The bodyguard was confident—among all of the young master's men, few had instincts as sharp as his. Fewer still had his speed.
And when it came to his marksmanship? He had no doubts.
One shot—that was all it would take to put an end to this reckless fool.
The flashlight illuminated Maverick's figure, standing motionless.
"Idiot. You're dead."
He pulled the trigger.
Click.
Nothing.
The bodyguard's eyes flickered in confusion.
Then—Maverick smiled coldly.
"You clueless fool. You have no idea how many bullets you've wasted, do you?"
A chill ran through the bodyguard's spine.
Had this guy been counting their shots while running? Just who the hell was he?
Maverick's taunt sent the young master into a frenzy. His rage eclipsed all logic.
Grabbing a stick from the ground, he prepared to charge, determined to beat this insolent man into the dirt.
"Sir, no need to bother."
The bodyguard squared his shoulders, stepping forward.
With a flick of his wrist, a hidden mechanism activated—releasing a razor-sharp combat knife from his forearm guard.
He brought it down swiftly—slicing clean through the piano wire ahead.
"That's it? Hell, even a dog wouldn't be stopped by this."
Mocking laughter laced his voice—unaware that he had just sealed their fate.
The young master roared and lunged forward, oblivious to the brief flicker of concern in the bodyguard's expression.
The cut didn't feel right.
For a trap like this, the wire should have been drawn taut—ready to sever the neck of its prey in an instant.
Yet, when he sliced it, the wire slackened for a fraction of a second before breaking.
Wrong.
Everything about this was wrong.
This wasn't a blockade—it was a trigger.
True traps never activate when you expect them to.
The bodyguard reacted instinctively, his body snapping backward.
But—
A series of faint metallic clicks echoed in the air.
The sound of a mechanism unlocking.
Then—
From the trees—
Dozens of steel spikes shot forth, gleaming in the rain like a storm of needles.
Their path led straight to the two men.
"DOWN!" The bodyguard bellowed.
"Thwip! Thwip! Thwip—"
The young master convulsed like a leaf in a hailstorm, before collapsing onto the soaked ground.
Blood bloomed across his body, the metallic scent thick in the rain.
He coughed, his breath ragged and weak.
"Sir… are you—?"
The bodyguard knelt, flipping him over.
A wet, red grin stretched across the young master's face.
"I'll—cough—I'll kill you… I swear—"
The bodyguard chuckled.
It wasn't a nervous laugh.
It was something worse.
A laugh of disdain.
"You really thought I wanted to be a dog?"
The young master's pupils widened.
Then—
The bodyguard grabbed a steel spike from the ground.
His gaze was icy, like a predator lurking in the depths of the forest.
He pressed the spike against the young master's eye—slowly, steadily driving it deeper.
"No—no, wait—please—"
His screams ripped through the night.
Blood pooled, soaking the earth beneath him.
The bodyguard's grip never faltered.
"Don't worry, I'll avenge you," he murmured.
"But you don't deserve to live."
The spike sank deeper.
Until—
The young master stopped struggling.
"You're wrong."
A voice, low and grating, cut through the rain.
The bodyguard froze.
Then—he turned.
A figure emerged from the shadows.
Barefoot in the mud, his steps slow yet predatory.
Long black hair clung to his shoulders.
Scars crisscrossed his chest, raw against the dim light.
The Skinner Chief.
"You—"
The bodyguard barely got the word out before the Chief lunged.
His grip closed around the bodyguard's throat like iron.
"You talk too much."
CRACK.
Bone shattered.
The last flicker of life in the bodyguard's eyes died instantly.
He crumpled, falling limp in the mud.
The Skinner Chief looked down at the two corpses—then lifted his gaze.
The rain was fading.
From the trees, another figure stepped forward.
Maverick.
He had been watching the slaughter unfold.
His eyes traced over the remains—the bodyguard, the young master, the shattered trap.
His expression remained unreadable.
This had all been part of his plan.
The piano wire was never meant to stop them—only to lure them in.
The rain masked the trap's structure.
The young master's desperation triggered the bodyguard's so-called"heroic instinct."
And the chaos of the steel spikes had created the perfect distraction.
All that was left was for the final executioner—the Chief—to deliver the last blow.
A trap within a trap.
"Loyalty. Betrayal. Mercy. Power."
"They're all just decorations for fate."
He knelt, plucking a thin metal emblem from the young master's collar.
His family crest.
He whispered—
"Now, it's my turn to rewrite the rules."
Thunder rumbled.
Darkness consumed them once more.
The young master's last dying thought was an echo of the past—
Himself, standing tall in a grand banquet hall, boasting of victories.
Then—
Only silence.
Silence eternal.
---
The storm had begun to weaken.
The ground was slick, mud clinging to bare feet as the Chief sprinted forward, covering meters in single strides.
He searched for Shen Lü—but ever since the elevator descent, the man had vanished.
The terrain slipped beneath him, his instincts screaming.
Everything was spiraling out of control.
Resting against a massive tree, he took a breath, his chest rising heavily.
The enemy had pulled back, barricading the mansion in layers of security.
Flashes of movement—bodyguards pacing under lantern light.
Shouting carried across the distance.
The Skinner Chief's mind replayed the moment his brother had thrown himself at a rocket—a final sacrifice, blood splattering across his face, burning hot.
"Run—!"
And now—
They were all gone.
The mission had failed, but worse—he had lost two of his own.
He had known defeat before.
But this time—
This time, it cost lives.
Their numbers were dwindling.
The survivors—twisted experiments—had endured only through sheer brutality.
But most of the camp now consisted of ordinary people.
People who relied on them.
People who needed their protection.
The fewer they were, the heavier the weight became.
How much longer could they last?
Shen Lü.
Maverick.
Both were missing.
Were they alive? Were they dead?
He clenched his fists.
He refused to accept it.
But there was nothing left for him here.
The mansion burned.
Alarms shrieked into the night.
The compound erupted into chaos—finally realizing their leader had been assassinated in his own secret passage.
The Skinner Chief walked fast—but paused.
Just once.
Just long enough to cast a final glance back.
Like a blade twisting deep into his chest.
He shouldn't linger.
He knew that.
But swallowing this loss was easier said than done.
A sudden burst of rage.
He slammed his fist into the tree beside him.
Skin tore, blood streaked down the bark.
"Dammit…"
"Mission failed…"
"...And two brothers lost."
His teeth clenched.
Fingers curling tight, knuckles raw.
The bleeding on his hands matched the wounds he couldn't see.