Before long, Marionette reappeared before the old man and the members of the mercenary squad.
"Boss? Boss!"
"Boss, are you all right?"
Everyone had initially been delighted to see him return, but when they noticed how tattered his clothes were, they were taken aback and crowded around him in concern.
Brother Xuan called out, "Quick, find another outfit for the boss!"
Marionette's original attire was a high-grade protective suit purchased while taking on commissions in Center City, one that had emerged unscathed from numerous third limit battles.
This time, however, it had failed to withstand his opponent's strikes as well as the sheer intensity of his own movements, leaving it almost completely shredded.
While someone went to fetch fresh clothes, Brother Xuan asked worriedly, "Boss, did you run into a tough enemy?"
He had never seen his boss look like this before. At the same time, he and everyone present noticed that the blood cane their boss always carried—the very weapon that had forged his renown—was gone.
Their hearts skipped a beat. Someone could not help asking, "Wait, Boss, where's your cane?"
The old man also sensed something was wrong and chimed in, "Did you run into that giant wolf again?"
Yet on second thought, that made no sense. Last time, the blood cane had handled the wolf with ease. Could some new complication have arisen? Had they crossed paths with an even more formidable convergence zone creature, or had someone else set their sights on that territory?
Marionette looked at the crowd and said, "I ran into that martial artist."
"What?"
Everyone was stunned. The old man snapped straight, staring at him in shock and suspicion. "Y-You fought him?"
He instantly ducked low, looking left and right. The others nearly leaped out of their boots, drawing their weapons and scanning their surroundings in an alert posture.
"Boss, where is he? Did he follow you?" Brother Xuan asked, visibly on edge.
"Boss, you go first! We'll cover the rear!"
"Right! Just remember to avenge us!"
Marionette stripped off his shredded garments, took a protective suit handed over by a bald woman, slipped it on, and draped a trench coat over his shoulders. He said, "I beat him to death."
Upon hearing those words, everyone froze, as if suspecting their own ears had deceived them.
"B-Boss?"
The bald woman looked at Marionette's calm, unruffled eyes. A smile spread across her face as she lowered her firearm and raised her voice. "Didn't you hear him? The boss took him out!"
Brother Xuan stood stunned for a moment, then grinned broadly. "Boss... heh, that's our boss for you!"
The others lowered their weapons with lingering apprehension, but soon beamed with excitement, clearly placing absolute trust in his words.
"Have you all lost your minds? How is that even possible?" the old man shouted.
Beating a martial artist to death? He did not believe a single word of it. In his view, Marionette might well have crossed paths with the man, but he had simply been lucky enough to escape with his life.
Claiming to have killed the man was nothing more than saving face. Bragging behind closed doors was one thing, but how could they actually believe it?!
Just then, the members of the Blood Staff Mercenary Group turned their heads in unison to stare at him. The atmosphere turned eerie. The old man shrank his neck back, feeling a twinge of guilt. "W-What are you looking at?"
The bald woman said softly, "The boss doesn't joke. He never jokes."
"That's right. Whatever the boss says goes. If he said he beat the guy to death, then that guy is dead!"
At that moment, a realization struck them: only a martial artist could defeat a martial artist. Furthermore, the one guarding that hunting ground was said to be an established martial artist. If that was the case, did that mean...
Everyone turned their burning gazes toward Marionette.
Brother Xuan stepped forward, asking excitedly, "Boss, could it be... could it be you've become a martial artist too?"
Marionette glanced back at him, fastened the last button on his trench coat, and met everyone's eyes before nodding.
The group instantly erupted into cheers. The roar of their voices nearly shook the leaves overhead, startling the nearby creatures into fleeing the area.
Marionette turned to the old man and said, "You can go harvest what you need now."
"Impossible, absolutely impossible!"
The old man shook his head repeatedly, refusing to believe it no matter what.
Brother Xuan walked up, grabbed him by the collar, and snapped, "Damn it, old man, come with us! Whatever the boss says goes!"
He dragged the old man along by force, practically hoisting him onto a mount, and they set off toward the area. When they arrived at their destination, their movements came to an abrupt halt.
The first thing that met their eyes was the devastated terrain. Broken trees and deep furrows covered the ground, every inch testifying to an unimaginably fierce battle far beyond the realm of ordinary people.
Then, they saw the corpse with its head split in two.
Even in death, the sheer power radiating from his towering physique and robust muscles was unmistakable.
The mercenaries could not help swallowing hard.
This was a martial artist. Though they had only glimpsed such figures from afar before, the overwhelming pressure and aura had made it hard to breathe. Yet here lay such a figure, stretched out on the ground like a slaughtered pig.
