7: Chapter 7: Shadows Approach, My Fists Are Harder

When Chen Fan rushed out of the Frost Moon Teahouse, the force of Su Shuang pushing him still lingered on the back of his neck.

The bluestone slabs were slick with night dew, causing him to stumble half a step. When he looked up, he ran straight into five dark figures.

One of the streetlights at the end of the road was broken; the remaining one swayed overhead, casting Dao Ge's shadow long across the ground.

Dao Ge held a cigarette in his mouth, spinning a steel pipe expertly in his palm. Sparks flew onto the bluestone, ringing out with a sharp 'ding'.

Behind him, his four underlings were huddled together. Their gear was a dull grayish-green—all White-grade—but each man gripped his weapon tightly, knuckles white as if soaked in ice water.

"Chen Fan," Dao Ge exhaled smoke, the mist wrapping around a cold sneer as it drifted over. "You, a brick-hauler, dare to wear Blue-grade?" He tilted his head, poking his own Green-grade shoulder guard with the steel pipe. "Hand over your armor, and I'll let you crawl away on your knees."

Chen Fan pressed his back against the wall.

The corrosive wound on his left arm was still burning. The system notification sounded like a tiny needle piercing his ear: [High-Temperature Resistance activated. Corrosion status slowed to 15%].

He lowered his eyes to glance at the bulky armor under his sleeve, deliberately pulling the ragged cloth over his arm—the fire pattern of the Blue-grade armor was suppressed by his energy down to a faint glimmer, looking like just a piece of broken scrap armor from a distance.

Five against one.

His throat tightened.

Dao Ge was Bronze Rank 4, equipped with a Green-grade axe-hand; although his four underlings were only Bronze Rank 2, their White-grade weapons combined meant that a direct fight would be...

He touched the piece of iron in his trouser pocket. It was ground down from scrap piles at the construction site, still rough with burrs along the edge.

"Armor?" He suddenly laughed, a dry, strained sound. "I have something better here, something more valuable than armor." He reached into his chest and pulled out a piece of pitch-black metal—the [Furnace Core] just dropped from theBeginner Dungeon BOSS. The system indicated it could enhance equipment. "Whoever snatches it first gets to keep it. How about that?"

Dao Ge's pupils constricted.

The four underlings clearly moved—the yellow-haired kid on the left swallowed hard, gripping his wooden club even tighter; the short figure on the right, wearing a baseball cap, took half a step forward, his heel scraping a harsh sound across the bluestone.

Chen Fan flipped his wrist, and the metal block clattered into the garbage heap in the street corner.

The rusty tin and broken cardboard boxes made a loud rustling sound. The gazes of the five men snapped over instantly.

Now was the time!

He sprang up like a coiled spring, sweeping the piece of iron toward the nearest target, The one wearing a baseball cap.

The short figure was tiptoeing to look at the garbage heap and didn't react at all—the iron slice grazed past his shin bone, and the system notification exploded in his ear: [Hit! Base Damage 14].

Chen Fan's temples pounded, and a coppery sweetness rose in his throat—this was the precursor to a critical hit.

"Ding—"

[Critical Hitdetermination Triggered! Damage × 2.7 Multiplier]

The one wearing a baseball cap's lower leg snapped with a 'crack,' like a carrot crushed by a truck.

He collapsed with a scream, his wooden club smashing onto the ground, splashing mud spots onto Dao Ge's pant leg.

"Damn it!" Dao Ge roared, swinging his steel pipe into a blur.

Chen Fan rolled on the spot, his back hitting a stack of discarded wooden boxes, making him gasp in pain.

He glimpsed the half-human-high shelving units piled near the alley entrance, oil drums scattered haphazardly—this was a dead end, but it was enough for him to pull a trick or two.

"Chase him! Don't let him get away!" Dao Ge kicked The one wearing a baseball cap, and the four underlings cursed as they charged forward.

Chen Fan ducked and squeezed into the stack of shelves. The iron ladder swayed overhead. He scrambled up in a few steps and hid behind an oil drum.

