Chapter 80: Anxiety Suppressant? Give Me Ten Vials!

When the members of the Wildfire Squad received the call for help, not a single one hesitated; all of them left the Grand Junyue Hotel at once.

Fortunately, the Grand Junyue Hotel was under the little assistant’s jurisdiction. Su Xiaoyu, the assistant, immediately arranged for the hotel’s luxury car to escort the members of the Wildfire Squad to their destination.

Rain poured relentlessly from the black expanse of night, drumming furiously against the car windows with a sharp, incessant patter. The windshield wipers swung back and forth, clearing streaks of water in their wake.

“Jinling City First Hospital...”

Inside the luxury car, there was utter silence. On the leather seats, Zhang Changlin was reading a message on his phone. Time was short, and the Dreamwalker Association had only managed to send a brief analysis.

“This dream disaster occurred at Jinling City First Hospital. Preliminary estimates suggest it was man-made—someone has released a forbidden object, triggering a large-scale dream catastrophe.”

“Based on the fluctuation of dream energy, the Association assesses the disaster as no less than Grade Seven on the Eerie Scale, and it is expected to result in significant casualties.”

Zhang Changlin finished reading and cursed under his breath.

“What the hell! A man-made dream disaster—what kind of bastard would do this!”

Fury blazed in Zhang Changlin’s eyes. As dreamwalkers, they risked life and limb to conquer naturally occurring dream crises, saving people and traversing realms without complaint or rest. Yet now, someone was deliberately unleashing forbidden objects, manufacturing disasters for their own ends. Such people were utterly loathsome.

Yet Zhang Changlin felt helpless. The world held both light and darkness, people both good and evil. He could not expect the world to be filled only with truth, goodness, and beauty.

“Captain, there’s a dreamwalker at Jinling City First Hospital, but I’m afraid they won’t be able to handle it alone,” Chen Xi observed, analyzing the information at hand.

Inside the car, Du Fang sat quietly, turning to look at Luo Luo beside him. At that moment, Luo Luo lifted her head; her eyes shone with excitement, a smile curling at her lips. The sense of lost kinship no longer seemed to weigh her down—on the contrary, it rose and was restored.

In an instant, Du Fang understood. The thing that mimicked Luo Luo’s smile was right there, in Jinling City First Hospital. Thus, he was no longer anxious and decided to wait until they arrived.

“Captain, according to the reports, this was a premeditated incident. At Jinling City First Hospital, the Opera House, and the large shopping mall—three major gathering places—man-made dream disasters have erupted!”

“Besides Silver Wolf, the other two elite squads in Jinling City have already headed to the Opera House and the shopping mall to deal with the crises,” Chen Xi explained.

Zhang Changlin held an unlit cigarette in his mouth, not raising his head as he asked blandly, “What about Silver Wolf?”

“Why aren’t they mobilizing?”

Chen Xi glanced at Zhang Changlin and replied, “Silver Wolf’s captain Sun Yaohai, and their members Lan Xiang and Sun Zhe... are trapped inside the hospital.”

“We’re going to support them.”

As the words fell, a hush descended upon the car.

Zhang Changlin slowly raised his head, a flicker of surprise passing through his eyes.

...

...

Jinling City, in a corner café.

Qinglong sat poised in his chair. Across from him was an elegant old man in a black tailcoat and top hat, leaning on an umbrella, with his chauffeur, Old Chang, standing nearby.

Through the café windows, one could see the raindrops falling ceaselessly outside. The whirring of helicopter blades sliced through the quiet of the rainy night, their searchlights sweeping the streets. Military trucks rumbled swiftly down the road, bristling with various armaments.

“Heh, looks like the Dreamwalker Association of Jinling City and the military have both begun to act.”

“We should move quickly as well,” Qinglong remarked, crossing his legs and lifting half his mask to sip his coffee with leisure.

The old man regarded him with a cool gaze. “Where are the people from the Netherworld Organization?”

“Be patient, Dragon King. They’ll be here soon,” Qinglong replied with a smile.

As he spoke, the café door opened. A rush of cold air and rain swept in from outside. Two figures in dripping raincoats, their forms oddly misshapen, slowly made their way in. With each step, it seemed as if darkness spread beneath their feet, distorting the space and turning the once-cozy café icy cold.

The waitstaff grew fearful, not daring to approach; the aura these two emanated was simply too overwhelming.

Qinglong stood up, grinning broadly. “Dragon King, allow me to introduce: these are two of the Netherworld Organization’s powerhouses—Ox-Head and Horse-Face.”

With those words, the raincoats’ hoods came down, revealing two faces: each wore a silicone mask, one shaped like a horse’s head, the other an ox’s. Their eyes, deep-set and pitch-black, stared out from beneath the masks.