It dawned on them that even martial artists could be beaten to death.
On the way over, the old man had been gripped by despair, convinced he was completely doomed. He wondered what madness had possessed him to hire such a deranged group—a lunatic captain leading lunatic crewmen.
Yet at this moment, he stared blankly, his mouth falling open wider and wider until a gust of dust blew into it, forcing him into a fit of coughing that broke his stupor.
Seeing his comical state, the mercenaries burst into laughter. Remembering the old man's venomous tongue and irritating temper, several of them took the opportunity to jeer and mock him.
The old man paid them no heed. After another moment of shock, he rolled off his mount and scrambled forward on all fours. He pressed the two halves of the martial artist's head tightly together and stared. "It... it really is you. You're really dead?"
"Hahaha—"
He burst into a frantic, hysterical laugh. "You're dead? You're finally dead! You got what was coming to you! Hahahahaha—!"
As he laughed, tears began streaming down his face. Then, shaking the shattered head, he smashed it against his own forehead, heedless of the blood and brains staining his face and hands. It was clear his hatred for this martial artist ran bone-deep.
Brother Xuan called out, "Hey, old man, what's the deal? You had a grudge against this martial artist? Who was he?"
The old man wiped his face, laid the corpse back on the ground, and slowly rose. In a cold, detached voice, he said, "His name was Semai Otra, from the Bearn Strait. He was a martial artist employed by the New Light Cult's Hesse Laboratory.
"Back then, Hesse Laboratory and the laboratory I belonged to were locked in a technological race. We reached the breakthrough first and published our findings in advance. We thought we had won, but Hesse Laboratory turned around and claimed we had stolen their technology.
"Shortly after, an explosion occurred at our lab. I happened to be ill at the time and wasn't there, but my colleagues, my daughter, and my son-in-law were all present...
"Later, people came looking for me, demanding that I take the blame for technological theft. By then, I was physically and mentally shattered, consumed by terror. In the end, against my conscience and under their intimidation, I agreed to all their demands."
He took a deep breath. "Even so, they had no intention of letting me off. My younger son was a fighter with a modest reputation. During an exhibition match, Otra's disciple deliberately played dirty, causing brain damage that severely impaired his intellect.
"Then, when he was completely incapable of consenting, they had him sign an agreement to donate his mutated tissue. They dissected him alive, leaving me with nothing but a cold, printed certificate of donation.
"After that, through administrative bans and industry blacklists, they stripped away any chance of me ever setting foot in my field again.
"With no other options, I could only join marginal laboratories to do menial work, scraping by like a rat. Everything that once belonged to me was trampled and stolen away by them without mercy."
*The old guy had it this rough?*
The mercenaries looked at him with a measure of sympathy. Still, they were not overly shocked by Hesse Laboratory's actions; in this era, such atrocities were everywhere.
The old man gave a raspy chuckle and looked at Marionette. "Who would have thought Otra would die here, and by your hand? Good riddance, good riddance! Hiring you really was the best decision I ever made."
At this moment, one of the mercenaries asked with some concern, "Martial artists always have powerful backing. Won't there be repercussions now that the boss killed him?"
"Repercussions? The man is dead—what repercussions could there be?"
The old man sneered dismissively, his eyes gleaming as he looked at Bloodstaff. "Mr. Bloodstaff, are you interested in Hesse Laboratory?
"With Otra dead, they will certainly need to hire another martial artist. You could easily claim everything he left behind. The hunting ground beneath your feet, the lab's perks and resources—so long as you join, I'm certain they would grant it all to you.
"As for killing Otra, so what if they found out? No one would blame you. The laws of the convergence zone are that brutal. Who lives and who dies matters to no one; winner takes all. Taking everything he had is only natural."
Marionette said in a flat tone, "Go harvest the remaining mutated plants. And remember to pay the rest of the fee."
The old man paused.
Then he let out a dry laugh. "Understood, I understand." He turned toward the area, took a few steps, then looked back. "No matter what, I owe you one. I'll repay it."
Marionette ignored him. At this moment, he was sensing the mutated tissue within his body, which had become exceptionally active. Perhaps because his spirit had been awakened, a stream of energy was pouring into him from beyond, constantly replenishing his depleted reserves.
He could see it clearly: a faint, almost imperceptible wisp of purple mist was at work. Yet because of this, the strength and spirit within his body felt as though they were tossing upon turbulent waves.
Right now, he had to maintain that delicate balance at every second. He sensed that the slightest misstep might shatter it completely, plunging him into total collapse.
Chapter 1217