The taste of being a wolf was really something!
Ji Jue hummed softly, unable to resist smacking his lips.
Who among the Great Sins had invented something as convenient as the wolf? Oh, the White Stag? Well, that settled it—thanks a bunch, number two on the leaderboard! You'll always have a place in my heart!
Deeply grateful!
There was no helping it; it was just too damn useful.
For an unpresentable scoundrel like Ji Jue, setting aside killing intent sensing or explosive bursts of power, this knack for disguise and concealment alone was utterly broken.
The wolf's transformation was by no means superficial; it completely remade both soul and flesh into the exact likeness of another person.
Were it not for the bone-deep, nearly uncontrollable urge to cannibalize, it could almost be called flawless.
Even the omnipresent Law of Tianyuan throughout the base had difficulty filtering it out without focused vigilance. And paired with the protection of the flame of Non-Fate, the countless dictates of the Law of Tianyuan could hardly even perceive his presence. He drifted effortlessly through the gaps like flowing water, triggering not a single decree along the way, nor displaying the slightest anomaly.
Truly a premier essential for petty theft and felony.
It was so practical that after getting the hang of it, he was genuinely reluctant to part with it.
"What a shame..." Ji Jue sighed with theatrical regret. With Dissociation Art in one hand and Deus Ex Machina in the other, he crudely cracked the bomber's exterior authentication and equipment locks. He plucked out the Spirit of Creation inside, stashing it away to be trained and repurposed later, and poured in a Lord of the Flies. Following a round of Catalysis, the brand-new Vengeance Bomber ignited, roared to life, and shot straight into the clouds!
In the dead silence of the hangar, Ji Jue surveyed the lingering clues. Casually tossing two scraps of material into the sacrificial ritual dedicated to the Great Sin, he drew forth a wisp of Defilement, completely corrupting the aetheric records.
Now, even if an aether-specialized Celestial-Human traced back through time to piece together the records, the traces left at the scene would point only toward the Profound.
"Don't mention it, Grandmaster. Just doing my part!"
And just like that, shifting his appearance once more, he took the place of the sentry who had just helped him inside and calmly walked away.
He hadn't boarded the plane at all!
So here came the question: did the bomber currently soaring across the firmament actually carry a fusion bomb?
Are you kidding? Definitely not, bro!
At a juncture like this, how could something as lethal as a fusion bomb be casually checked out?
This was precisely why Ji Jue had deliberately destroyed the hangar's records and data.
Granted, in principle, it had to be there.
Yet whenever people began talking about principle, that very principle rarely existed in reality.
All these years, deterrence protocols had been a routine drill on base. But even when going through the motions every time, a fusion bomb wasn't some cardboard box of scrap paper you could just fork out of a warehouse with a forklift—the requisite procedures still had to be followed.
Every step required signatures, stamps, and authorizations without exception, and unlocking it mandated verification from the Metropolis.
But the problem was: did Passarella—no, the entire Imperial garrison base—dare to gamble on that?
Common sense dictated it definitely wasn't aboard. But if common sense applied, the fucking Vengeance Bomber wouldn't have launched in the first place!
From start to finish, barely a dozen minutes had elapsed, yet the entire base was already on edge, jumping at shadows and hissing like cornered animals at every phantom threat.
Out of nowhere, someone blew up the phlogiston refinery. Out of nowhere, the base came under attack. Out of nowhere, the deterrence protocol was triggered. And then, out of nowhere, right under their noses, the Vengeance took flight... It was beyond bizarre!
At this critical moment, did you dare bet that the Vengeance was just an empty, unarmed bomber? Even if you dared to bet on that, did you dare bet on the Federation's reaction? Would Fan Yun ever believe it?
The instant the Vengeance crossed into Federation-controlled airspace, that old turtle wouldn't blink an eye before slamming the big red button for war as hard as he could.
And even if things escalated beyond control and the Empire and Federation battered each other bloody, the other side would still have justification: *You moved first!*
What could Passarella possibly say to refute that?
As matters stood, the only move was to throw caution to the wind: shoot down the Vengeance at all costs before the situation spiraled completely out of hand, and snuff this fire out!