Netherworld. Ox-Head and Horse-Face.

The elegant old man’s eyes narrowed sharply.

“What a grand gesture. The Netherworld Organization has actually dispatched two city-destroying level specter-catchers—truly beyond my expectations.”

Even within the Netherworld Organization, Ox-Head and Horse-Face were not to be underestimated—they both possessed the power to lay waste to a city. A city-destroying specter-catcher was on par with a city-level dreamwalker.

“Heavenly Demon, Dragon King?” Ox-Head and Horse-Face recognized the old man, a hint of surprise in their voices.

Qinglong smiled, “Our target, Du Fang, killed the Netherworld Organization’s Nightmare Demon. Of course, you two are just here to avenge your fallen comrade; your target and ours don’t conflict.”

“With a Dragon King joining us, our plan should be foolproof,” Horse-Face added, laughter in his voice.

“Our objective isn’t Du Fang, but Su Jiuming, the dreamwalker from the Wildfire Squad,” Horse-Face continued.

The old man raised his brows. Qinglong, too, was momentarily stunned but said nothing. Su Jiuming? He had never heard of the name—a nobody, easily dealt with by the Netherworld’s elite.

“Very well, but we must complete my plan first,” Qinglong said.

Ox-Head and Horse-Face did not object; after all, they had accepted payment and were obliged to contribute.

Suddenly, Qinglong pressed his earpiece, his eyes flashing.

“Gentlemen, it’s time to move. Our target, Du Fang, has left the Grand Junyue Hotel and is heading for the hospital.”

“Du Fang and Su Jiuming are both dreamwalkers—they are bound to intervene in the dream disaster... I’ve used Sequence Forbidden Object 091 to set up three dream catastrophes at three populous locations. This not only scatters the Association’s forces, but also lures our targets to act.”

“Once we confirm their positions, the three of us—each with city-destroying power—can easily crush and capture them.”

“Let’s go,” Qinglong declared, rising to his feet and heading out of the café.

Plague Rat, Wild Bull, and Blood Rabbit—three members of the Divine Core Organization—were responsible for setting the plan and triggering the dream catastrophes. Qinglong himself, alongside the Heavenly Demon Dragon King and the Netherworld’s Ox-Head and Horse-Face, would strike once their targets were located.

With such a lineup, their quarry would have no possible escape.

The elegant old man donned his top hat, leaned on his umbrella, and strode gracefully along, his one-eyed chauffeur Old Chang silently following. The café staff scarcely dared to breathe as they passed.

At the door, the old man paused, glanced at the staff, removed his hat, and offered a courteous bow. He produced a crisp, red banknote from his pocket and placed it on the counter. The Dragon King, ever refined, never took without paying.

With a gentle smile, he and Old Chang stepped out into the rain.

At the threshold, before the floor-to-ceiling windows, the rain continued to fall, streaming from the eaves like a beaded curtain.

Qinglong opened his umbrella and walked over to a silver sedan, opened the trunk, and placed a silver case on the back. Entering a code, he popped the case open with a click.

Inside were rows of bright green syringes, each as thick as a thumb.

“These are agents capable of suppressing the terror induced by the Fallen Gods. The truly frightening thing about the Fallen Gods is their silent ability to evoke deep-seated fear. But once that fear is dulled, their power is far less formidable.”

“This is an ‘anti-fear agent’ developed by our Divine Core Organization, specifically designed against the Fallen Gods. It’s quite valuable, but for the sake of our mission, we’re providing it free of charge to you gentlemen.”

“Two shots per person,” Qinglong said with a smile, distributing the syringes.

From within their silicone masks, Ox-Head and Horse-Face exhaled a plume of hot air. “We don’t need it.”

“The Fallen Gods may be terrifying, but we ourselves are born of nightmare and terror. We are the creators of fear. With the will of the Lord of the Underworld upon us, we can easily withstand their influence.”

Ox-Head’s voice was muffled, full of disdain for the so-called anti-fear agent.

Only the weak needed to suppress their fears. True strength was the very source of terror.

Qinglong arched an eyebrow, half-smiling.

“Are you sure, gentlemen? The power of the Fallen Gods to incite fear is not to be underestimated.”

“Better take one, just in case,” Horse-Face interjected.

Qinglong chuckled, handing them each a syringe.

Then he turned to the elegant old man. “And you, sir? Will you take one as well?”

The old man opened his black umbrella, shielding himself from the relentless rain. He looked at Qinglong, his face adorned with a gentle, cultured smile.

“Just two? Who do you take me for?”

“Give me... ten.”

The ever-silent Old Chang behind him finally spoke up, his voice gruff: “Make that the same for me.”

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