Chapter 7
1434 Words
The sound of water.
Boots sank into the muck; the liquid splashing up against their trouser legs felt icy cold.
Old K's silhouette bobbed ahead of them, his flashlight beam unable to cut through the impenetrable darkness.
Su Hongxiu walked in the middle, keeping her breathing shallow and doing her utmost to make no sound.
Qin Lie brought up the rear.
The short sword in his hand pressed against his thigh; the ridges on its hilt dug into his palm, offering a tangible, grounding sensation.
The tunnel was narrow, with water seeping from the walls on both sides. The scent of rust, mingled with the stench of decay, assailed their nostrils.
No one spoke.
Their footsteps echoed through the pipe, though the sound of the water drowned out most of the noise.
After twenty minutes of walking, an iron ladder appeared ahead.
Old K halted and raised a hand.
The three of them pressed themselves against the wall.
From above came the hum of motors—the sound of passing traffic.
Old K pushed aside the manhole cover; streetlamp light spilled down through the gap, illuminating dust motes dancing within the beam.
"Once we're out, we'll be on the rear side of the building," Old K said, his voice hoarse. "The security office is five hundred meters past the back entrance."
Qin Lie nodded.
He climbed up first.
The wind up here was colder than below, whipping at the hems of his clothes.
Su Hongxiu grabbed the cuff of Qin Lie's sleeve, her fingers icy cold. "The surveillance cameras will catch you."
"It's my shift tonight," Qin Lie replied. "If I *don't* show up, that's exactly what will make them suspicious."
Old K handed him an earpiece; the hard plastic casing still retained the warmth of his body heat. "Stay in contact. The matter regarding the Sword Forger can wait; let's shake off our tail first."
Qin Lie offered no verbal response; instead, he tucked his short sword inside his uniform, pressing it flat against his ribs.
Adjusting his collar, he stepped forward.
The door to the security office stood directly before him.
Blue light glowed through the glass window, revealing the vague outlines of the room's interior.
He pushed the door open.
Inside, his colleague was dozing off, his head bobbing rhythmically—his chin nearly touching his chest.
Qin Lie sat down; the chair let out a faint creak.
His colleague started awake, rubbing his eyes as he glanced at the clock.
"Is it your turn?"
"Mm-hmm."
The colleague stood up, yawning as he headed out, then pulled the door shut behind him.
The door closed, and the latch clicked into place. Only the glow of the screens remained in the room, casting an eerie light upon his face.
Twelve monitors divided the city into distinct segments.
Qin Lie rested his fingers on the keyboard, yet his fingertips remained motionless.
First, he listened.
Through his headphones came the sound of Old K's breathing—steady and even.
"The Silver Cross Society has increased its vehicle presence," Old K said. "Since the activation of the 'Sky Net' protocol, they've been hunting for heat signatures."
Qin Lie switched channels.
Public transit surveillance.
Several black SUVs flashed across the screens. Their license plates were obscured, but the vehicle models were identical—high-chassis, armored units.
They were circling the area.
Their route was fixed.
Qin Lie initiated a playback sequence.
Over the past two hours, the same vehicle had passed the same intersection four times.
They weren't merely on patrol.
They were lying in ambush.
The target zone pointed toward the abandoned industrial park to the west.
The terrain there was complex—ideal for setting an ambush, and equally ideal for concealment.
Qin Lie zoomed in on the footage; the image became heavily pixelated.
A vehicle came to a halt in front of a derelict, unfinished building. Several figures disembarked; though clad in plainclothes, the telltale bulges at their waists could not escape the camera's lens.
Holsters.
Demon Hunters.
"Found them," Qin Lie said.
"How many?"
"Five. Heavily armed."
Old K chuckled from the other end of the line, the sound laced with static. "Plenty for you to cut your teeth on."
"Where's Su Hongxiu?"
"She's on standby in an ambulance. Just in case you lose control—she's the one who has to pull you back."
Qin Lie shut down the monitors.
He rose to his feet.
A colleague happened to return just then to deliver late-night snacks; as he held up a plastic bag, the scent of soy milk drifted into the room.
"Where are you off to?"
"Making my rounds."
"At this hour? Why don't you take a break?"
Qin Lie didn't slow his pace; he simply pushed open the door and stepped out.
A blast of cold wind rushed down his collar.
He pulled his uniform tight and vanished into the shadows.
The industrial park lay three kilometers away.
Walking would be too slow.
Qin Lie skirted the main thoroughfare and slipped into the narrow alleyways.
His body was burning up.
Whatever coursed through his veins was slamming against his ribs—a rhythmic, violent pounding, as if something were trying to burst free from his chest.
His three-day intensive training had only just concluded; that raw power had yet to be fully tamed.
He mentally ran through the breathing technique Old K had taught him. His breathing slowed.
His heart rate dropped.
His fingernails extended and then retracted—piercing through his gloves, only to withdraw back beneath the skin.
Ahead lay the abandoned building.
Its concrete framework loomed like a colossal skeleton, jutting into the night sky.
Qin Lie halted, his feet landing on scattered rubble without making a sound.
Five figures were positioned across the second and third floors.
They held instruments in their hands, their screens glowing with a faint green light.
They were tracking a signal.
Qin Lie reached down and touched the short sword at his waist.
The blade felt faintly warm.
The tracking talisman was still active.
The Silver Cross could use the sword to pinpoint his location—but he could turn that very fact to his own advantage.
He unclipped his ID badge and stuffed it into his pocket.
He shed his outer jacket, leaving himself clad only in a tight-fitting black bodysuit.
He flipped his body and scaled the wall.
His movements were utterly silent.
Claws extended, digging deep into the crevices of the concrete.
He climbed up to a second-floor window.
Inside, two men were smoking; the scent of tobacco mingled with the smell of dust.
"This place gives me the creeps," one of them muttered, his voice sounding lazy and drawling. "The signal cuts out right here."
"The Archbishop said the target is definitely somewhere in this vicinity."
"Guess we just wait it out, then. He's not going anywhere. That wolf-cub won't escape the Sky Net."
The glowing tip of a cigarette brightened, then dimmed.
Qin Lie hung suspended outside the window, his fingers gripping the sill.
He counted down three seconds.
Then, he smashed through the glass.
Shards of glass exploded outward, raining down like shrapnel.
The first man hadn't even had time to stub out his cigarette before his throat was crushed in a vice-like grip.
The sound of splintering bone was muffled within Qin Lie's hand—like snapping a dried-out twig.
The second man barely had time to reach for his g*n before Qin Lie was already upon him.
A knee slammed into the man's gut, causing him to double over, curling into a fetal position like a shrimp.
A swift backhand—and a flash of steel.
The short sword sliced through the man's carotid artery.
Blood spurted against the wall—hot and crimson.
The remaining three men finally reacted.
"Intruder!"
Gun muzzles rose, spitting out tongues of fire.
Qin Lie did not dodge.
Bullets slammed into his body, sending sparks flying.
Beneath his skin, his muscles hardened, absorbing the brunt of the impact and leaving behind nothing but a few faint white marks.
He charged straight into the fray.
Close-quarters combat was the Demon Hunter's greatest weakness. The third man was sent flying by a kick, slamming into a pillar before going still.
The fourth man attempted to throw a flashbang.
Qin Lie reached out and snatched it right out of the air.
He crushed it in his grip.
Magnesium powder scattered across the floor, blanketing the area in a blinding white haze.
The last man retreated into a corner, clutching a vial of holy water, his hands trembling.
- Writer