Simultaneously, locate the fusion bombs at top speed and find out where they actually were!
"Get ready, Abdullah."
Over the radio, the strangely accented Federation speech crackled once more. "Target's heading your way."
"Abdullah" received.
Abdullah didn't say a word.
Because "Abdullah" was busy cursing someone's mother.
Amid the chaotic ebb and flow of personnel across the noisy base on full wartime footing, countless soldiers scurried back and forth, queuing up for verification or relaying orders.
Having changed into fresh clothes, an innocent plumber pulled his peaked cap low, wove through the crowd, and made for the parking lot outside the command headquarters.
He walked straight up to an off-road vehicle that had just started its engine, yanked open the driver's door, and found himself staring at a bewildered driver.
For a moment, the two looked at each other.
Staring at each other's identical peaked caps, uniforms, and epaulets, both were completely baffled.
"What do you want?!"
The driver frowned, instinctively snapping, "Piss off, I'm on urgent official business."
"Sorry, so am I."
Old Tom offered an honest, simple smile, stepped onto the running board, and forced his way inside. Before the driver could react, he slammed the door shut.
With a soft *crack*, a bead of quicksilver burst, and a silver mist sealed the car inside and out.
At the same time, a palm as broad as a cattail fan clamped over the driver's face, delivering a violent shock.
It was like taking a hammer strike straight to the forehead. His brain rattled, oscillated, and promptly crashed.
Blackout.
Immediately afterward, the fleeting silver mist, trailing wisps of black flame, seeped into the frame of the vehicle and vanished.
The driver in the seat had already been replaced.
With seasoned practiced ease, Old Tom dragged the unconscious driver down, used the vehicle body to shield himself in the surveillance camera's blind spot, and stuffed the man into the trunk.
He threw in a follow-up punch for good measure, ensuring the fellow would enjoy a deep and restful sleep.
Back in the car, he adjusted the rearview mirror, tweaked his facial features against his reflection, and compressed his skeletal frame until he bore a seventy percent resemblance to the original driver.
With that, he started the engine and drove toward the bunker's dedicated parking area.
Swiping the driver's ID card and relying on the vehicle's recognition code, he finally entered the parking lot, spotting the commissioner waiting impatiently by the exit.
Pacing like an ant on a hot pan, the man was pale and drenched in sweat.
Before the car even came to a complete halt, the commissioner yanked open the rear door and leaped in, shouting a barrage of abuse: "What took you so damn long?! Move, to the Equipment Department, step on it! Any more delays and you can kiss your job goodbye—you'll be standing before a court-martial right beside me!"
Seeing the driver still crawling in queue for checkpoint verification, the commissioner lost all patience and roared, "Forget the fucking checkpoints and bullcrap inspections! Take the emergency lane, as fast as you can!"
He pulled out his ID card and emergency clearance key, shoving them into the console slot without hesitation.
"Ignore those dogs! If anything happens, I'll take the fall!"
Instantly, the driver floored the accelerator without a second thought. Tires screeched against the pavement as the vehicle shot forward.
The speed was blistering.
Even the irritable commissioner in the back seat was pressed hard against his seat, astonished—he had never seen a car move this fast within the base.
All along the way, bolstered by the special identification code and top-tier temporary transit clearance, they faced zero resistance; checkpoints lifted their barrier gates and raised their doors well before the vehicle even arrived.
Except the direction seemed to have veered slightly off course.
At a fork in the road, the car jerked sharply to the left, taking another path.
The commissioner blinked, then erupted in fury. "What are you doing? Can't you even read the roads? I said to the armory! Are you deaf?!"
"Terribly sorry, boss."
The driver finally turned his head. Looking through a vaguely familiar face, he sighed regretfully. "This is a carpool ride. Someone wanted to split the fare."
"You—"
The commissioner's pupils contracted. His expression changed drastically, and he instinctively reached for his waist. But before he could make a move, darkness engulfed his vision.
Old Tom merely pressed a button on the dash. Instantly, a mechanical arm extended from the rear headrest and jabbed straight into the base of the commissioner's neck, sparking with electricity.
*Zap!*
Amid a whiff of charred meat, the commissioner collapsed limp to the floor, twitching uncontrollably.
