16: Chapter 16 Only the Dead Are the Most Generous

There is no time for prayer on the battlefield, only life-or-death speed.

The moment Chen Mo's palm touched the gangster's corpse, a familiar electric sensation surged from his fingertips straight to his brain.

It was a pleasure more addictive than morphine, as if a new power had been forcefully injected into his soul.

[Ding!]

[Target Contacted: Veteran Gangster Marksman (Time of Death: 2 minutes).]

[Extraction Successful!]

[Obtained Skill: Tactical Evasion (White - Advanced).]

[Obtained Status: Adrenaline Rush (One-time use, duration: 3 minutes).]

[Note: Tactical Evasion (White - Advanced) — You are as good at fleeing as a rat in a sewer, possessing an instinctive intuition for trajectories and cover, and your physical flexibility is increased by 20%.]

"Activate status!" Chen Mo muttered in his heart.

Boom!

His heart contracted violently, then began to beat frantically like a beating drum.

The world slowed down in his senses.

The dust floating in the air, the flames spewing from the muzzle, and even the ricocheting bullet flying toward him—their trajectories all became clearly discernible.

At that moment, fear vanished, replaced by absolute calmness and perfect control over his body.

Da-da-da!

The tongue of fire from the machine gun on the second floor swept over again. Bullets tore a neat row of holes where he had just been lying, sending concrete debris flying.

But Chen Mo was no longer there.

He rolled on the spot, his movements as slippery as an oiled loach, sliding three meters along the edge of the flowerbed.

This movement completely defied his previous physical habits; his muscles and bones seemed to be pulled by some force, executing a textbook tactical maneuver.

Murphy hid behind the cover, his eyes nearly popping out of his head.

He had clearly seen that row of bullets sweep across Chen Mo's position. How was this kid not dead yet?

"Cover me! Throw smoke grenades!" Chen Mo roared, grabbing an Uzi submachine gun from beside the corpse and firing a short burst at the second-floor window.

He didn't expect to hit anyone; it was purely for suppression.

The nearby officers were jolted awake by his shout and subconsciously threw two smoke grenades.

Chisshh—

Thick white smoke instantly spread across the street.

Instead of rushing into the suicidal open ground, Chen Mo used the cover of the smoke to double back like a ghost, darting into an alley on the side of the apartment building.

Two recently gunned-down corpses lay there, along with a severely wounded man crawling on the ground.

The wounded man saw Chen Mo and was about to raise his gun, but Chen Mo's tactical boot stomped heavily onto his wrist.

Crack.

The sound of fracturing bone was drowned out by the gunfire. Without a shred of hesitation, Chen Mo fired a finishing shot into his temple.

Bang.

With no psychological burden whatsoever—in this Asura arena, hesitation meant death.

He quickly bent down, placing his left hand on one of the burly corpses wearing a bulletproof vest and his right hand on the gunman who had just been killed.

Double Extraction!

[Ding! Extraction successful! Obtained Skill: Street Fighting (White).]

[Ding! Extraction successful! Obtained Skill Fragment: Rifle Mastery (1/3).]

[Ding! System EXP +20.]

[Current Mental Power: 12/30.]

This feeling was absolutely wonderful.

On this chaotic battlefield, every corpse was an unopened gift, and every touch made him stronger.

Chen Mo, who had needed to rely on cover to hide just moments ago, now felt as if the entire battlefield was under his control.

He fused his newly acquired [Street Fighting] with his previous [Basic Combat].

Although the system level was not high enough for a deep fusion, the simple overlay enriched his muscle memory—especially those dirty moves like eye-gouging and groin-kicking, which were exceptionally useful in life-and-death struggles.

Leaning against the corner of the wall, Chen Mo adjusted his breathing as the smoke began to disperse.

Through the thinning smoke, he saw the back door of the apartment building being violently kicked open.

A group of men in black jackets was escorting a burly bald man as they rushed out.

The bald man's face was covered in blood. Clutching a golden Desert Eagle, he roared as he fired.

Marcus.

This fat pig was finally forced out.

Chen Mo was in no hurry to shoot, nor did he call for backup.

Like a patient hunter, he watched his prey step into the trap pace by pace.

Marcus was clearly running toward the abandoned auto repair shop to the east, where his backup vehicle was hidden.

But he didn't know that path was a dead end.

"Team Two! That bald guy is running toward the back alley! Cut him off!" Carter's roar came through the walkie-talkie.

Marcus's side quickly engaged in a firefight with the ambushing police.

The two sides traded fire in the narrow alley, and screams echoed one after another.

Pressing against the base of the wall, Chen Mo used the movement techniques from [Tactical Evasion] to weave through clutter and abandoned vehicles.

He didn't fire, nor did he even show his head, simply keeping a tight lock on Marcus's position.

Two minutes later, the gunfire grew sparse.

The men around Marcus were all dead. He himself had been shot twice; dragging a bloody leg behind him, he slipped into the abandoned auto repair shop and locked the iron door from the inside.

The police outside were calling for a battering ram.

Chen Mo glanced at a broken window on the second floor, which served as the auto repair shop's ventilation opening.

He holstered his gun, took two steps back, ran, and leaped.

Grabbing the windowsill with both hands, his arm muscles bulging, he slipped inside silently like an agile black cat.

The auto repair shop was pitch black, save for the occasional flash of police lights filtering through the gaps, casting mottled shadows on the greasy floor.

The air was thick with the smell of motor oil, rust, and blood.

Heavy panting echoed from the inspection pit.

Marcus was like a wounded beast, hiding in his cave and licking his wounds.

Chen Mo turned off his tactical flashlight, drew his glock, and switched off the safety.

He advanced silently in the darkness, each step precisely avoiding the scrap metal and glass shards on the ground.

He was enjoying this sense of control.

The "Corpse Collector" who once had been ordered around in the morgue, forced to endure the stench while looking at corpses, finally held the power of life and death in his hands.

He walked to the edge of the inspection pit, looking down at the curled-up dark figure below.

"Mr. Marcus," Chen Mo's voice was very soft, yet in this spacious workshop, it sounded like the whisper of the Grim Reaper. "Your time is up. Your traits... I'll be taking them."