The furious flow of magical light raged on for an unknown duration, shattering all the walls in the top floor, as the scorching metallic steam mingled with a burnt odor filled the air.
Large prefabricated slabs, twisted and broken rebar, remnants of casting units’ barrels, and fallen shuttles lay piled up here. Moonlight poured down unobstructed, sprinkling the tragic ruins with silver frost.
Beneath a broken concrete slab, fine gravel tumbled softly down.
Bloodied and with one electronic eye completely dead, Dead-Eye Bryce lay there. Initially planning to play dead, he had no choice but to crawl out from the rubble, drawn by the approaching footsteps.
To his surprise, there was no second person, no imagined federal anti-terror team; the only enemy present was the silver-haired girl.
But why is there only one person?!
This shouldn’t be possible; it defied logic!
Moonlight outlined the girl’s slender silhouette, like a doll crafted of silver. Bryce’s gaze slowly rose, and he saw several rune halos of varying diameters silently rotating above the girl’s head, seeming alive and emanating distinct colorful lights.
His throat tightened as he collapsed weakly to the ground, feeling as if his worldview was about to be upended—A mage… a top-tier mage? But how could such an elite mage be here? Who exactly is she?!
“Ah~~” At that moment, a scream came from beside him. Bryce looked over and found it was a small boss, also a survivor, jumping down from the 12th floor.
Usually, they would be capable of jumping down from this height because they had gliding devices; even a heavy-set cyborg, reminiscent of an iron man, could leverage the gliding device to gracefully descend.
However, during the recent battle, they missed the best opportunity to flee, and the gliding devices in the warehouse had long been destroyed. Now, jumping down meant pure suicide due to the cyborg’s gravity and speed.
“Who are you?!” Fear completely overshadowed the pain as the silver-haired girl approached. Bryce nervously said, “This is the general’s territory. If you dare to move against me, the general will ensure you die a horrible death! There’s no way out for you in all of Rustbone!”
“The general?” Yvette’s footsteps stopped a few meters away from him. “Introduce him to me.”
“Who in the borderlands of Rustbone doesn’t know the ‘General’? He’s the leader of the Ghost Hand Society, and no one dares to defy him! Even if you are strong, you are just one person, whereas the general can mobilize countless others to deal with you!”
Desperation gripped Bryce as if grasping at a lifeline. “Stop now and let me go! I can… I can help you negotiate! Otherwise, you won’t live to leave the Firth!”
“Is that so?” Yvette shook her head, asking casually, “Tell me, who is harder to provoke, the Ghost Hand Society’s General, or the major corporation ‘Lin Tui Bio’ in the United New Eden?”
Bryce paused, thinking it was unfair to compare the two without defining the degree of provocation. If the situation was trivial, major corporations would not even bother. Yet if they took notice… the severity of being targeted by them certainly exceeded that of the General.
“I slashed Lin Tui Bio’s market value by a third, forcing the retired founder ‘Old Cyrus’ to apologize to the public and return to power… Do you think under these circumstances I would dare not provoke your ‘General’?” Yvette stared at him, then felt it unnecessary to elaborate.
Why explain these things to someone who’s about to die?
“Get ‘Old Cyrus’ to apologize? What are you blabbering… huh?” Bryce’s voice hitched. Being a New Eden native, he was naturally aware of the major news back home and gradually recognized her identity, his face paling as he stammered, “Could you possibly be the…”
In an instant, a wave of helplessness surged within him—no wonder she remained so calm! Compared to the enraged Lin Tui Bio, his superior “the General” was insignificant!
Since she is a righteous hero, she should uphold procedural justice, right? Would she allow me to voluntarily accept a trial? Isn’t that a glimmer of hope…
With that thought, Bryce resolved to persuade her from this angle. Yet before he could speak, the “procedurally just hero” before him charred his brain with lightning, not giving him a chance to plead for his life.
… The source of thɪs content is 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝✶𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖✶𝕟𝕖𝕥
After dealing with the facility head, Dead-Eye Bryce, Yvette patrolled the floor, executing the remaining high-ranking slavers who hadn’t escaped.
Of course, some slavers, sensing danger, chose to jump. During their descent, Yvette merely observed but secretly assisted them, using wind magic to accelerate their fall.
Thus, the cyborgs, who might have had a slim chance upon jumping, ended up splattering into a mixture of flesh and metal, creating a scene of unimaginable carnage.
