Tick, tick...

Thick, foul-smelling black liquid dripped beside Dark 2, forming a puddle of sludge.

His shoulder, along with half of his chest, looked like it had been scraped by a scalding branding iron, leaving a huge gash.

The skin and flesh had vanished, and the ribs on the side were broken, exposing the frantically beating, blood-splattered heart, some disgusting rotten liquid still adhering to it.

Feng Mu gasped in horror, recalling the first time he met his senior brother, perhaps he was just a step away from turning into a puddle himself?

As an ally, Feng Mu felt his scalp go numb, but after the terror came an overwhelming sense of security.

He couldn't determine which level of martial artist his senior brother was, but it was clear, his viciousness was unparalleled.

[Black Face], whom Feng Mu had once greatly feared, couldn't even last a round against the senior brother and turned to mud.

"It's worth worshipping at [Ronggui Sect]. It's like having a high-level account taking me through quests for leveling up, or maybe even more than one," Feng Mu rejoiced inwardly.

The key was, [Ronggui Sect] especially loved organizing [team-building] events, where everyone was eager to join, even if going through "low-level quests." They always came running.

Feng Mu had been hesitating about which prison to head to next, but now there was no need to ponder.

His senior brother's sturdy support had to be utilized, as for the 087 Tactical Squad... hmm, he could think of ways to turn prisons to meet up with him.

"Wouldn't that be the best of both worlds!" Feng Mu sailed through effortlessly, feeling content, even managing to take a brief respite to plan what was next.

The handler was left only with cold sweat and nerves completely shattered.

The handler's throat was dry, his eyes bulging from his disfigured face, screaming inwardly: "The intent to kill is evident, the spirit is disturbed, which in the era of Old Martial Arts means the power of blood merge and spirit fusion, a step towards refining marrow."

"According to New Martial standards, it would likely be a master of at least seventh rank."

"In such a remote area as Lower City District 9, why would someone like this appear?"

The handler was puzzled, feeling like playing a game where upon stepping out, he encountered a boss from the later maps in a low-level newbie area, making him want to curse.

The real world naturally lacks level partitions like in games, yet, under the complex reality, various forces often constrain each other, following similar unspoken rules.

Like placing moves on a chessboard, the closer to the center, the more valuable the piece, while the corners are often ignored.

After all, a seventh rank master would enter the ranks of top-notch elite in any force, an extremely scarce combat resource.

Comparing with Calamity Corpse Sect, a seventh rank master would be a sect Protector, typically reside within the sect, rarely stepping out, if at all, only appearing in resource-rich but high-risk "advanced maps."

Like areas near Upper City Central City, or certain high-risk Hidden Sects.

Zone 9, as the lowest ranked end zone in Lower City, in such a barren place with nothing profitable, who would foolishly send such power here to waste?

The handler speculated inwardly, feeling palpitations. He suddenly realized:

"The scramble for the Black Core is surely not just [Mask]'s personal act, even Puppet Mother has dispatched her top minions; Puppet Mother is going off the beaten path, preparing to stir the whole Calamity Corpse Sect in a big event."

The handler was desperate, admitting his previous email contained truths but was inevitably enhanced, not quite alarmist but exaggerated.

The workplace survival rules dictated thus. Even Calamity Corpse Sect wasn't immune.

When reporting to the "boss", if subordinates didn't properly exaggerate the difficulties and challenges faced at work, how could they highlight their hard work and remarkable contribution, thus proposing reasonable demands?

However, the current situation forced the handler to reassess his judgment.

"I underestimated the severity in my email. Reality might far exceed my expectations. Seems like, though the sect's reinforcements haven't arrived, I'm doomed here today."

"No, the sect's reinforcements weren't supposed to come, I didn't even get the chance to send out the email."

The handler's disfigured face shifted unpredictably, a hint of malice flashed in his eyes.

The next instant, he stepped, turned, slid to appear behind Dark 2.

Raising his hand, fingers clenched like a knife, he fiercely pierced towards Dark 2's heart along Li Bashan's slashed chest ribs; the whole move completed smoothly, too quickly for Dark 2's mind to process what his companion was doing.

While the handler struck ruthlessly, he shouted urgently: "I've seen the light. What you said earlier..."

No sooner had the words landed, the handler's fingertips barely touched the beating heart, when he felt warm liquid splash across his cheeks.

His breath choked suddenly, an object fell into his open mouth, wedged in his throat, forcibly silencing the rest of his words.

"Trying to steal the kill?"

Li Bashan, at the critical moment, crushed Dark 2's head first.

With a sound excruciating to hear, Dark 2's skull seemed squeezed by terrifying power, bursting like fragile tofu.

Blood and brains splattered, staining the vicious tiger mask, making it appear even more fierce and terrifying.

Li Bashan glared fiercely at the handler, his gaze as if it could devour a person.

The handler quickly retreated two steps, nervous beyond measure.

Under the goat mask, Feng Mu gently covered his cheek, silently sighing: "Senior brother is perfect in all aspects, but when it comes to food, he's overly possessive."

He sighed, apologetically saying to the handler: "It's not that I don't want to spare your life; I gave you the opportunity, it's just you couldn't use it."

The handler silently wiped the blood off his face with his sleeve, looking down at a rolling eyeball, unsure if it was mocking him for being blind or ridiculing him for being blind.

He sighed sorrowfully, bent down to pick up the eyeball from the ground, wiped it clean, seeming sentimental as he pocketed it.

"Heh—"

The handler laughed furiously,

"I always mocked him for being dumb, never realizing in the end, I'm even dumber, believing your lies, Feng Mu."

Feng Mu scratched the goat's cheek, his tone calm and understanding: "Can't blame you, human nature is always about survival, even cultists aren't immune, it's understandable."

The handler gritted his teeth, shaking his head, spat blood-stained sputum and snarled: "No, that's not what I meant. What I meant is that you and all of you aren't Puppet Mother's minions!!!"

.....

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