Ritual Fire

Ye Huan stood in the center of the office, glancing to his left and then to his right. Everything was normal. Not a single strange phenomenon. Yet if he turned his consciousness inward to observe himself, that vertical, glowing line and the iron fist icon beneath it surfaced in his mind. He could adjust his skill tree at any time! Ye Huan considered it for a moment, then focused his intent: "Can I sacrifice 'Iron Hand' and convert it entirely into skill points?" A message immediately surfaced in his mind: "Skill points are free to allocate, but stripping them from an existing disaster-averting survival skill will incur a certain degree of loss." Ye Huan nodded silently to himself. This was remarkably flexible. If he possessed more skills, he could adjust their respective strengths at critical junctures! Splendid. Truly wonderful. With this, there was finally hope for his life! Right. I can also coat my fists in flame! Why hasn't that flame skill appeared on the skill tree? As soon as the question arose in Ye Huan's mind, another message surfaced: "'??? Ritual Fire.'" "A suitable sacrifice must be offered each month to appease ???." "Failure to complete the sacrificial ritual will result in being consumed by the flames and offered up as a sacrifice to ???." "This skill conceals hidden traps and is exceedingly perilous; it cannot be incorporated into the 'Disaster-Averting Survival Skill Tree.'" "It is recommended to sacrifice it to add points to 'Iron Hand.'" Ye Huan sank into thought. He hadn't expected the skill tree to possess such a hidden benefit. It could assess the true value of a skill! Any skill that couldn't avert disaster or secure survival wouldn't be recorded! However... When facing that Shidu-rank assassin, it was precisely thanks to those flames that he had managed to survive. ...Besides, he had already successfully pleased that mysterious severed woman's head this month. He felt torn. Maybe... keep it for now? And sacrifice it before next month begins? Ye Huan remained undecided. His phone suddenly vibrated, interrupting his train of thought. "Anyone come by the office?" It was Song Fushan. "Reporting to Chief: no one has come," Ye Huan replied. There was no further response from the other end. Ye Huan glanced at the wall clock and couldn't resist sending another message: "Chief, it's already twelve-thirty. Are we still working overtime?" A reply came instantly: "Greetings, Staff Member. Getting home before one o'clock doesn't count as overtime." What?! Who counts overtime like that? Ye Huan sent another: "Greetings, Chief. Is the rest of our lives going to be like this?" The reply came again: "Greetings, Staff Member. Life has always been like this, but following this section chief, you'll have ample time to rest—except today." "?" "Don't send question marks. Assignments are about to be deployed. Wait for my return!" After a few minutes of waiting, the office door opened. Returning from his meeting, Song Fushan glanced inside and saw Ye Huan sitting upright and proper, looking grave as he stared at the computer screen while scribbling notes furiously. "Quite perceptive. You've already mastered the secret of office work," Song Fushan praised. "Chief, it's almost one o'clock. Aren't we getting off work?" Ye Huan stood up and asked. "Pulling an all-nighter won't make you drop dead on the spot. What are you scared of? Come on, we're on a mission." "A mission at this hour?" "So many people died right on the street. It's an extraordinarily severe terrorist incident. Even an outfit as noble as our Mysterious Affairs Section has to mobilize alongside everyone else!" Song Fushan said solemnly. Ye Huan peered outside to see people pouring out of every section office, quickening their pace as they rushed down the stairs. The courtyard of the Bureau of Investigation echoed with the roar of automobile engines. "Quite the grand deployment," Ye Huan noted. "Naturally. Tonight, we either capture that mutated martial artist or kill him on the spot to prevent any further casualties!" Song Fushan said flatly. A few minutes later, Song Fushan and Ye Huan arrived before a black sedan. "Know how to drive?" Song Fushan asked. "Yes!" Ye Huan answered after searching the original host's memories. The car keys were tossed over. Ye Huan caught them, slid into the driver's seat, and turned the ignition. The engine roared to life. "By the way, you were right there during the incident. Tell me what was going on with that martial artist," Song Fushan asked from the passenger seat. Ye Huan combed through the original host's memories, only to find nothing at all. A total blank. What was worse, he couldn't even try to remember. The moment he did, his head began to throb. "Reporting to Chief, I can't recall anything, and my head aches the moment I try," he said truthfully, frowning slightly as he endured wave after wave of piercing headache. "Then stop thinking about it immediately," Song Fushan urged upon seeing his pale complexion. "I completely forgot you're suffering from amnesia due to a concussion." "It's bizarre... Why is it completely blank...?" Ye Huan mumbled. A nosebleed began to trickle down his lip. Song Fushan hastily handed him some tissues and said quickly, "The situation back then was probably far too horrific. Your psyche couldn't take it, so you simply blocked out those memories. The blunt trauma was merely the trigger; your mind was actually trying to protect itself." "Too horrific..." Ye Huan murmured. Song