The two death-eaters who’d put Fireworks rounds into Great Vajra were dead, and Shen Cong’s mood had improved considerably.

Responding to violence with violence was deeply satisfying. That had always been true.

But after killing over thirty death-eaters in sustained combat, he was beginning to feel the strain. The death-eater officers had started injecting themselves — one after another, the stimulant going in, and their combat output surging.

This was one of the three special compounds developed by New Hope Laboratory. A short-duration stimulant that activated the user’s Activity reserves aggressively, a self-destructive mechanism that roughly doubled fighting capacity for a limited window. Death-eater officers who had been injecting C1 continuously were already sitting at ten-bull strength or more; the stimulant on top pushed them to thirteen or fourteen.

Still well below his nineteen-bull. But enough to slow him down, force him to work for every exchange rather than simply dominating.

The cost was a week of recovery and genuine damage to the body’s long-term potential.

Against stimulant-boosted officers, he couldn’t close fights instantly. And if he stayed in contact too long, the officers could coordinate to surround him — their sharkskin was high-grade enough to shrug off Zhao Zilong’s rifle fire, which meant only he could deal with them, which meant they could afford to be patient.

CRACK.

He launched ten meters clear of the encirclement and let himself breathe. Twenty minutes of sustained high-intensity combat — even at his level, the heat was building faster than his body could shed it.

He scanned quickly.

Zhao Zilong’s people were performing adequately against the death-eater rank-and-file but had nothing to offer against the officers. When an officer appeared, they ran. The battle’s momentum was tilting toward the death-eater formation.

He retreated to Great Vajra — still in slow autopilot — and took up position inside, working the sling through the firing ports while he cooled down. Without his forward pressure, the death-eaters consolidated their own fire. The Fireworks appeared to be exhausted — no more shots came — but centipede bombs and conventional weapons were plentiful. Zhao Zilong’s group got pushed back, and one by one they filtered around to the protected side of Great Vajra.

Too close. He felt the pressure of having to monitor them simultaneously.

The only reason he wasn’t already treating them as threats was what he’d seen: they’d killed a dozen death-eaters and lost seven of their own people. That kind of loss wasn’t performance.

“Blackhead — guard the interior.”

Five minutes of rest. Then he moved.

This time, no more direct combat. He had the killing tool he’d been saving.

Over a hundred liters of Pepper Water. Enough to use freely.

CRACK. CRACK.

Two bouncing jumps to build energy, then he cleared Great Vajra’s hull and began a wide loop to build running speed. The stilts needed stored energy before they gave it back — the charging and discharge cycle. He was fluid with the rhythm now, reading each vibration as the blades hit and rebounded, adjusting his body weight to maximize the return.

When the death-eaters saw him coming back, the formation surged.

“That dog’s got nerve coming back!”

“Kill him!”

“Anybody got a Fireworks? Hit him.”

“All gone. Six hundred sixty-eight a shot — can’t restock.”

“Officers! Get out there — avenge our people!”

The rank-and-file was howling but not committing. They were pushing the officers forward.

The officers came. The stimulants were still active — an hour and a half window — and the cheering made it impossible to hold back.

What they didn’t expect was that Shen Cong didn’t engage them in close combat this time. He ran straight through their formation and scattered Pepper Water — small bags pulled from his chest pocket, one after another, an endless cascade of them. The bags were designed to break on impact; at his throwing speed, they shattered the moment they left his hand. The fluid went everywhere.

There was no dodging it. He was moving too fast, throwing too many.

Pepper Water that had dissolved a Water Tyrant’s face. That had forced open the Old Pearl Mussel. Against death-eaters with exposed skin above the sharkskin collar lines, the effect was immediate: blackening, rapid tissue collapse, corrosive burning.

And within moments, the sharkskin itself started to fail.

Even the stimulants couldn’t override the body’s signal when that was happening. The officers who had been fighting at thirteen and fourteen-bull strength, fully enhanced and chemically elevated, felt genuine fear — and turned to run.

When the officers ran, the rank-and-file dissolved.

“Is Colonel Chen with the anti-stimulant league? That was dominance.” One of Zhao Zilong’s people emerged, and then all of them were coming out, energized.

They chased.

With Shen Cong leading, the pursuit extended the death-eater casualties from around forty to over seventy. Forty-odd made it out of the kill zone and fled.

Started with over a hundred. Forty came home.

A comprehensive victory.

His losses were minimal. Some Pepper Water, which was replaceable.

The gains were limited too — death-eaters didn’t carry Activity cores, only sharkskin and core weapons. He walked the aftermath quietly and collected the core weapons the officers had dropped, along with unused centipede bombs. He left the lower-grade items — someone was watching, and it wasn’t the moment to be seen stripping bodies meticulously.

“Uh — Colonel Chen—” Lu Hang started.

Shen Cong walked directly to Great Vajra, tossed the collected items inside, then turned to face Zhao Zilong’s group — all twenty survivors.

“You’ve earned my provisional trust. So I should tell you the truth.” He paused. “I’m not Eastern Theater Command. I’m from another provincial military district. The colonel’s rank is real. I’m en route to the Command.”

Silence. Then a ripple through the group — several people visibly angry at the deception.

Zhao Zilong raised a hand and quieted them. Behind the silver mask, her eyes were fixed on his face. “Colonel Chen — can you give us a better explanation than that?”

He looked at the twenty people standing in the ruins and considered for a moment.

“My original approach to death-eaters was to kill on sight. You changed that. My destination is Huai’an — the Command’s current location. In exchange for the suppression role you played today — because it did protect my vehicle from the Fireworks — I’ll carry your appeal to the Command.”

He didn’t like taking something for nothing. Zhao Zilong’s group hadn’t been essential — he likely could have managed without them — but they had genuinely absorbed the Fireworks threat and paid in blood for it. Fair exchange was fair exchange.

“So the Command has no awareness of what’s happening here?” Zhao Zilong’s voice was level.

“I don’t know.”

“Then take me with you. I’ll make the case to their leadership directly. Resolve the death-eater problem at the source.”

Shen Cong’s voice stayed flat. “I don’t carry passengers.”

(End of Chapter 234)