Confirming that the top floor was devoid of life, Yvette walked to where the staircase’s entrance should be. A concrete slab and metal railing blocked the passage. With a casual wave, she sent the heavy obstacle flying, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Below, Cromwell stood on the stairs, nervously and blankly watching her.
Due to the intense battle and the overwhelming aftermath, he had been unable to glimpse anything, remaining on the two floors below until the commotion above ceased.
Thus, he had no idea what had happened and only felt as if the upstairs had transformed into a vast battlefield. Besides worrying for the Miss Nameless, he could do nothing.
Upon seeing the Miss Nameless emerge unscathed, he breathed a sigh of relief, but shock quickly followed. He hadn’t expected her to defeat “Dead-Eye” Bryce and “Blackblade” Okasi.
Perhaps she had even taken on two, or more!
After all, slavers won’t play fair—they must have attacked all at once.
“Could you wait a moment and let me go up?” Cromwell asked, both excited and curious.
A large concrete slab had sealed off the stairway entrance. He had no idea what the top floor looked like and could only see that gravel continued to fall from above, the noise akin to ten households renovating simultaneously.
As an undercover journalist, although his infiltration had failed, his journalist instincts remained.
He intended to capture the scene with the implanted cerebral chip in his body, hoping to recreate the fierce battle for readers later, so they could feel the strength of the Miss Nameless and the safety that stood behind her.
“Sure.” Yvette had no objections.
Cromwell expressed his gratitude, brushed off the dust from his clothes, and began to ascend. But after only a few steps, a puzzled expression crossed his face as he looked back at the sign for the 12th floor, confirming he hadn’t gone the wrong way.
But… where did the top floor go?
Why was it just a rooftop upon ascending?
Ten minutes later, a stunned and speechless Cromwell came down from the “rooftop.”
Although he had already imagined an intensely fierce scene while waiting, the moment he viewed the actual site, he fell silent for a long time, unsure how to describe it in words—an entire floor had been destroyed! The 12-floor building was now reduced to 11! Miss Nameless, are you a mage or a bulldozer? This is absurd!
Due to the inadequacy of verbal description, he decided to simply include pictures and videos later; let readers imagine what had truly occurred.
Afterward, he slightly nodded to the Miss Nameless waiting in the stairwell, and the two began to walk down, intending to join Donnell, Reese, and the others below, and seek assistance from the border control.
However, as they walked on the dust and debris-strewn steps, Cromwell suddenly sensed a chilling sensation wash over him from all directions.
The next moment, the scene before him began to twist and ripple violently!
The originally stained gray-white concrete walls suddenly writhed and bulged as if hiding countless parasites. Rubbing his eyes, he looked again and saw bloodshot eyeballs inexplicably drilling out from the wall, densely packed and overlapping! With looks filled with infinite malice, they all fixated on the two descending!
Cold sweat instantly soaked his back; Cromwell was horrified and clueless about what was happening.
He instinctively glanced down, only to find that around the Miss Nameless’s landing, in the dim shadows, countless semi-transparent, water vapor-like hands emerged. They quietly reached out from the stair surface, wall edges, and even the space below their feet, grasping at the Miss Nameless’s ankles, encased in long boots.
Cromwell struggled, desperately opening his mouth to scream a warning to the Miss Nameless to be careful of her feet, but his voice was caught in his throat, unable to escape.
Not only that, but he was shocked to find that even the use of his techniques had become sluggish. He attempted to summon water wave flames, but the speed at which the rune circles formed was as slow as a crawling turtle.
How could this be? Had he encountered a ghost? Or was this merely a nightmare?
Cromwell numbly pondered, and then he saw the transparent ghostly claws entwining around the Miss Nameless’s boots, pulling forcefully toward the shadows below, as if attempting to drag her into an unending abyss of darkness.
It’s over… Cromwell thought in despair, he had never witnessed such bizarre occurrences and momentarily lost the ability to think, merely watching as the Miss Nameless sank deeper and deeper, unable to help.
Maintaining this sense of despair, he gradually felt something strange.
Because he noticed that the Miss Nameless’s descent was unimpeded.
Her boots lifted effortlessly and fell again. The countless transparent arms wrapped around her boots futilely strained and stretched to their limits before twisting and distorting, like ants futilely trying to shake a tree.
What does this mean? Cromwell thought in confusion.
Then, suddenly, he saw the Miss Nameless seemingly notice something, pausing her steps, raising her hand, and lightly snapping her fingers, casting a barrage of lightning and fire toward a shadowy corner.
Then, with a silent but furious scream, the scene before him shattered like broken glass, displaying a series of cracks.