The sky was dreary and gray.
Sparse white specks drifted down from above, looking like snow at first, but turning out to be rain.
The city was as silent as the dead.
In truth, in another ten minutes, once the sun had fully set, the streetlights would switch on.
Dazzling neon lights would illuminate the night sky as bright as day.
Yet there were still ten minutes left.
In this bleakest hour of dusk—
"Please, Sir, accept your death."
Night Owl shouted from behind Ye Huan, his voice resounding down the long street.
He was a Shidu martial artist with six opened acupoints, blindingly fast and on the verge of catching up to Ye Huan.
Ahead, two more martial artists blocked the way.
There was no escape!
Ye Huan couldn't help shaking his head, annoyance creeping onto his face.
These hitmen were like dog-skin plasters—appearing to withdraw, yet watching in secret, waiting for you to expose a weakness or an opening.
They deserved much of the credit for his evaluation reaching +7.
Yet even the strongest got tired.
Over half his stamina had already been spent.
Was he truly going to die here?
"Kill!"
The two martial artists barked fiercely, flanking from opposite sides as they raised their boxing stances and struck head-on.
Behind him, Night Owl whipped a kick through the air, stirring up a violent gale.
The fourth martial artist circled along the flank, biding his time to strike.
A lethal cage!
At that moment, two men barred the front, Night Owl pressed from behind, and the flanking fighter blocked one side.
Only one side remained—
The alley he had come from.
The alley was packed with men in black, every one of them drawing a gun and aiming it at Ye Huan, standing rigidly still.
Ye Huan had nowhere to run!
Yet in the midst of his sprint, he suddenly dropped his weight, stomped the ground, twisted his torso, and threw himself toward the alley.
—Pay no mind to their guns; his Iron Cloth Shirt didn't fear firearms.
If they fired, the four martial artists flanking him didn't practice external hard body conditioning; while bullets might not kill them, they would still have to dodge slightly or swat the rounds away.
This was his only chance!
"Aaaargh—!"
Ye Huan roared, crashing into the alley like an iron cannonball and tearing open a path.
The men in black in the alley attacked frenziedly with fists, kicks, blades, and guns in a torrential barrage; even with the Iron Cloth Shirt, he wouldn't be able to hold out for long.
Ye Huan struck out repeatedly with both palms, blood splattering everywhere, losing count of how many he killed.
"Don't let him get away!"
"Block him!"
"Hold the line!"
The crowd yelled in unison, ignoring the fresh corpses piling on the ground as they swarmed forward to box Ye Huan in.
At last.
The four martial artists arrived together.
"Get out of the way!" Night Owl barked.
The mob immediately pulled back. Ye Huan seized the opportunity to lunge forward, stomping off the ground and raising both hands like hammers, his qi and blood condensing as solid as iron.
Iron Cloth Shirt's second form: Twin Dragon Hammers!
The seven or eight hitmen barring his path couldn't withstand his full-powered strike; they blasted apart in an explosion of flesh and blood, scattering like a crimson mist.
"You're courting death!"
Night Owl's voice was distorted with rage.
To kill an "ordinary person," he had lost so many subordinates.
Had he known the target was a martial artist, he never would have planned it this way.
And yet.
Even within the realm of Shidu martial artists, this kid's external conditioning was absurdly freakish.
His strikes were effortless and delivered with total mastery.
How on earth did he train?
Ye Huan's strike succeeded, and he lifted his foot to break out, but froze.
Ahead.
A dark mass of hitmen blocked the other end of the alley like a solid wall.
He truly couldn't get away.
Panting heavily, he looked back at Night Owl and the other three martial artists, and spoke:
"Is there nothing else in your lives besides killing?"
Night Owl's knuckles cracked loudly. He said flatly, "After we kill you, we will review our business workflow, avoid taking hasty orders like this, and curb losses caused by unexpected contingencies."
"Why not beat our swords into plowshares and share a drink instead? It's not like we have any deep-seated grudges," Ye Huan said.
"Sorry, but we only have clients. No friends," Night Owl said.
As they spoke, the four martial artists silently closed in around Ye Huan.
The time had come!
"Die!"
The four roared in unison, lunging at Ye Huan with fists, kicks, and weapons.
Ye Huan had nowhere left to run.
At the final moment, there was only one thing left for him to do—
"Sigh."
He let out a sigh. His hands moved like shadows, and his silhouette seemed to splay outward like a sprawling spider, instantly connecting to the four martial artists.
*He's dead,* Night Owl thought, breathing a silent sigh of relief.
Yet in the next instant.
Night Owl suddenly felt something was amiss.
Ye Huan moved.
He pulled away from the four martial artists and plunged into the throng of hitmen, slaughtering his way from one end of the alley to the other.
If someone threw a punch or a kick at him, he ignored it.