The third person to charge in was the yellow-haired kid.

He held his wooden club, looking around wildly, the sweat on the back of his neck soaking his collar.

Chen Fan gripped the edge of the oil drum, counting his footsteps—one step, two steps, three steps...

"Get down!"

The oil drum crashed onto the yellow-haired kid's helmet with a 'boom'.

The system notification sounded again: [Critical Hitdetermination Triggered! Stun Chance increased to 80%].

The yellow-haired kid wobbled twice like a shrimp whose spine had been pulled out, then tumbled into the pile of shelves with a 'thud,' making the iron racks clang loudly and knocking down the two underlings behind him.

"Useless!" Dao Ge squeezed in, smashing his steel pipe against the shelving unit, sending wood chips flying.

He wiped the sweat from his face and shouted to those behind him, "Seal the exit! This brat can't escape!"

Chen Fan lay flat on top of the iron ladder, staring towards the end of the alley.

Rainwater had collected in a small puddle at the base of the wall. A severed cable hung down toward the water surface, emitting a faint, ghostly blue light—Old Zhou had taught him that electrical wires shorting in water at a construction site were the most dangerous, but what if it worked in reverse?... He touched the piece of iron; the burrs pricked his palm painfully.

"Dao Ge! That brat is over there!" The short figure wearing a baseball cap got up, clutching his leg, his finger pointing directly at the iron ladder.

Dao Ge looked up, aiming the tip of his steel pipe at Chen Fan: "I'll skin you alive—"

Chen Fan suddenly slid down the iron ladder, the piece of iron 'swishing' as it jammed into the cable connector.

Current surged up the iron piece, making his arm tremble violently from the shock, but he gritted his teeth and connected the other end of the iron piece to the metal pipe on the alley wall.

As Dao Ge charged over, he violently flung the piece of iron into the puddle.

"Bang!"

Electric sparks exploded into a burst of blue and white, and steam rose from the standing water.

The three underlings happened to be standing near the edge of the puddle and were instantly zapped, jumping and yelling. Their wooden clubs clattered to the ground with crackling sounds, their cries sharper than cats whose tails had been stepped on.

Dao Ge was lucky; he was standing slightly farther away.

His eyes red, he swung the steel pipe; the wind of the blow grazed Chen Fan's ear.

Chen Fan dodged aside, his back hitting the metal pipe—the fire pattern on his armor suddenly flared brightly!

He then remembered that he hadn't completely retracted the energy he was suppressing earlier; the Blue-grade armor was burning hot.

"Come on!" He roared, slamming a straight punch into Dao Ge's chest.

The system notification sounded like a gong: [Basic Fist Technique First Strike! Critical Hit × 3.1 Multiplier].

Dao Ge's Green-grade shoulder guard cracked with a 'kacha.' His entire body flew backward as if hit by a truck, slamming into the shelving unit, which collapsed halfway with a 'boom.'

Chen Fan pounced, his knee pressing down on Dao Ge's Adam's apple.

Dao Ge stared, flailing his hands wildly, his nails drawing bloody lines across the back of Chen Fan's hand.

Chen Fan pressed the piece of iron against Dao Ge's nose. "Who did you call the weak one?"

Dao Ge's Adam's apple moved, but he couldn't speak.

The four underlings huddled in the corner, shivering as they watched.

System Notification: [Emergency Instance Activated—Purification of Rusty Iron Factory (Stage Two)].

A 'buzz' sounded in Chen Fan's ears.

He looked up and saw a crack in the window of the second floor of the Frost Moon Teahouse. A shadow in a moon-white qipao flickered, like a cloud moved by the wind.

A sentence was carried over by the wind, light as a snowflake: "Electrical conduction... that's not a trick an ordinary laborer would know."

He touched his burning armor, then looked at the piece of iron in his hand.

Distant police sirens sounded, but in the darkness of the night, they sounded more like the lingering echo of a system notification.

"Rusty Iron Factory..." he murmured softly, turning to look at the huddled form of Dao Ge. "It's time to settle the score."