“Anyone trying to kill me that I can’t beat — I run.”

“Anyone I can beat — you all die.”

“Two.”

In that moment, the slingshot proved more effective than either the crossbow or the pistol.

Handgun rounds had plenty of kinetic force but lacked the Sharpening property of bone-gold — they couldn’t punch through Activity armor. Fang arrows hit hardest of all, but reloading was slow and required a proper shooting stance to set up. Only the slingshot, paired with bone-gold pellets, gave Shen Cong the simplest possible channel to unleash the full fighting power of a pseudo-Lv0.955.

“Three.”

“Four.”

In the span of a breath, four of Wang Gen’s men went down — headshots, instant kills, no exceptions.

Four bodies in moments. Shen Cong had become something like a demon in the dark, and the survivors at Wang Gen’s compound felt the reaper’s shadow fall over them. He himself remained perfectly still inside, scanning for targets with calm eyes. Maybe later he’d stand over the bodies and manufacture some crocodile-tear regret. But in the moment of killing, there was no hesitation. Not even a flicker.

Wang Gen’s compound had gone silent — no one daring to break cover. From the direction of the crashed trailer, a few people were still alive, Tao Daqian among them, popping off rounds with his pistol.

Shen Cong swung toward him, switched to a soldier-mandible pellet, and fired.

Crack — it struck stone just behind Tao Daqian. His reaction speed was clearly well above ordinary — he’d actually dodged. But the shot left him pale: the pellet had buried itself deep into solid rock. He stopped shooting immediately and scrambled behind the trailer’s wreckage.

Crack.

Shen Cong’s draw speed was faster. Before Tao Daqian finished hiding, the next pellet was already in the air. It caught him in the arm. A sharp cry, a spray of blood.

Then silence fell.

With one man and a slingshot, Shen Cong had suppressed every gun they had.

He pushed the window open and fixed his eyes on the compound. Wang Gen had used the chaos to retreat back inside — and had been shouting about demolition charges. Shen Cong didn’t know exactly what a charge would do to Vajra, didn’t know how much damage it could cause. So the play was straightforward: find Wang Gen the moment he moved, and put him down before he could throw anything.

Dead men don’t throw explosives.

The silence stretched. Several minutes passed.

The night felt like a predator, swallowing every sound.

Wang Gen, who had been so loudly promising explosives, did not appear.

Moonlight, dark water. Shen Cong narrowed his eyes and considered. Either they were preparing something big, or Wang Gen had lost his nerve after watching four men die in seconds. Most likely: he was waiting for the right opening.

You won’t come out? I’ll make you come out.

Shen Cong reached into the Baogai Armor’s pocket and produced the small vial he’d prepared — Super Ant Acid. One vial was enough to strip away approximately Lv0.3 of Activity protection. Wang Gen was only pseudo-Lv0.541. Two vials and his Hummer was dead.

This acid had taken hundreds of Short-sting workers’ crop sacs to accumulate.

He loaded it into the slingshot and launched it at the Hummer.

A plume of white smoke billowed up from inside the vehicle, vivid against the dark sky. From thirty-odd meters away, Shen Cong could feel it — the Hummer’s Activity radiation spiking violently, then dropping fast as the acid ate through its protection.

No point stopping now.

He was already raising the slingshot for the second vial when Wang Gen burst from the compound. Full armor. A massive steel plate hoisted in both hands as a shield.

“Stop! Mr. Huang!”

Wang Gen closed the distance to the Hummer with the shield between him and Shen Cong’s window, talking as he moved: “Mr. Huang, is there some kind of misunderstanding between us? Did I do something to offend you? Just tell me.”

Shen Cong studied Wang Gen’s defensive setup with cold eyes, weighing it. Finish off the Hummer first, or keep Wang Gen talking and wait for a clean shot?

He ran the logic. From his own experience: even if a vehicle was destroyed, the bonded person wasn’t immediately crippled — not when they were strong enough. The Plastic Rabbit had been weak, and when the ants chewed through its motorcycle, it died with it. But when the Dog-Croc had nearly destroyed Vajra, Shen Cong himself had been fine. Vehicle and core were a unified life — but also, to a degree, independent.

Killing the Hummer now wouldn’t kill Wang Gen. It would just strip him of anything to lose, and a cornered man with explosives was a different kind of problem.

A wrecked Hummer was also worthless as leverage.

Decision made.

“Do you really think we need to keep dancing around this?” Shen Cong said.

“Dancing around what, Mr. Huang? I genuinely don’t know what you think I did. You come in, kill this many of my men without a word of explanation — that seems a little unreasonable, doesn’t it?”

“Hmph.” Wang Gen was covering. Shen Cong pressed the thread. “You think I don’t know what you set up at Mudan Road Bridge?”

A pause. Brief — almost nothing — before Wang Gen started protesting: “Misunderstanding! That is completely a misunderstanding. I didn’t do anything at Mudan Road Bridge. Mr. Huang, be reasonable — I never even moved against Zhang Tianshen when he came looking for trouble multiple times. What possible reason would I have to come after you?”

It was a solid argument. Without that one tiny hesitation, Shen Cong might have genuinely started doubting himself.

But that fraction of a second’s pause was, to Shen Cong, the nakedness of guilt itself. He always could — from the smallest, most trivial detail — construct the whole picture.

“Stop lying, and I’ll dissolve your Hummer.” He raised the slingshot again.

“Don’t! What do you want me to say? Everything I’ve told you is the truth.”

“We’ll see about that.” He drew back the band.

In the moonlight, Wang Gen could see it clearly — Shen Cong inside the cab, slingshot drawn, ready to fire. Something cracked in his composure. “Alright. I fold. Mr. Huang, stand down — I fold. Yes. I had explosives planted at Mudan Road Bridge. I fold. Name your price — I’ll pay for any losses.”

Wang Gen conceded. He offered diesel as compensation.

Shen Cong agreed.

So Wang Gen called his remaining men out of the compound, had them pile their weapons on the ground — a show of good faith, an open invitation to relax. He even dropped his steel shield himself, adopting a posture of full submission. Tao Daqian came to stand beside him, clutching his wounded arm.

“Mr. Huang, you’re stronger than any evolved person we’ve ever met,” Tao Daqian said, raising a thumb toward the window. “We were out of line. We’ll pay you what we owe, and I promise — next time we see you, we go the other direction.”

Wang Gen added loudly: “We’re all evolved people here. If you’re willing to let this go, Mr. Huang, I won’t forget the favor. You need something done, you say the word.”

The two of them sounded genuine. Looked calm. The picture of men who knew when they’d lost and were taking it with dignity. The remaining crew chimed in around them, voices tumbling over each other with the same surrendered tone.

But Shen Cong was smiling coldly behind his window.

Because Vajra’s radar was still running. Everything within a hundred meters was mapped on the laptop screen. And on that screen, while Wang Gen and Tao Daqian stood in plain sight with empty hands — several dots had detached from the group and were looping wide around the back, working their way toward Vajra from behind.

A classic feint. Make a show at the front gate while the real move happens around the wall.

(End of Chapter 77)