If they struck with guns or blades, he paid it no heed.
He merely tore back and forth at top speed, making sure his palms tagged every single person.
Unlike before,
those struck by him didn't scream, nor did their bones shatter.
The hitmen collapsed in dead silence.
Ye Huan panted raggedly, sweat pouring down like rain, his expression exhausted and desperate.
Yet amidst this despair, he burst into loud laughter.
Cold rain drifted down from the dreary sky.
Yet in this rain, in this bloody alley, he laughed as he absorbed blow after blow and struck back, until every enemy was dealt with. He walked back to the four martial artists, slid down against the wall, and sat alone, wheezing like a bellows.
His hands were drenched in blood; he wiped them against the wall again and again, but couldn't get them clean.
Dead silence.
"You... are a ritual executor," Night Owl said with difficulty.
Ye Huan shook his head, fished out a pack of cigarettes, pulled one out, and stuck it in his mouth.
He raised a finger.
The cigarette ignited.
"You owl, your martial arts are excellent and your experience is vast. If you had had a change of heart earlier, we could have been friends. I'd have had plenty of things to ask your advice on. Naturally, I would've treated you to meals and dropped by to play cards now and then," Ye Huan said.
"I'm a hitman. No friends," Night Owl said.
"People who care too much about their work never lead a good life."
"Right. No way around it."
The gloomy rain washed over the blood.
The cigarette between Ye Huan's lips flickered bright and dim, the smoke dispersing like fog and drifting off like wisps of cloud.
"She said you were an ordinary person," Night Owl said.
"What do you think?"
"You're not."
"Then why did you still insist on killing me?" Ye Huan asked.
"Professionalism," Night Owl said.
"You really won't ever lead a good life. Goodbye," Ye Huan said.
"Goodbye," Night Owl said.
Night Owl said no more. He slowly lowered his head and looked at the flame on his chest.
Dark green flame.
—This was a stronger, more powerful Ritual Fire.
Backed into a corner, Ye Huan had ultimately used this Ritual Fire, wreathing his hands in it to slay the four martial artists first, and then slaughtering from one end of the alley to the other.
Once this fire touched flesh and blood, it corroded bone and burned the soul, inexhaustible and unending.
Hopeless.
The rain extinguished the cigarette, pattering softly throughout the alley.
The distant sirens wailed once more.
This time, it was impossible to tell whether it was more hitmen or actual police.
Ye Huan couldn't care about that either; he only watched the anomalous spectacle before his eyes—
Across the entire alley.
Above the countless corpses, translucent, illusory humanoid silhouettes floated upward.
These silhouettes were entirely engulfed in dark green flames.
They struggled desperately, trying every means to break free from some unseen control.
Yet it was futile.
In an instant,
darkness blanketed the entire alley.
Within this darkness, everything transformed.
Pure flesh and blood formed the ground. Gray and pale human faces sprouted across the walls. From the bleak void descended a bloom of dark green flame, morphing into the head of that woman.
The souls drifted around her, held fast by an unseen grip.
"One hundred and twenty-eight souls. Excellent. You completed the ritual ahead of schedule. I am very pleased," the woman's head said.
"Thank you for lending me such mighty power. Otherwise, I would not have survived," Ye Huan said, gathering his strength.
The woman's head smiled meaningfully, looking down upon him.
"Do you know what a Cardinal is?"
"I don't."
"Sacrifice more than three hundred people, and you will receive a blood-red cloak, earn my recognition, and be promoted to Cardinal."
"Your Cardinal wants to kill me," Ye Huan said bluntly, cutting through any riddles.
"Fierce storms of blood and carnage are the true backdrop of life. It is precisely your profound friendship that spurred you to complete today's grand ritual," the woman's head said nonchalantly.
—Only with competition would there be motivation, and rituals would take place more frequently.
This was a sight she was glad to see.
If one side simply snuffed out the other, it wouldn't be interesting in the slightest.
"Without her, I can do even better," Ye Huan said.
"Is that so?" The woman's head laughed. "Your words, deeds, and ritual have all pleased me."
—These hundred-plus souls were indeed exceedingly satisfying.
Well then—
The surrounding darkness began to dissipate.
Everything shifted.
The anomalous spectacle was coming to an end.
The woman's head spoke one last time:
"The number of souls you sacrificed exceeded my requirement. As a reward, I'll clean up the aftermath here for you."
"Strive to please me."
"—Perhaps you can become another Cardinal of mine."
With those words,
the entire vision vanished without a trace.
Ye Huan found himself still leaning against the wall, sitting in the alley, his body unmoved by an inch.
The blood, flesh, and corpses that had filled the alley—
all had completely vanished.
Only the two cultists killed by the woman's head at the very beginning, along with Night Owl's corpse, still lay upon the cold ground.
—These three corpses remained.
Chapter 20