45: Chapter 45 Blood Night Descends (Part 1)

When these words were spoken, they carried a composure akin to an academic discussion, but falling into the cold air of the Underground Room, they sounded like a death warrant.

May 18th, 7:40 PM.

Yan Zheng stood before the workbench in the Underground Room, with a complete set of The Hand ninja gear spread out before him.

The black bodysuit, mask, waist sash, leg wraps, and even the soft pads on the soles of the feet were original items salvaged from captured supplies.

He took off his gold-rimmed glasses and placed them on the table, picked up the mask and covered his face, then brought up a virtual mirror in his consciousness.

Yan Zheng: ( ꐦ ˘ ᴗ ˘ )

"It's not a perfect fit; the waist is a bit loose."

He pulled a spare belt from the drawer, wrapped it once more around the outside of the waist sash, tightened it, and tied a knot.

"Wearing a ninja outfit on a 1.78-meter-tall Chinese man is, honestly, a bit ridiculous."

"But tonight, it doesn't need to look good; it only needs to look the part in the blurry surveillance footage."

The system panel unfolded in his consciousness, and he glanced at the troop list.

Stitched Brute, full status.

Skeleton Soldier No. 1, full status.

No. 2 Skeleton Soldier, full status.

No. 3 Skeleton Soldier, full status.

"Mental Power usage is 6.5, with a limit of 11.5, leaving 5 remaining."

"That's enough."

Yan Zheng picked up the ninja short sword from the table and flipped it twice in his hand; the dark red coating on the blade gleamed eerily under the light.

"There are still over two hours until the handover time agreed upon with Wesley, and Liu Kun has already cleared the venue at 7:30 as planned."

"Now there are only six guards and four Mutants left in the fight club."

"The optimal window for action."

He tucked the short sword into his belt, pinned three captured shuriken to each side of his waist, checked the position of all his gear, and confirmed that nothing would make a sound while moving.

Yan Zheng: ( ≖ ‿ ≖ )

"Let's go."

8:05 PM, in the underground drainage pipe of the fight club.

The pipe was pitch black, with only the dark red veins in the Stitched Brute's chest providing a faint light source.

Yan Zheng walked behind the Stitched Brute, with Skeleton Soldier No. 1 by his side, and No. 2 and No. 3 Skeleton Soldiers bringing up the rear.

The five figures moved in single file through the pipe, which was less than two meters in diameter, their footsteps muffled by the standing water.

"Mr. Brute, the maintenance hatch ahead leads directly to the storage room behind the fight club. Liu Kun sent me the renovation blueprints last week; the reserved pipe opening under the storage room floor hasn't been sealed. We can just lift a steel plate and climb up."

The Stitched Brute's soul fire flickered, indicating receipt.

"After we go up, I'll first confirm the distribution of the guards."

Yan Zheng's voice was very low, muffled by the mask.

"Six guards: two on duty in the backstage corridor, two at the front hall entrance, and two in the second-floor monitoring room."

"Skeleton Soldier No. 1 is responsible for the second-floor monitoring room. After dealing with the two people, pull the surveillance hard drive immediately."

"No. 2 and No. 3 Skeleton Soldiers are responsible for the two at the front hall entrance."

"The Stitched Brute is responsible for the two in the backstage corridor."

"I'll handle the power cut."

8:12 PM.

Beneath the storage room floor, the edge of the steel plate was gripped by the Stitched Brute's fingers and silently lifted, creating a gap.

Yan Zheng lay on the edge of the pipe opening and peered out through the gap.

The storage room was piled with worn-out boxing gloves and folding tables and chairs; there were no lights and no people.

Yan Zheng: ( ˵ ꐦ ˘ ꈊ ˘ ꐦ ˵ )

"Go."

The process of the Stitched Brute squeezing out of the pipe opening was not very graceful; its 2.2-meter petrified frame made the steel plate opening creak, but the storage room's soundproofing was better than expected, and no noise could be heard from the corridor outside.

The three Skeleton Soldiers climbed out one by one, their grayish-white skeletons standing silently in the darkness, waiting for their assignments.

Yan Zheng was the last one to come up; he replaced the steel plate and brushed the dust off himself.

He walked to the storage room door and pressed his ear against the door panel.

People were talking in the corridor.

"Damn, why was the venue cleared so early tonight? Did Liu Kun owe someone money again and is planning to run?"

"Don't talk nonsense. Wesley's people are coming to pick up the goods at ten. Liu Kun is afraid of complications, so he cleared out all the idlers ahead of time."

"What about those Mutants? Are we really handing them over?"

"Why do you care so much? Is Kingpin's business something for you to worry about? Just take your pay and watch your door."

Yan Zheng's fingers rested on the doorknob for two seconds.

The two sources of sound were at the end of the corridor, about fifteen meters away, in the direction of the backstage corridor entrance.

Yan Zheng: ( ✦ ‸ ✦ )

"Stitched Brute."

His voice was as light as a breath.

"Backstage corridor, fifteen meters, two people."

"When you act, use the set I taught you: upper left at forty-five degrees, finish it in two strikes. Don't use your fists."

The Stitched Brute's soul fire dimmed to its lowest, the light of its entire body receding until it was almost invisible.

"No. 1, go to the second floor, take the stairs. The monitoring room is the second room to the right of the stairs, two people."

"Take them out, pull the hard drive, and lock the door when you're done."