Fushan's expression softened. Looking out the window at the passing streetscape, he said softly, "There are far too many horrific things in this world. It can't be helped." "Chief, are mutated martial artists really that terrifying?" Ye Huan asked. He plugged his nostrils with the tissue and stopped dwelling on what had happened the previous night. Gradually, the headache subsided. Song Fushan sighed with emotion. "Mutated martial artists worship unknowable fiends, monsters, and even Demon Gods. As humans, they enter transactional pacts with them to obtain power. The might of such martial artists is twisted and berserk." Ye Huan nodded slightly. By that logic, wasn't his flame technique following the exact same pattern? Sacrificing three human souls to continue wielding the crimson flame... —Am I a mutated martial artist too? That wouldn't do. Yet that flame was extraordinarily powerful, capable of slaying enemies across tiers. He felt reluctant to cast it aside immediately. "Chief, how can you tell who's a mutated martial artist?" Ye Huan asked the question he cared about most. Song Fushan casually opened the armrest console and fished out an object that looked like a flashlight. He continued, "Shine this on them. A flashing red light means a mutated martial artist. When you encounter one, you either run immediately or call for backup. Only an expert like me would step forward and kill them outright." Click. The flashlight was aimed right at him and switched on. The light glowed. —It was green. Song Fushan nodded and smiled. "Normal martial artists always show green." With that, he tossed the flashlight back into the armrest console. Ye Huan said nothing, but beads of cold sweat broke out across his back. How could he dare to hesitate in a situation like this? The instant Song Fushan had said, "A flashing red light means a mutated martial artist," an ominous premonition had struck Ye Huan. Regardless of what was to happen next, regardless of whether Song Fushan would shine it on him—since such a device existed, he absolutely could not be flagged as a mutated martial artist! He couldn't afford to gamble on a one-in-a-million chance! Right when Song Fushan spoke the words "Only an expert like me would step forward and kill them outright," Ye Huan had unhesitatingly sacrificed "??? Ritual Fire." "Dangerous skill sacrificed." "You have obtained skill points: 1." "Would you like to allocate it to 'Iron Hand'?" Better not. At the very least, he shouldn't boost his strength right in front of Song Fushan. He had no idea how powerful a martial artist Song Fushan truly was; if he aroused suspicion, wouldn't the losses far outweigh any gain? Just a moment ago, he had distinctly felt Song Fushan's gaze lock onto him. If that light had flashed red, he would have been done for. "Chief, where are we heading now?" Ye Huan asked. "I don't know either. How about you pick a place?" Song Fushan said casually. Now that he had sacrificed that mysterious skill, Ye Huan's heart was entirely at ease. No longer worried about his identity being exposed, he relaxed, and a sudden wave of hunger hit him. "Chief, can we grab something to eat? It's already one in the morning, and I'm starving," Ye Huan said. A hint of amusement flickered in Song Fushan's eyes as he replied, "Give it a rest. The director is personally overseeing operations tonight. Even I have to tread carefully." Ye Huan shrugged. A message surfaced in his mind: "—You were a hair's breadth from death just now, but by sacrificing the perilous skill in time, you preserved your established, safe identity." "A swift and wise decision. Rating +1." The boost in rating was within Ye Huan's expectations. Yet another message followed immediately: "You have severed the perilous sacrificial art attached to 'Iron Hand.' The cultivation of 'Iron Hand' will now return to the orthodox lineage of martial development." "You may allocate points to test the result." Return to the orthodox lineage? That was sorely tempting. Ye Huan stole a glance at Song Fushan, but in the end, he temporarily shelved the impulse to allocate the point. —You're riding in a car, someone shines a flashlight on you, and suddenly your martial cultivation spikes, accompanied by strange phenomena? Come on, it's not like he was Ultraman. That would arouse far too much suspicion. The car continued driving for a while. The walkie-talkie in the vehicle crackled with static before a stern male voice came through: "Mysterious Affairs Section, you are responsible for the Underground River Bridge in the east. Do not let anyone slip away." "Yes, Director!" Song Fushan replied in an equally stern tone. Ye Huan's eyes widened. As soon as the transmission ended, he quickly looked toward Song Fushan. "Our orders are here!" Song Fushan said. "Tonight's raid is on the Phantom Nightclub. It has been confirmed that the mutated martial artist is hidden there, with a group of cultists holding the basement doors." "Are we responsible for cordoning off the perimeter?" Ye Huan asked. "The Underground River Bridge is just to the west of the nightclub, serving as a waterway passage leading into the Old District. The two of us will hold that position," Song Fushan explained. "Are the two of us enough?" "The director has arranged it this way. Are you questioning the director?" "I wouldn't dare." "Let's go. Time is short, we need to set up our positions!" The car engine roared as it accelerated forward, speeding toward the Underground River Bridge.