Yuan Changjiang's hand found the weapon under his sharkskin. He kept walking forward, casual and unhurried. The other six spread out around him — apparently relaxed, but Shen Cong's mind had already mapped their positions into a three-dimensional picture. They had taken a concealed encirclement formation, each placing themselves within attack range.

His left eyelid twitched slightly.

One of the rat-catchers had drifted into the precise sightline beneath the second pair of Flying Wing Knives on Great Vajra's chassis.

He ran the calculation fast: seven death-eaters, all meaningfully stronger than baseline jin people. Two months more of C1 injections since the lymph-laggards' account — Activity Values likely at 1H or higher. At 1H, roughly seven or eight-bull strength. Maybe less, given that Shen Cong's own enhancement rate had always outpaced the norm, and these were low-level rat-catchers, not inner-circle death-eaters who'd be receiving priority doses.

Seven-bull against nineteen-bull. A crushing mismatch.

What gave him pause was their equipment. The Eastern Theater Command's research capability wasn't comparable to New Hefei's amateur science. They'd swept Maanshan, Yangzhou, and other cities — encountered enormous numbers of evolved beasts — and had access to both powerful and venomous creatures for core materials. The rat-catchers were armed with core weapons and core armor. He had Pepper Water and Activity-Killer Venom; he couldn't be certain they didn't have equivalents.

Still. He had to kill them. Letting death-eaters survive an encounter meant schemes following him. Not an option.

He finalized his approach in the few seconds remaining.

Full focus. Yuan Changjiang's voice slowed in his perception — not literally, but his processing had accelerated to the point where it felt that way. The seven positions locked into his mental model.

He was done waiting.

Now.

His thumb pressed the remote trigger. His body was already moving — the full explosive output of nineteen-bull strength, no hesitation, no telegraphing.

"Chen—" The smile hadn't left Yuan Changjiang's face when Shen Cong's fist hit him in the abdomen. The impact was like a locomotive. Yuan Changjiang folded, hit the ground, and started retching uncontrollably.

The rat-catcher behind Yuan Changjiang reacted…