16: Avoid their sight

Hum—

The low resonance did not come from the air but from a tremor deep within his bone marrow. The Crimson Gem on his left wrist lit up, its light pulsing powerfully once, like a heartbeat.

Immediately after, unlike the frenzy of the previous near-death crisis, this transformation was guided by a clear will. Silvery-white Biomass spread from the armband, but it was not a simple covering; it was more like his own life substance being instantly activated, naturally growing from beneath his skin and deep within his flesh and blood.

It was like living liquid bone, rapidly extending and solidifying along the contours of his arm, forming a complete silvery-white Arm Guard in the span of a breath.

This growth swept through his entire body simultaneously.

On his torso, the Chest Plate and Abdominal Plate, like a secondary development of his ribcage and abdominal wall, instantly shaped into silvery-white armor that combined streamlined beauty with defensive capability, perfectly fitting his body contours. His legs were encased in sturdy Leg Guards and Combat Boots, providing solid support.

Finally, a subtle pressure covered his head as the silvery-white Helmet fully formed. When the Visor lit up with a brilliant blue light, the world transformed before his eyes—the layers of light became richer, faint sounds in the distance became clearly discernible, and a three-dimensional perception beyond ordinary humans enveloped the entire space.

The entire process was quiet, swift, and filled with a sense of power.

There was no pain or struggle like the first time, only a sense of control that felt as natural as water flowing downhill, and that familiar, immense sense of power once again filled his limbs and entire body.

He lowered his head, looking at his hands covered in silvery Bone Armor, shimmering with a cold luster, and clenched them tightly. The Gauntlets rubbed together, emitting an extremely faint yet solid sound.

Success. He was no longer that lucky individual who could only passively trigger power in a crisis. He had initially mastered this key.

Next, he needed to use this power to escape surveillance and find the training ground where he could truly wield this power.

Lu Jianchuan's silver-armored body stood motionless in the center of the room, the blue light of the Visor beneath the Faceplate slightly dimmed, like a lurking hunter. Time was tight; he had to complete everything before the monitors changed shifts or initiated more precise scans.

Relying on the anti-reconnaissance theories ingrained in his bones from Police Academy and his deep understanding of modern surveillance technology, he coldly listed in his mind the methods his opponents might possess: thermal imaging, low-light enhancement, voiceprint collection, vibration sensing... He had to use Mortal wisdom to oppose this invisible electronic cage.

Thermal deception was the foundation. He precisely removed the side panel of the desktop computer case, locating the graphics card and CPU heat sinks. With a slight movement of his fingertips, he used minimal power to channel a trace of Bioelectricity, forcibly overloading the chips to continuously emit heat approaching human body temperature.

He then carefully covered and shaped it with a dark blanket, creating a "dormant" heat source on the thermal imaging screen that appeared as a curled-up figure in bed with a reasonable heat distribution.

Optical illusions had to be synchronized. Using backpack straps, books, and clothing, he meticulously constructed the raised outline of someone lying on their side beneath the bedding on the bedroom bed.

He placed his phone under the pillow, setting it to loop an audio clip containing rustling sounds of turning over and deep breathing.

Simultaneously, he connected the desk lamp to a simple swinging device modified from an alarm clock, casting a dim, slowly moving silhouette on the curtains, as if an insomniac were tossing and turning.

Sound, light, and heat—three mutually corroborating life signals woven into a precise deception.

Now, it was the final step to freedom, and also the riskiest one—he absolutely must not touch any doors or windows. His gaze locked onto the Louvered Vent of the old-fashioned Ventilation Duct in the corner of the bathroom ceiling.

The armor's fingertips extended, high-frequency vibrations activated at a frequency undetectable to the human ear, silently melting the edges of the metal grating like a hot knife through butter.

He contracted his body, the silvery-white streamlined armor displaying astonishing flexibility, sliding precisely into the dark duct filled with years of accumulated grime and barely enough space to fit, like boneless liquid.

Inside the duct was absolute darkness and confinement, but his mind clearly projected the long-memorized architectural blueprint. The low-light vision and enhanced tactile senses granted by the armor became his only guide.

Using his elbows and knees to exert extremely slight force, he moved steadily and slowly through the cold metal ducts, alternating between vertical and horizontal sections, like an inchworm. Every movement was controlled at the lowest level of muscle exertion, avoiding any vibrations at contact points strong enough to be detected by precise sensors.

He moved like a true ghost, traversing the gaps between the building's walls and floors, avoiding all ducts that might connect to other residents. His goal was clear—follow this forgotten metal Bloodline straight to the building's ground floor, to the exit of the long-abandoned Maintenance Passage connecting to the city's underground pipeline network.

When he finally pushed open the rusted iron grate of the ground-floor passage and breathed the cold outdoor air again, he looked back. The apartment building still slept silently in the night. All the surveillance equipment remained faithfully paying tribute to the false illusions he had set up, convinced that their target was trapped in that warm cage woven from light, sound, and heat.

Without the slightest pause, the silver figure vanished into the deeper shadows of the alley like mercury blending into the night. He could not leave any trace that could be tracked anywhere.

The city rapidly receded beneath the armor's feet. He was not running aimlessly; his mind had long planned the route. He needed a place remote enough, with open space, sturdy structure, and unlikely to be discovered by chance.

Abandoned factories, unfinished buildings far from main roads, old scrapyards on the city's edge... these locations flashed through his mind, cross-referenced with his memory of the city map and news reports.

Finally, he selected his target—a large Machinery Factory on the city's edge that had been shut down for over five years, slated for demolition but long delayed. There, the workshops were tall, filled with abandoned metal equipment and parts, the walls intact, and it was rarely visited—an ideal testing ground.

He avoided all surveillance on main roads, moving swiftly and silently between rooftops and alleys. Half an hour later, he silently flipped over the Machinery Factory's rusted iron fence like a night owl, landing inside the factory grounds.

Moonlight was cut into fragmented patches by the tall workshop skeletons, scattering over the weed-covered ground and the silent remnants of giant machines. The air was filled with the dull scent of rust, machine oil, and years of accumulated dust. All was silent here, only the mournful sound of the night wind passing through broken window frames.

This was the place.

Standing in the center of the largest workshop, he surveyed his surroundings, confirming absolute safety before slowly assuming a combat stance.

Training began.

At first, he did not use any special abilities, only the most basic adaptation. He repeatedly performed standard movements from combat training: straight punches, hooks, side kicks, low sweeps, swift slides, and agile turns. Initially, the extra weight of the armor and the subtle sense of separation from his own senses made his movements slightly stiff, with occasional sluggishness in energy flow through the joints when exerting force.

But he patiently adjusted, focusing on feeling the armor's breathing rhythm as if it were a living thing, trying to synchronize his own force exertion with the armor's energy circuits. With every punch and every movement, he concentrated fully, no longer viewing the armor as an external object but as his newly grown bones and muscles to master.

Gradually, a wondrous sense of Fusion began to replace the initial separation. His movements became increasingly fluid, and power transmission became more efficient. He punched a nearby abandoned Cast-Iron Machine Base.

Thud!

A dull roar echoed through the empty workshop, the solid rust shell on the machine base's surface shattering in response, leaving a clear fist imprint.

Lu Jianchuan looked at his fist, his gaze flickering slightly beneath the Visor. This was just the application of pure physical force; he had not even used Bioelectricity. The basic enhancement provided by this armor far exceeded his imagination.

This was only the beginning. There was still much he needed to familiarize himself with.