The doll did not know his own name. People simply called him Blood Cane because he always used the walking stick he had picked up in town as his weapon.
Of course, he only used it in hand-to-hand combat. To avoid wasting energy, he generally preferred to use a gun. He only resorted to close quarters against those who could nimbly dodge bullets or shrug off conventional firearms.
He came to a stop before a corpulent man. Though a smile sat on the man's face, a sliver of tension lurked within him. His posture grew slightly awkward, and his smile tightened.
Fortunately, from what he knew of this person, as long as one did not threaten him or run afoul of an active bounty, he would never make a move, nor would he spare you a single unnecessary word.
The man snapped his fingers. A subordinate immediately stepped forward carrying a briefcase, laying it before the doll.
"Just as you asked: half in cash, half in high-energy nutritional paste. All smuggled straight out of Center City—top-tier goods, guaranteed."
The doll picked up the briefcase and dropped a single, grudging sentence: "Call me next time." Having spoken, he turned and left the premises.
The armed guards silently watched his retreating back.
A trusted henchman leaned close to the corpulent boss. "Boss? If we can hire him, someone else can too. He's only one man. Should we...?"
For a moment, the corpulent man was tempted, but he shook his head. "Forget it. In this wretched place, nobody can outbid us anyway. Besides..." He smiled. "Someone will deal with him."
Carrying the briefcase, the doll walked down the street. Bonfires burned on both sides of the road, surrounded by huddles of gang members and drug addicts.
At first, seeing him walking alone, they cast hostile, calculating glances his way, and some even began to stir. But as soon as they took in his blank expression and the blood-soaked cane in his grip, their faces drained of color. Every single one fell silent, shrinking into the background to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible.
Blood Cane.
It was a name that struck terror into their hearts. In recent days, hundreds of gang members had fallen beneath that cane.
Without exception, every gangster who had crossed hands with him had died in a single strike, as though he harbored some peculiar taste and devotion for that manner of execution.
The doll traversed the broad street, opened the door of a parked car, and drove off under the pathetic, aggrieved gaze of its owner—a gang member.
Half an hour later, the car reached the edge of town. There stood a desolate three-story building. Bordering the desert and tucked far from any major thoroughfare, the area held only a few isolated houses and saw almost no visitors.
Before the car arrived, a faint flicker of firelight had glowed within the house, but as the headlights approached, the light was promptly snuffed out.
The doll pushed open the car door and stepped out.
From the abandoned shacks and tall grass flanking the road came a chorus of eager cheers: "Mr. Blood Cane is back!"
"Mr. Blood Cane is back!"
In that single instant, the road and houses suddenly brimmed with life. Children, teenage boys, and young girls scurried out from the building and every hidden corner.
A few of them swiftly rekindled the bonfire in front of the door, tossing in more fuel. The clearing before the building flared with light, driving away a bit of the late-November chill.
An older youth wearing a flat cap walked up. The doll glanced at him and handed over the briefcase.
Misjudging its weight, the youth let it drop with a thud the moment he took it, his body dragged forward by the momentum. Yet his eyes shone with excitement; he knew Mr. Blood Cane had returned with another grand haul.
Relieved of the burden, the doll said nothing. He walked over to a repaired roadside bench and silently sat down.
The other teenagers and younger children crowded around the bonfire, warming themselves and murmuring in low voices. With his return, the cold, suffocating gloom that had hung over the place vanished, replaced by a rare flicker of warmth and peace.
The youth popped open the latches. The interior was divided into upper and lower compartments: the top layer was crammed with banknotes, while the bottom was packed with high-energy nutritional paste sealed inside thick bio-membranes.
Having witnessed this sight many times before, he was no longer as breathless and agitated as he had been in the beginning. He quickly collected the cash to store it separately, organized the nutritional rations, sorted them into bags, and set them beside the doll's hand.
The doll showed no expression. He merely sat there in silence, appearing exceedingly aloof.
The youth gave him a bow and withdrew.
He knew in his heart that despite Mr. Blood Cane's cold exterior and unapproachable demeanor, he was truly a kind soul with a warm heart second to none.
Mr. Blood Cane gave away all the money he earned to them. He lived on plain water and peculiar nutritional paste, and he even took the time to guide them in combat training.
