seem effeminate, yet on this person—whose strikingly beautiful features bordered on the androgynous—it was nothing short of captivating.

“Chansi, are all the weasel-wolves in the area cleared out?” The beautiful woman, Chansi, dared not meet that person’s eyes. Whatever resentment she’d borne for being sent to do the dirty work vanished at the sound of that voice. She bowed her head respectfully. “Assistant Jian, all cleared.”

The “Assistant Jian” she mentioned was none other than Jian Dan himself. Many had been surprised when, upon receiving a request for support from Lynx, Jian had personally descended into the sewers.

Three men accompanied him. One was obviously a dwarf, standing barely four foot seven, with yellowish skin and a stern face. Another was a hulking brute, even larger than Ma Mingming: his face was a web of scars and thick, corded flesh, his eyes radiating a bloody ferocity that could silence a crying child. The last was taciturn, his features sharply chiseled, exuding masculine vigor.

Together with the striking, voluptuous Chansi, there were four half-demons and the one ordinary human, Jian Dan.

Their numbers were few, yet Chansi and the others each led a team in Operation Bloodstain: the scarred brute was captain of Team Two, the quiet man led Team One, and the dwarf had not participated in Bloodstain but was ranked among the top hundred on the merit leaderboard. None of the others had low rankings either; otherwise, they would never have been chosen as team captains.

Jian turned to the dwarf. “Yan Sun, how far are we from Passerby C and the others?”

Li Fus may have been bold with Jian, but for half-demons like Chansi and Yan Sun—who answered only to the highest authority in Kyoto—disrespect was unthinkable. Apart from the powers granted by the Boundary Monument, Jian Dan’s nearly demonic cunning was enough to cow even the most unruly half-demons.

All external agents of the Boundary Monument—meaning most half-demons—had heard a chilling assessment: “Even monsters sometimes show compassion. Jian Dan never does.”

Yan Sun bowed. “When Chansi was clearing out this sector, I detected a brief but intense battle from Team Eighteen. The demonic energy was chaotic, but they seem to have split up. Just now, another surge erupted from their original position. I believe its source is Team Eighteen’s captain, Passerby C.”

Yan Sun’s talent was unusual. According to the Boundary Monument’s classification, the “talent tree” of half-demons was deep-rooted and vast. If the roots were the history of half-demons, they stretched back to ancient times, through fragmented, lost legacies.

In the present era, perhaps one in a thousand bore demon’s blood—a vast trunk supporting four great branches: corporeal, attribute, elemental, and law talents.

The elemental branch itself split into six: earth, fire, water, wind, void, and mind—each with categories like offense, defense, perception, and support. The other branches were similarly subdivided.

Crucially, the six elements were not to be taken literally. “Earth”—for example—represented solidity; any power manifesting in solid form belonged to earth; transformative powers to fire; liquids to water; gases to wind; nothingness to void; and mental states to mind. The boundaries of this talent tree were still far from fully explored.

Yan Sun’s talent was fire-element perception: Demon Energy Sense. Unlike Ma Qiqi’s Aura Sense, which could track individuals, Demon Energy Sense excelled at hunting monsters, functioning like a radar across wide areas. Half his leaderboard rank was owed to this ability, not to his offensive fire talent.

Jian nodded, signaling the scarred brute—Team Two’s captain—to take the lead.

The brute stepped forward, bearing on his back a massive lighting rig that towered two heads above him, nearly scraping the tunnel’s ceiling. Its top was capped with a hemispherical glass dome, beneath which was a rectangular iron box—a giant flashlight in all but name. The halo of light Chansi had seen earlier came from this device. Jian had him lead simply because he was carrying this thirty-kilogram behemoth.

After about ten minutes, Jian’s team reached the reservoir where Li Fus was stationed. At the edge of their vision, a pale white mist was slowly thinning and dispersing.

Just as Passerby C’s codename suggested, few knew Jian and Li Fus had once been partners. Jian recognized the mist immediately: Li Fus’s second talent, “Marshland,” confirming a long-standing rumor—Passerby C, ranked second on the merit board, indeed possessed more than one talent.

Jian frowned. To have used “Marshland” before even finding the weasel-wolf king suggested Li Fus had run into serious trouble. He snapped, “Chansi, disperse the mist. Quietly.”

Chansi, caught mid-stolen glance at Jian’s profile—so beautiful it made her heart ache—blushed and fumbled, “Ah! Yes, right away.”

“Aerokinesis: Resonance.”

Chansi’s wind-element talent, classified as offensive, could vibrate the air itself—a potent ability, and dispersing the thinning mist was child’s play. An invisible ripple swept through the fog, its passage visible only because of the mist, which trembled like water under its touch, slowly dissipating.

Wary of hidden dangers, Jian halted Chansi when only half the reservoir was exposed and stepped forward himself.

The instant they entered, everyone sensed something was amiss. The ground felt like a waterbed—soft and yielding, spiderweb cracks forming under each step, as if threatening to swallow them whole. Yet, seeing Jian stride forward without hesitation, they followed, and Chansi continued clearing the mist.

This time, a quarter of the area was revealed—and what they saw stunned all five.

Scattered across the ground were the mangled remains of monsters, half-buried: a weasel-wolf’s snarling maw, a limb here, a bloody torso there, with viscera strewn about—congealed blood, the stench of death and gore filling the air as the last of the mist vanished.