The soul fire in Skeleton Soldier No. 1's eye sockets flashed, and it turned to walk toward the side door on the other side of the storage room that led to the stairs.

"No. 2, No. 3, toward the front hall, follow me."

Yan Zheng opened the storage room door and slipped into the corridor.

The corridor behind the fight club was L-shaped. From the storage room to the backstage corridor entrance was a straight line, and from the fork in the backstage corridor, turning to the front hall was another straight line.

He moved silently along the wall toward the front hall, with two Skeleton Soldiers following behind, their bone claws curled in to avoid scraping the walls.

When he reached the L-shaped corner, Yan Zheng stopped, pulled out a captured ninja signal mirror from his waist, and looked around the corner to see the situation on the other side.

At the entrance to the front hall, two burly men in black jackets were sitting on folding chairs; one was playing on his phone, and the other was dozing off.

Yan Zheng put the signal mirror away and glanced back at the two Skeleton Soldiers behind him.

"Wait for me to cut the power."

He turned and walked in the opposite direction along the corridor, aiming for the fight club's power distribution box.

The power box was on the wall next to the backstage corridor entrance, less than three meters away from the two guards who were chatting.

Yan Zheng stopped ten meters away from the power box.

The Stitched Brute was already in position behind him, crouching against the wall, its entire frame curled into a mass of shadows.

Yan Zheng: ( ꐦ ᴗ ꐦ )

"Countdown: three seconds."

Three.

Two.

One.

Yan Zheng issued the general attack order in his consciousness.

The Stitched Brute's figure shot out from the darkness, its 2.2-meter petrified frame accelerating to a full sprint within three steps, the ninja short sword in its hand slashing down at the angle it had practiced twenty times.

The two guards at the end of the corridor didn't even have time to react.

The moment the first one turned his head, the short sword cut into his left shoulder, slicing through to his right waist at a forty-five-degree angle; the cut was clean and precise, just over two centimeters deep.

Before the person could even fall, the Stitched Brute's left hand had already seized the second guard's neck, lifting him up and pinning him against the wall.

The short sword, switched to its left hand, flipped in mid-air and precisely drew a horizontal line across the second person's throat.

Two corpses hit the ground within three seconds, blood spreading across the concrete floor of the corridor.

At the same time, Yan Zheng rushed to the power box, pulled open the metal door, and yanked down the main switch.

Click.

The lights of the entire fight club went out in the same instant.

Darkness swallowed everything.

From the direction of the front hall came the sound of chairs falling and a short curse.

"What the hell? Power outage?"

"Liu Kun! Liu Kun, where are you?"

In the interval between the two shouts, the two Skeleton Soldiers had already rounded the L-shaped corner.

The sound of bone claws tearing fabric, a brief struggle, the crisp sound of metal objects dropping to the ground.

Then it was quiet.

Yan Zheng stood in the pitch-black corridor, closed his eyes, and used his Mental Power to perceive the dynamics of the entire scene.

Backstage corridor, two heat sources extinguished.

Front hall entrance, two heat sources extinguished.

From the direction of the second-floor monitoring room, a very short, muffled thud came, and then it also went quiet.

He opened his eyes and looked at the timer on the system panel.

One minute and forty-seven seconds.

Six guards, all taken care of.

Yan Zheng: ( ˵ ✧ ᴗ ✧ ˵ )

He felt for the emergency lighting switch on the corridor wall and pressed it.

Pale yellow emergency lights came on; the light was dim but enough to see the path.

Beside the two guard corpses at the end of the corridor, the Stitched Brute was standing, the short sword in its hand stained with blood, the tip pointing downward, its posture as quiet as a statue.

Yan Zheng walked over, crouched down, and checked the knife marks.

"Angle is acceptable, depth is acceptable."

"Mr. Brute, you learned faster than I expected."

He stood up and walked along the backstage corridor toward the four iron cage compartments.

The emergency lights illuminated the corridor in a dim yellow; the four figures behind the iron bars loomed in the faint light.

The burly man with Hardened Skin was the first to notice the abnormality; he stood up, his gray skin gleaming with an ominous metallic luster under the emergency lights.

"Who's there?"

Yan Zheng walked to the passage in the middle of the four iron cages and stopped.

Four pairs of eyes looked at him simultaneously.

Black ninja outfit, mask, short sword and shuriken tucked into his waist.

The burly man with Hardened Skin took a step back, his voice changing pitch.

"People from The Hand? What are you doing here?"

The skinny man with long fingers curled up in the corner, his face deathly pale.

The woman who spat acid sat up from the iron plate bed, the burn scar on the corner of her mouth particularly striking in the dim light.

The young man with High-Temperature Physiology leaned against the iron bars, his whole body glowing with a faint orange-red light, and the smell of burning in the air grew three times stronger.

Yan Zheng looked at them for half a second.

It wasn't hesitation.

It was saying "Thanks for your patronage" to them in his heart.

He took off his mask, revealing his gentle and refined face.

"Everyone, apologies."

The Stitched Brute took a step from behind him, stepping into the circle of light from the emergency lamp.

Its 2.2-meter petrified body, dark red vein patterns, and dual-colored soul fire burning alternately in its eye sockets.

Gasps of cold air sounded simultaneously from the four iron cages.

"Mr. Brute, start from the first one on the right."

Yan Zheng put the mask back on, his voice coming through the fabric, gentle enough to be hair-raising.

"Leave the gentleman with High-Temperature Physiology for last."