In a town crawling with scoundrels and cutthroats, only Mr. Blood Cane would do such a thing. Otherwise, within a month, they would have ended up as laboratory consumables or been sold off across the region by the gangs. How could they possibly fill their bellies every day, have a roof over their heads to keep out the wind, and hold onto that tiny, flickering ember of hope?
The doll did not touch the money. He wanted to conserve his energy and had no desire to run errands himself. With the children around to fetch supplies, everything he needed could be bought. Beyond basic living necessities, he required very little. Why rely on these children? Because they were simply the first people he had encountered here.
As for the guidance, it had begun when he caught the children practicing. Seeing their crooked, sloppy stances, an inexplicable urge had driven him to correct them. But once one flaw was fixed, another arose, turning into an endless cycle.
He picked up a pouch of nutritional paste, tore it open, and began to eat.
Seeing him eat, the youth finally distributed the dry rations and bread to the children and teenagers. After eating their fill, they began to sing, their voices drifting through the quiet night, lingering above the bonfire.
After downing two pouches in quick succession, the doll stopped. For now, this paste was only sufficient to sustain daily movement. To stimulate the further growth of the mutated tissue inside his body, he required far more nourishment of much higher quality.
And that could only be found in Center City.
Just then, a sharp whistle pierced the distance. The youth sprang to his feet. Every boy and girl immediately seized their clubs and sharpened metal rods. Though these cubs possessed the courage to bare their tiny fangs at dangerous foes, they understood their own weakness well enough to slip smartly into the shadows and behind available cover.
Headlights swept around the corner as a convoy rumbled down the street, grinding to a halt before them. Car doors opened, and a line of men stepped out. Many were clearly armed gunmen; the bright headlights threw the hot steam puffing from their mouths and noses into sharp relief.
One man's gaze fell straight upon the doll. Draped in an overcoat and sporting a fedora, he looked to be the leader.
He led his men forward. Passing the bonfire, one of his subordinates tossed something into the flames. With a sudden roar, the fire leaped higher, illuminating the entire clearing.
The newcomer was a man in his forties with a genial smile. Watching from the shadows, the youth grew tense—he recognized the man as the town sheriff.
The sheriff came to a stop about five or six meters from the doll. Slipping his hands into his overcoat pockets, he drawled, "Mr. Blood Cane, I've heard of your reputation. You've taken on a lot of work lately, but your antics have thrown the town's public order into chaos. We'd appreciate it if you reined it in and left town of your own accord."
The doll sat motionless.
The sheriff smiled. He actually owed this Mr. Blood Cane some gratitude; the local gangs were practically wiped out now, and the largest surviving syndicate was run by his brother-in-law.
The town's underground businesses now belonged to them, so it was time to usher this guest off the stage.
Some claimed this man was a third-limit fighter, but the sheriff was skeptical.
Would a third-limit fighter hole up in a backwater dump like this? Such figures were honored guests wherever they went. Furthermore, he had hired experts to inspect the dead, and the wounds were inconsistent with what third-limit fighters typically produced.
Even if the rumors were true, he had nothing to fear. The figure seated in the car behind him was his guarantee.
Hiring that person had cost a fortune, billed by the hour—a sum that made his heart bleed—but for the sake of safety, it was worth every coin.
After waiting a moment, seeing that the doll offered no response and had not even shifted his posture, the sheriff's eyes sharpened, his expression souring into impatience.
"If you won't leave willingly, we'll just have to make you."
He glanced to his left and right. "You wouldn't want to see any harm come to these lovely children, would you?"
He had investigated beforehand. As formidable as Blood Cane was, he was fundamentally a do-gooder who spent nearly every cent he made on these kids. Good men were great—because good men always had weaknesses.
The doll remained silent. The sheriff smiled, convinced he held all the cards. "Then that's settled." He signaled his subordinates to seize several of the children as collateral.
The gunmen lunged forward. Just then, a shout rang out from behind: "Mr. Blood Cane, don't worry about us! Kill these bastards!"
A steel ball shot from a slingshot, streaking toward the sheriff. But before it could reach him, a massive hand caught it with a crisp snap. The fingers slowly kneaded, grinding the steel into fine dust that sifted to the ground.
The doll had shown no reaction up until now. But at the sight of that display, he suddenly lifted his head, looked at the owner of the hand, and spoke:
"Do you have nutritional paste?"
Chapter 1096