Volume Two: The Youth of a Thousand Faces, True and False Chapter Fifty-Four: Nemesis on a Narrow Road

Blood Blade Thirteen Forms—this was the superhuman ability that made Eddie famous.

Originally, these thirteen moves had no names, for Eddie was not one for ostentation; as long as they could kill Calamities, what need was there for fancy names?

The one who named these thirteen ultimate techniques, forged amidst mountains of corpses and seas of blood, was Huo Ye.

Huo Ye resembled Eddie in many ways, yet possessed even more traits that set him apart. These differences seemed innate, a temperament carried from the womb—a serenity and gentleness, though shown only to friends and family.

At this moment, Huo Ye’s mood could not have been worse. A book signing that should have gone smoothly, for which he had prepared meticulously for days, sleeping barely two hours a night, all so that it would proceed without a hitch—yet a group of people had inexplicably caused havoc in Bancroft, nearly endangering ordinary citizens. Fury boiled within Huo Ye.

“Jiang Feng, two minutes. I want the precise location of their current commander.” Huo Ye well understood the principle of capturing the ringleader—catch the commander first and beat him half to death before worrying about anything else.

In less than a minute, word came from Jiang Feng.

“Boss, according to surveillance, they all seem to be moving toward that huge breach in the eastern city wall. They must have prepared an escape route there.”

“I see.” Huo Ye ended the call.

During the previous Calamity onslaught, an S-class Calamity adept at crashing through defenses had, with cover from countless others, blasted a hole the size of a truck in Bancroft’s eastern wall. Unfortunately for it, once the wall was breached, what awaited was the city defense and hunter squads’ hail of gunfire.

The wall was still under repair, but Bancroft’s walls were made of special materials—hence its fifty years of proud defense. However, construction materials were scarce and had not yet arrived, so the breach remained.

Only Bancroft’s people would know of this; the mercenaries’ plan to retreat through that spot meant one thing: there was a traitor within Bancroft.

But that was not Huo Ye’s concern now. All he wanted was a fight.

It seemed Gold Toad had underestimated Bancroft’s strength, but in truth, they had not. Their goal was never to kill anyone except Night Rain Crow. Their real mission was to purge their own organization.

Gold Toad’s leader, “Gold Toad,” was ruthless and cunning. He knew full well how formidable Bancroft was—even leading the whole force to attack would likely result in total annihilation, though only he knew this. Most in the organization were reckless cutthroats who knew nothing of strategy.

When such people multiplied, the organization became hard to manage. Internal strife and troublemaking were frequent; Gold Toad had long desired to rid himself of these rotten apples.

Yet as they were all part of the organization, Gold Toad could not act openly. Assigning them to a mission as an excuse to eliminate them wasn't feasible either, since employing large numbers of superhuman mercenaries was rare, and these violent brutes weren’t fools. Too many deaths would arouse suspicion.

The appearance of the envoy from Qimu this time was a godsend for Gold Toad: a mission requiring masses of empowered walkers, almost guaranteed annihilation, and one only the boldest would dare accept. All three conditions made this task a custom-made coffin for these twisted souls.

So when the mysterious envoy presented the task, Gold Toad agreed at once. Cause some havoc, collect the commission after those people died—cleanse the organization and earn a profit. Perfect.

But for the mission to proceed, his own trusted man had to supervise. The commander dispatched was their organization’s second-in-command, Leopard.

Yes, the names of these two leaders—Gold Toad and Leopard—were also the names of their mercenary group, famous in both the underworld and the light.

“Haha! This is fantastic! Rampaging through Bancroft—I’ll be bragging about this for half a year when I get back!”

“Yeah, right. Rampaging? Who did you even kill? Not a single one! What nonsense are you spouting?”

Nearly thirty of them had gathered by the eastern city wall’s gaping breach, laughing and cursing as they waited for extraction.

“Hey, why is there only one hover cycle?” one mercenary asked, puzzled.

A bald man with a long scar across his scalp replied, “That’s for me.”

“Leopard, what’s the meaning of this?” someone demanded.

Leopard did not answer directly but exclaimed, “The boss is truly wise. He knew Bancroft wouldn’t go for the kill. At worst, you’d be captured alive, or like now, strutting off. Have you ever thought—if not for the need to protect civilians, and if Bancroft’s top fighters had come without restraint, none of you would survive. But what’s the point of talking to a group of dead men?”

Someone began to question him, but Leopard produced a transmitter from his storage box and pressed the red button in the center without hesitation.

More than thirty people fell, writhing and convulsing, foaming at the mouth, dead within moments.

Gold Toad had made it clear: except for Leopard, everyone must die in Bancroft.

At their final meal before departure, everyone’s food had contained nano-scale machines. Once the transmitter was pressed—or after a set time—they would emit a lethal current, electrocuting the consumer from within.

Leopard and those remaining in the organization would ingest a solution in their next meal to dissolve the machines, facing no risk. Those doomed by the boss’s order would die by Leopard’s hand or within two hours regardless.

Leopard stared at the corpses with utter indifference, turned, and strode toward the hover cycle to leave.

But just then, he sensed something amiss. In a flash, he leapt from the hover cycle—and in the next instant, a sharp broadsword cleaved straight down, splitting the vehicle in two.

Before he could turn to see who it was, another blade slashed at his head. Leopard dodged again, but not completely—this time, the sword swept across his chest, tearing open a deep gash and spraying blood.

Huo Ye flicked the blood from his blade and sneered, “This is the first time I’ve seen such a fool—killing all your own men before you’ve even escaped. If all thirty of you were alive, I wouldn’t have come out alone to die. Should I thank you or despise you?”

Leopard glared at Huo Ye and bellowed, “It’s you!”

Huo Ye looked puzzled. “Do we know each other?”

Leopard roared, “You little bastard, you don’t remember me? This scar on my head—that’s your handiwork! You cost me my thick, black hair!”

Huo Ye was taken aback. What did your hair have to do with me? Lunatic!

He thought hard. He seldom used his blade on humans, and if he’d given someone such a scar, he must have meant to kill. What had driven him to such lengths?

Suddenly, a flash of memory struck him. He shouted, “Oh, I remember—you’re with Gold Toad!”

It came back to him: years ago, when Huo Ye was training, he took a job as a guard in a merchant caravan. He was only fifteen years old then, his real identity known only to the caravan leader; the others thought him just a kid traveling for experience, barely worth notice.

But the caravan boss had apparently offended someone—so they hired Gold Toad’s mercenaries to raid them.

Fifteen-year-old Huo Ye wasn’t particularly strong, but his unremarkable appearance was his advantage. Who’d expect a kid?

He seized the chance, slashing Leopard—obviously the commander—across the head. Once their force was beaten back, they fled with Leopard.

Huo Ye looked to the sky with a sigh. What a narrow world for old enemies to meet again!