345: Chapter 345 The Shadow of the Old Town

Chen Mo braced his left arm against the heavy, rusty manhole cover above him.

The metallic muscle bundles contracted, exerting force.

The manhole cover slid to the side, scraping against the gravel on the road and emitting a dull, grating sound.

Cold wind poured into the underground pipe through the gap.

Chen Mo poked his head out, braced his hand against the manhole rim, and vaulted onto the ground.

He turned and reached out, grabbing Su Qingxue's uninjured right hand to pull her out of the manhole.

Towering, abandoned red brick chimneys surrounded them.

This was the back street of the Red Star Machinery Factory.

Rows of residential buildings were hidden in the dense night.

The exterior walls of the buildings were covered in withered vines, most of the glass was shattered, and the pitch-black window frames exuded an aura of death.

Jiang Hong was the last to climb up, pulling the manhole cover back into place with a reverse motion.

She raised her Thor sniper rifle, her gaze sweeping over the surrounding high vantage points.

Two hundred meters away stood an abandoned water tower.

Chen Mo pointed toward the water tower.

Jiang Hong did not reply; she slung her rifle over one shoulder, vanished into the shadows of the back street, and moved rapidly toward the water tower.

Chen Mo looked at the system panel on his retina.

The Heartbeat Localization function had already activated automatically.

A 3D landscape within a radius of five hundred meters unfolded in his brain.

It was empty.

There were no life signs of any homeless people or stray dogs in this residential compound that had been abandoned for ten years.

Chen Mo gripped the handle of his tactical dagger.

It was too clean.

The more absolute the silence, the more it signaled that the killing intent was already in place.

He stepped toward the entrance of Building No. 3.

His leather boots stepped on the rotting fallen leaves, his weight distribution deliberately controlled so that not a single sound was made.

Su Qingxue followed three meters behind and to the left of Chen Mo, the muzzle of her micro-submachine gun keeping level as she moved.

The tacit understanding between the two formed rapidly during the slaughter tonight.

She no longer regarded Chen Mo as that newcomer who needed protection.

At this moment, Chen Mo was the absolute core dominating the battlefield.

The hallway of Building No. 3 was filled with a musty odor.

The wall plaster had peeled off in large areas, revealing the rusty steel bars inside.

Chen Mo did not walk in the middle of the staircase but moved upward while hugging the inner side of the wall.

At the staircase corner on the third floor, Chen Mo stopped.

He raised his left hand and made a fist.

Su Qingxue, behind him, immediately crouched halfway, aiming her gun upward.

Chen Mo stared at a layer of dust on the stairs ahead.

There was a footprint in the dust.

The pattern on the sole was very shallow, not disturbing the overall structure of the dust.

The opponent was a top-tier expert at controlling weight and force.

And they had just gone up not long ago.

There were still no red dot alerts on his system retina.

There was only one possibility for being able to evade the search of the primary Heartbeat Localization.

The opponent had suppressed their heart rate to below thirty beats per minute, entering a deep state of tortoise-breathing concealment.

This was the physiological control capability possessed only by the purest killing machines.

Chen Mo undid the button at his collar and flexed the mechanical joints of his left hand.

"Stay on the third floor." Chen Mo turned his head to look at Su Qingxue.

Su Qingxue gripped the gun stock tightly, her lips moved slightly, but in the end, she did not utter any words of rebuttal.

She knew that in an engagement of that level, her current injuries would only make her a hindrance.

Chen Mo crossed the third-floor corner alone and headed toward the fifth floor.

The air grew thin, and the smell of blood seeped out from the door crack on the fourth floor.

The security door of the fourth-floor residence was half-open.

Chen Mo did not turn his head to look.

Those were Scavengers who had been cleared out in advance.

The assassin was clearing the field, ensuring there were no uncontrollable variables.

The fifth floor.

Room 502.

The old-fashioned wooden security door was tightly shut.

The patina on the door lock showed unnatural friction marks.

Someone had technically picked the lock to enter, then locked the door again, restoring it to its original state.