The vehicle fishtailed to a halt. The rear door clicked open, and another passenger calmly stepped aboard. Casting his gaze downward at the twitching, terror-stricken face, he gave a faint smile.
Reaching out, he pressed his hand against the man's throat.
A razor-sharp claw extended from his fingertip, pierced the vein, and swiftly siphoned the blood.
Shortly after, just before the commissioner completely passed out, he caught sight of an identical face emerging from that warping flesh, rapidly settling into focus.
Then the "commissioner" looked up, grinning broadly at Old Tom. "Tell me, do I look more like a man or a wolf?"
"I think you look like a goddamned bastard who sold his conscience!"
Old Tom rolled his eyes and tapped the brakes. "God damn it, as soon as this job is done, I'm getting the hell out of here! Do whatever you want after that!"
Seeing the sheer scale of the mess this bastard Ji Jue was stirring up, all Old Tom wanted was to travel back a few days and slap himself twice across the face—what on earth had he been thinking? Working for this lunatic was nothing short of suicidal; even ten lives wouldn't be enough to burn!
This wasn't just pulling the tiger's whiskers; this was tap-dancing on the graves of the Imperial emperors!
At the thought of what this bastard was about to pull off next, his sphincter clenched tight in sheer terror!
But what else could he do?
At this point, jumping ship was out of the question.
He didn't even dare dream of his blood bounty anymore; he only prayed that when the Empire eventually ground this mongrel Ji Jue into ashes, the kid wouldn't drag his name into it...
Steeling his nerves, he stepped on the gas and tore forward like lightning, finally braking in front of the Equipment Department.
Personnel drenched in sweat were already waiting anxiously on the spot.
"Let's go, Abdullah," Ji Jue chuckled. "Time to inspect the Empire's armaments."
He pushed the door open, and in an instant, his smile vanished.
His expression turned grim and ashen.
Shoving aside the lieutenant colonel who rushed forward to greet him, he gave the officer no chance to speak and marched straight into the Equipment Department. The shoved lieutenant colonel didn't even dare to hesitate; he scrambled to catch up and hurried ahead to lead the way, muttering nervously the whole time about how armaments management wasn't easy, how everyone was just doing their best to get by...
"Save your excuses for the court-martial."
The "commissioner" gave him an expressionless glare, enunciating each word: "Such negligence is an utter disgrace to the Empire!"
Under the driver's pitying gaze, the duty lieutenant colonel froze solid, nearly wailing aloud, looking ready to crumble into pieces.
Yet when Ji Jue gave the signal, the officer still tremblingly fished out his keycard and unlocked the elevator leading down to the underground classified armory.
He hesitated, trying to step forward to offer another word of explanation.
Instantly, the commissioner fixed him with a chilling glare. "What do you take the confidentiality protocols for?"
The officer watched helplessly as the elevator doors slid shut before him.
Looking like he had just lost both parents.
Inside the elevator, Old Tom looked equally devastated.
Especially when he considered what he was about to cram into the Legacy Rite... and there was no telling how long he'd have to keep it tucked away!
There was no denying it: the Legacy Rite was simply too useful. Plop it down before the ancestors' graves, and the Empire's aether-trackers could scour the world like madmen without finding a single thread.
Furthermore, it completely sidestepped the problem of investigators realizing this target's signature matched Lu Changsheng's to a tee. As long as Old Tom handled the intermediate handoff and slipped it into the Doomsday Express's classified storage vault, the haul would instantly step outside the present world, existing beyond Good and Sin.
No one in the damn universe would ever be able to find it again!
*"One last push, Old Tom,"* Ji Jue's voice came through the spiritus transmission. *"Watch my cue when we get down there."*
*Ding.*
The elevator doors slid open.
In the sealed expanse over a thousand meters underground, there was only a solitary corridor—and a warden stationed at the far end.
By now, the man had clearly received internal notifications and understood what had transpired. His face was dark, his eyes bloodshot.
If the fusion bombs truly had gone missing, the best-case scenario for the rest of his life would be rotting away in a secret prison in the Seven Stars Building... Yet bound by his clearance, he couldn't open the vault to check on his own.