Jian wiped his nose, scanning the carnage. Six dead, all Grade Ten.

“Keep clearing,” he ordered.

Experienced field agents would quickly reach the same conclusion: while each of these six Grade Ten weasel-wolves was manageable alone, facing them all at once—just short of a Grade Hundred threat—was perilous. The four half-demon captains glanced at Jian, silently demanding an explanation.

Jian, no nurturing teacher, ignored them and signaled Chansi to continue.

But before she could move, the sound of boots echoed through the mist. Out strode Li Fus, face frosted and grim.

Jian stepped forward, but Li Fus cut him off with a hoarse demand: “These are your reinforcements? How strong are they?”

Jian read the danger in his tone and the absence of Team Eighteen. “They’re the best captains in Operation Bloodstain. Each can handle two or three Grade Ten monsters alone.”

Li Fus nodded, sizing them up.

The scarred brute slammed down his lighting rig, clapped his hands, and sneered at Li Fus, “So you’re supposed to be Passerby C, second on the merit board? Just a pretty boy. Are all half-demons ranked by looks now? Or are there just no men left, that they let a sight like you stay at the top?”

Chansi rolled her eyes. In one breath, the brute had insulted Li Fus, Jian, and herself.

The merit board did allow for “challenge matches”—defeat a higher rank and claim all their points—so such provocations weren’t unheard of. But Li Fus was notoriously elusive; no public challenge had ever succeeded.

The brute drew a massive broadsword, three inches wide, that had been strapped to the lighting rig. He slung it over his shoulder, grinning savagely at Li Fus.

Chansi glanced at Jian, who remained impassive—a sure sign he was angry.

She hissed urgently at the brute, “Bai Qi! Are you insane? Now’s not the time to start trouble!”

Bai Qi pretended not to hear, but his grin faded as he squared off against Li Fus. For all his bravado, even he dared not underestimate a man who’d held second place for five years. The rules forbade killing in challenge matches, but crippling injuries were another matter.

Bai Qi was a meteoric newcomer, his power and aggression equally formidable. He was eager to test himself against Passerby C, seeing both the red alert and Li Fus himself as rare opportunities. If he played his cards right, it could be his ticket to the top.

Unfortunately for him, Li Fus was in no mood.

A suffocating, murderous aura filled the air.

In a blink, Li Fus vanished. From the thinning mist flew an enormous weapon—a great blade, its edge interrupted by a gap down the center, with two asymmetrical cutting edges and a double-wide hilt. Only Li Fus’s long fingers could wield such a thing.

The weapon was a fusion of the Tang-style saber Autumn Water and the short blade called Fang, joined at the hilt—a mechanism designed specifically to cleave the weasel-wolf king’s regenerating armor.

Li Fus reappeared before Bai Qi, catching the blade mid-flight and swinging in one seamless motion.

Clang! Bai Qi was hurled across the reservoir, slamming into the far wall. Before he could recover, Li Fus seized him by the throat, lifting him bodily. Bai Qi’s face turned purple with lack of air.

He realized, horrified, that Li Fus’s attack had deliberately struck his weapon, not him. If Li Fus had meant to kill, he would already be dead.

Li Fus gestured; the massive blade split apart into Autumn Water and Fang. Without a word, he sliced a bloody strip from Bai Qi’s thigh.

Panic seized Bai Qi—crippling was not forbidden.

Speechless, he clung to Li Fus’s wrist, body thrashing like a landed fish, eyes pleading with Chansi.

Li Fus raised the blade for a second cut.

Chansi glanced helplessly at Yan Sun and the other captain, then at Jian and Li Fus, unable to say anything coherent except, “Wait! Wait!”

Jian shot her a look but neither rebuked her nor intervened.

Li Fus ignored her completely. A second strip of flesh fell from Bai Qi’s thigh, blood soaking his leg.

Bai Qi was truly frightened now. Li Fus’s dead, inhuman gaze chilled him to the core; even monsters had more warmth in their eyes.

At last, Li Fus spoke: “This is the price you pay. Not for your futile challenge, but because your pointless bluster has put my team in greater danger. Your next task is to rescue them. If any of the three are harmed, you’ll end up like that weasel-wolf.”

With a wave, Li Fus dispersed the last of the mist, revealing the armored weasel-wolf—its head split cleanly in two, the entire body bisected and buried beneath the ground.

Jian finally asked, “What happened?”

Li Fus dropped Bai Qi and replied, “Ma Mingming and the other two split into two decoy teams to avoid dragging me down, luring three entry-level Grade Ten and two mid-tier Grade Ten weasel-wolves into the tunnels. Their fates are unknown.”

Jian was silent for a moment. “You realize our mission is to kill the weasel-wolf king. There will be more reinforcements, but not in time. Your order to assemble Team Eighteen underground was a mistake. By now, the weasel-wolf king may have fled—”

Li Fus cut him off. “I’ll hunt down the king. But my team must be saved.”

Jian said no more. He signaled to Yan Sun, “You and Bai Qi go—bring them back. You’ll share the credit with us. But if anyone dies, don’t show your face to me again. Understood?”

Yan Sun glanced at Bai Qi, who was barely holding himself together, and nodded soberly.