71: Chapter 71 Red Shadow and the Price

"Worth it."

When this word traveled from the stone slab into Yan Zheng's own ears, the sound was muffled, as if it had come from the bottom of a coffin.

He lay on the cold ground for another thirty seconds, waiting for his vision to recover from a blur to the point where he could distinguish light and dark, before he started trying to push himself up from the floor.

As he exerted force with his right hand, a fresh trickle of blood seeped from the cracks in his fingers.

Yan Zheng: (ꐦ ˘ ͈ ‸ ˘ ͈)

A row of red notifications jumped in the corner of his vision on the system panel.

[Host body severely damaged. Extensive rupture of capillaries throughout the body, subcutaneous hemorrhage area exceeds 40% of the body surface. Multiple micro-tears in internal organs, three stress fractures in the right metacarpal bones.]

[It is recommended to use healing-type materials for repair. Without external intervention, natural recovery is expected to take 15 days. Combat effectiveness will be halved during this period.]

"Fifteen days."

Yan Zheng rolled this number around in his throat, then spat out the last mouthful of blood.

"Trading fifteen days for a set of legendary-grade materials—Wall Street should send me an invitation."

He used his left hand to brace against his knee and slowly stood up; his legs were shaking, shaking quite noticeably, like a fawn that had just learned to walk.

A fawn covered in blood.

He looked around the Underground Room.

The altar was more than half shattered, and four black iron long nails were scattered at the base of the four walls.

After Nogami died, the inscriptions on the walls had dimmed significantly, changing from their previous dark red to a grayish-red, and their pulsation frequency had slowed by more than half.

"The energy source is cut off."

Yan Zheng muttered to himself, his gaze searching the corners.

"Nogami was the driver of these inscriptions; now that he is dead, the repressive power of the inscriptions is also waning."

"In a few more minutes, the Knight and the Brute should be able to come in."

It took him three times longer than usual to bend over and pick up the black crystal that had fallen to the ground in the corner of the Underground Room.

It felt cold and heavy in his hand, at least five times heavier than it looked.

Yan Zheng: (˵ ꐦ ✧ ᴗ ✧ ˵)

The system panel popped up with the scan results.

[Dark Energy crystal (The Hand's supreme treasure). Integrity: 98%. Can be used as a core catalyst for high-level stitching, or as an energy source to provide lasting power for large Undead Creation. Saved to material library.]

"Core catalyst, lasting power source."

Yan Zheng put the crystal into his system space, and when he straightened his waist, his vision went black for a moment again.

He leaned against the edge of the broken altar and waited for five seconds, waiting for the black mist to disperse.

"Alright, time to go."

He dragged his feet toward the door of the Underground Room, and with every step, he could feel the friction of his shoe soles against the stone slab sounding ten times louder than usual.

"Mr. Knight, Mr. Brute, can you sense me?"

In the Mental Link, two pulses came almost simultaneously, their frequency much more rapid than usual.

"Don't worry, I'm still alive, just walking a bit slowly."

He pushed open the metal door of the Underground Room and walked up the stairs.

With every step he climbed, the grayish-red glow of the inscriptions in the Underground Room behind him dimmed a little more.

Walking to the middle of the stairs, the Knight's phosphorous fire signal in the Mental Link returned to normal intensity.

Yan Zheng: (˵ ꐦ ˘ ꈊ ˘ ˵)

"The suppression field is now weak enough that it won't affect you, come down and get me."

Heavy footsteps came from above, and the Brute's two-meter-three frame appeared at the top of the stairs, dual-colored phosphorous fires dancing in the darkness.

When Yan Zheng reached the third-to-last step, his legs finally gave out, his knees went soft, and he pitched forward.

The Brute's Petrified Scales arm caught him, the movement clumsy but steady, like a crane picking a noodle up off the ground.

"Thank you, Mr. Brute, double overtime pay tonight."

Yan Zheng leaned against the Brute's Petrified Scales forearm and caught his breath for a few moments.

"Retreat through the front door. Knight, clear the way in front; Brute, carry me; Skeleton Soldier, guard the perimeter."

"Slow down, don't run, my internal organs can't handle the jolting."

At 3:52 AM, Yan Zheng was half-carried and half-dragged out of the Laundromat's front door by the Stitched Brute.

The air outside carried the sweltering heat peculiar to a July night and the sour, rotting smell from a distant dumpster.

After spending twenty minutes in the cold Underground Room, this unpleasant warm breeze actually felt comfortable.

Yan Zheng narrowed his eyes and looked around.

This stretch of West 45th Street was quiet, with no streetlights, and shops with rolled-down shutters on both sides.

The Mental Link signals of Skeleton Soldier No. 4 and No. 5 showed no active heat sources within a two-hundred-meter radius.

"Area cleared, we can go."

The team moved south along the pre-planned retreat route.

The Knight walked in front, its two-meter-five frame hunched low, the glimmer reflected on the surface of its Petrified Scales reduced to the dimmest level.

The Brute carried Yan Zheng in the middle, moving at a speed roughly equivalent to a normal person's brisk walk.

Two Skeleton Soldiers moved one in front and one behind on parallel streets on the perimeter, acting as mobile sentries.

Yan Zheng was supported by the Brute's forearm, his toes occasionally touching the ground to maintain balance, with most of his weight entrusted to this moving wall of stone muscle.

When the retreat route passed the intersection of 42nd Street and 11th Avenue, Yan Zheng's vision caught something.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze piercing through the gap over the Brute's shoulder toward the roof of a six-story apartment building fifty meters to the right.

Yan Zheng: (ꐦ ⌓ ꐦ)

A red silhouette stood on the edge of the roof.

Dark red skintight suit, two short horn-like protrusions on the head, no weapons in hand.

But that posture was not a patrol posture.

It was the posture of "I have been standing here for a long time."

Daredevil.

Matt Murdock.

The self-proclaimed vigilante of Hells Kitchen.

Yan Zheng had the Brute stop.

Ten meters.

No, wait, visually fifty meters, but with Daredevil's insane superhuman senses, at this distance he could hear Yan Zheng's heartbeat, blood flow speed, and even the frequency of internal bleeding.

The red figure did not move.

He didn't take out his billy clubs, didn't jump down to question him, didn't call the police.

He just stood there.

"Listen."

Yan Zheng looked up and locked eyes with the red figure for three seconds.

He knew Daredevil was blind, but the word "locked eyes" still held true at this moment.

Because he could feel that person "looking" at him.

"Looking" at the Brute.

"Looking" at the Knight walking in front.

Three seconds later, the red figure turned around and disappeared on the other side of the roof.

He didn't pursue.

But he also didn't pretend he hadn't seen anything.

Yan Zheng: (˵ ꐦ ≖ ꒳ ≖ ˵)

"Mr. Brute, keep moving."

The Brute's footsteps resumed.

Yan Zheng leaned against the Brute's Petrified Scales arm, withdrew his gaze from the roof of the apartment building, and looked down at his own hands, which were covered in bleeding spots.

"Mr. Murdock, I'm not in a state suitable for socializing tonight."

The volume of his self-muttering was extremely low, so low that only he and the vibrations in the Brute's chest could "hear" it.

"But since you've watched the whole thing, the debt between us will have to be settled sooner or later."

"But there's no rush."

"Wait until I recover over these fifteen days."

"And wait for me to fully digest tonight's gains."

"When that time comes, if you still want to visit."

The corners of Yan Zheng's mouth curved in the dark night wind.

"I will brew a pot of good tea for you, Mr. Murdock."

"After all, between good neighbors, one must observe the proper courtesies."