A distinguished Tianyuan of the Regeneration tier, forced to wait in torment.
Sitting on pins and needles.
"Colonel—"
Seeing the commissioner arrive, the warden squeezed out a strained smile and opened his mouth to speak, only to see the commissioner raise a hand.
"Rest easy, the Duke trusts your team," the commissioner said solemnly. "The Duke sees everyone's hard work and contributions. Besides, the base is heavily fortified—airtight and impenetrable. How could proper fusion bombs vanish just like that? This is merely a routine inspection; don't stress yourself over it."
The warden was taken aback, tears nearly welling up. Ever since the crisis began, everyone had been pointing fingers and casting suspicions. Faced with those judgmental words and glares, he had possessed no way to defend himself.
Hearing such words from the Grand Duke's commissioner now, hot tears blurred his eyes.
"Don't just stand there dazed. I have to report back to the Duke. Walk me through the security for the classified armory." The commissioner offered a warm smile, patted his shoulder, and added with earnest gravity, "Seize the chance and put your best foot forward."
"Yes, sir!"
The warden nodded without hesitation and produced his clearance card. The two clearance cards interlocked like two halves of a tally, sliding into the verification slot.
After entering the passcode, he infused his own spiritus, followed by verification of the warden's matrix and physical status data.
Amid a grinding roar, the several-meter-thick blast door rumbled open.
In the dark expanse, overhead lamps flickered on one after another, casting cool light as a chilly draft brushed past. Shipping-container-sized crates rested across the subterranean floor, stretching into the farthest depths.
Beneath layers of seals, spiritus fluctuations rose and fell—the aura of alchemical creations... The commissioner seemed stunned, gazing up at the sight before him, marveling in awe:
"Truly magnificent."
"All the classified armaments of the Imperial garrison base are stored right here, maintained and monitored on a regular schedule by an independent department. Six layers of security are deployed inside and out. Besides surveillance..." The warden seized this golden opportunity to report to the Duke, rambling on and on about his diligence, devotion, perseverance, and sacrifice.
The commissioner nodded along, occasionally interjecting with questions on fine details and testing his knowledge, prompting the warden to exhaust every scrap of his expertise to answer.
Even so, when probed on certain technical intricacies, the warden's heart skipped beats, nearly tripping him up.
At crucial junctions, the commissioner personally inspected the mechanisms to ensure not a single vulnerability or irregularity existed.
This rigorous scrutiny, ironically, made the warden's taut nerves slowly unwind.
Soon, they arrived before another heavy blast gate.
"Look, Colonel, this is where the fusion bombs are stored. Ever since last month's tuning and inspection, absolutely no one has been inside. Here are the access logs."
The warden frantically pulled up the records, desperate to prove his innocence.
Yet the colonel was no longer smiling.
His face was solemn.
"Seeing is believing. The Grand Duke's exact words were that he must confirm it with his own eyes."
Fixed beneath that sharp gaze, the warden's heart jumped into his throat, his fingers trembling faintly. Withdrawing the verification key, he inserted it into the keyhole and took the ID card from the commissioner.
With a crisp *click*,
the blast gate slowly opened.
His breathing grew shallow and rapid, sweat drenching his back. His eyes widened as he stared into the chamber beyond the gate, oblivious to the fact that the commissioner's driver had already slipped silently behind him.
Only when the scene behind the gate entered his vision did he finally let out a long breath.
Dripping with cold sweat.
There!
They were all still there!
All four fusion warheads from the registry—two conventional four-hundred-kiloton warheads, one tactical kiloton warhead, and one strategic megaton warhead—sat right before them!
Tears filled the warden's eyes as he looked toward the commissioner.
*Take a good look, sir—this mess really isn't my fault!*
The commissioner seemed frozen on the spot as well. After a long moment, he breathed a sigh of relief, smiled faintly, patted the warden's shoulder, and stepped into the compact vault to inspect the serial numbers and storage conditions.
Yet the longer he looked, the stiffer his expression became, his face gradually draining of color.
"F-Fake...?!"
"Wh—"
The warden cried out in horror, instinctively stepping forward to look closer.
Then, he felt a sudden chill against his back.
*Thwack!*
Darkness descended!
Chapter 599