Chen Mo did not touch that door lock.

He turned and walked toward the ventilation window at the end of the hallway.

Outside the ventilation window was a drainage ditch only half a meter wide, connecting to the edge of the balcony.

Chen Mo pushed open the glassless window frame, gripped the exterior wall with one hand, swung his body out of the hallway, and landed on the narrow ledge at the edge of the drainage ditch.

The cold wind blew his black trench coat, which was stained with blood.

He hugged the wall tiles and inched toward the balcony of 502 step by step.

The glass door of the balcony was not closed tightly, leaving a gap two fingers wide.

Chen Mo looked inside through the gap.

The room was pitch black.

A woman wearing a black tight-fitting combat suit stood with her back to the balcony, in front of an old sofa in the center of the living room.

The woman had an extremely well-proportioned figure, with two short blades hanging at her waist.

A head of neat short hair lifted in the night wind.

She was searching through the interlayer at the bottom of the sofa.

Chen Mo recognized that back.

Nightingale.

The sharpest blade within Tartarus.

A world-famous international assassin.

This blade had been sent here.

Chen Mo did not hide his breathing; he extended the silver metal knuckles of his left hand.

The knuckles tapped against the balcony's glass door.

The glass emitted a crisp click.

The woman in black stopped moving in an instant.

She did not turn back.

Her right hand reached toward the short blade at her waist, her body's center of gravity lowered.

Chen Mo pushed open the glass door and stepped into the living room.

"You're too slow at finding things." Chen Mo spoke, exposing her predicament.

Before the tail end of his voice had even faded, two short blades whistled through the air, slashing directly toward Chen Mo's throat and heart.

Nightingale's turning attack defied the principles of ergonomics.

It was an extreme, contorted exertion of force that completely sacrificed joint longevity.

The surface of the blades was coated with a matte finish, reflecting no light in the darkness.

Chen Mo blocked horizontally with his left arm, catching the blade slashing toward his throat.

The blade sliced through the fabric of his trench coat, struck the silver metal skeleton, and sparked a long trail of bright flashes.

At the same time, Chen Mo's right knee rose, bracing against the wrist of the hand Nightingale was using to stab toward his heart.

The collision of bone and flesh made a dull thud.

Nightingale borrowed the force to leap into the air, her legs wrapping around Chen Mo's neck.

Her thigh muscles were as tight as hydraulic pliers.

Chen Mo stepped forward into her strangulation.

His left hand passed through the gap between Nightingale's legs and gripped her tactical belt.

His right hand balled into a fist and struck the bottom of Nightingale's jaw from below.

Nightingale forcibly twisted her neck in mid-air, avoiding the fatal impact that would have caused a comminuted fracture.

The wind of his punch grazed her cheek, leaving a red mark.

The two fell heavily onto the floor.

Chen Mo pinned Nightingale beneath him, his left fingers locking into the handguard of the short blade in her right hand, pinning it to the floor.

His right hand drew his tactical dagger, the tip hovering three millimeters above the pupil of Nightingale's left eye.

Nightingale's left leg was suppressed by Chen Mo's knee, while her right leg hooked backward around Chen Mo's lower back, attempting to disrupt his center of gravity.

The two were locked in close-quarters stalemate in the darkness.

Their breathing intertwined.

Chen Mo could smell the faint scent of gunpowder and medical antiseptic on Nightingale.

Those eyes in the darkness revealed wildness and killing intent, without any emotional fluctuations belonging to a normal person.

"The blonde cyborg sent you to find the Zero Data." Chen Mo's hand holding the knife was as steady as a mountain pillar, without any trembling.

Nightingale stopped struggling.

The opponent had not only caught her finishing combo but also pointed out the physical characteristics of her superior manager.

In this world, those who had seen the blonde cyborg and were still alive could be counted on one hand.

"Who are you?" Nightingale spoke, her voice carrying the huskiness of long-term silence.

Chen Mo flipped his wrist, and the back of his dagger tapped against Nightingale's collarbone, making a crisp sound.

"I am the one who can extend your life."

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