Chapter Fifty-Four: The Dark Forest

“Not a secondhand network processing terminal, and you still dare to charge four thousand credit points?”

Song Shi held up a data pad slightly larger than his palm, raising his voice. “That’s not how you make money. Do you really think people are fools?”

“Hey, you don’t have to buy it,” Amikaba replied from a nearby recliner, shifting to a more comfortable position and sinking deep into the chair without even lifting his eyelids, drawing out his words lazily, “Too expensive? Then what are you doing here? I only deal in premium, high-end goods.”

“Who said I’m not buying?” Song Shi suddenly smiled.

Hearing this, Amikaba felt an inexplicable tightening in his chest. Then Song Shi continued, “This ‘Mint T5’ network terminal is definitely worth four thousand, I have no problem with that. But isn’t something missing from it?”

“What do you mean?” Amikaba cautiously perked up his ears.

Song Shi sighed. “I really like this board, I sincerely want it, but it’s missing some adornment. Quite a pity...”

“...Like what?”

“A micro supercomputing module to enhance processing power.”

Amikaba abruptly sat up from the recliner, staring at Song Shi for a long moment before speaking. “Damn it... here we go again. Trying to fleece me, huh?”

“Absolutely not,” Song Shi said with an honest expression. “I’m sincere.”

Amikaba fell silent for a few seconds.

He had to admit, the price offered by the other party was still at the bottom of his acceptable range. Even if he threw in a micro supercomputer, he’d still make a profit—but where did this sharp and troublesome kid come from?

“It’s something peeled out of a cyber hacker’s brain. Want it or not?”

“Make sure it’s disinfected.”

Cursing under his breath, Amikaba got up and walked into the back storeroom. After a while, he came out holding a black box the size of an earphone case and casually tossed it to Song Shi. “Temporary supercomputing module. Lasts at most twenty minutes, longer than that and it’ll overload, most likely frying the power circuits.”

“No problem, no problem—”

Song Shi stuffed both the network terminal and the supercomputer module into his chest, then smiled again. “By the way, about the bulletproof vest... do you have any suggestions?”

“Again—? Never-ending, huh!”

Five minutes later, Song Shi zipped up his jacket.

Sacrificing some protective strength, he chose a half-body bulletproof vest made of composite synthetic fibers, emphasizing lightness, portability, and concealment. Once worn, it looked no different from a regular undershirt.

With the jacket zipped up, he appeared entirely ordinary—priced at thirteen hundred credit points.

Glancing at his nearly depleted account balance, Song Shi sighed and turned to leave the cybernetic clinic.

Just as he was about to push the door open, Amikaba’s voice suddenly called out from behind.

“Hey, kid.”

Song Shi paused in his motion.

“I’m not interested in your real identity, nor do I care what you intend to do. But remember, once you step out this door, everything about you is none of my concern.”

Amikaba paused, then sneered coldly. “What? Surprised? Surprised I can tell your face is made up? Do you think all these years of cybernetic surgeries were for nothing?”

“No... the ‘makeup’ part is fine, it’s the rest of what you said,” Song Shi said, turning around and looking back inside the clinic. The middle-aged man stood with arms crossed, leaning against a metal table, casting a cold gaze.

“I thought you’d say something like ‘this kid is extraordinary’ or ‘I see great potential in you.’”

“You’re overthinking.”

Amikaba scoffed, then bluntly said, “Those who die in Paloser, full of self-importance like you, could fill an open-air orgy. I’m just warning you—don’t bring trouble here, got it?”

Song Shi raised an eyebrow.

But he said no more. He simply waved a hand and pushed the door open.

Watching him leave, Amikaba only relaxed long after the figure had disappeared, sinking back into the recliner.

“...Another fool gambling his life on his future.”

“Damn... you people...”

“Why can’t you just understand the value of life!”

...

At a low-rent inn, Room A312.

Beep, beep, beep.

“Although this is theoretically the core territory of the Cross Tigers gang, establishing a complete, multi-layered defense and early warning system is simply too much to ask of a bunch of street thugs.”

Staring at the flat map of the Cross District provided by Cotton Hamster, Song Shi shook his head.

Except for the map, no corresponding defense deployment was provided.

Because the Cross District simply didn’t have such a thing.

The Cross Tigers gang was, after all, just a relatively small street gang with a motley crew. Someone guarding a spot today might be missing the next day due to drunkenness—a chaotic yet strangely effective defense mechanism.

After all, if even they don’t know their own daily deployments, the enemy certainly wouldn’t.

Thus, aside from a few key locations like the ‘Cryo Storage Gate,’ the entire Cross District’s personnel deployment was in a state of chaos.

Beep, beep, beep.

Song Shi lightly tapped the table with one hand while zooming in and out of the flat map with the other.

Although the device’s limitations prevented a full 3D terrain projection, this was no big deal for Song Shi.

As his gaze moved across the flat map, buildings rose up in his mind’s eye, gradually outlining their shapes.

One after another, intersecting routes appeared and disappeared with his thoughts—until, finally, the intricate lines overlapped, forming a winding path weaving among the buildings.

The route was set.

“Phew—”

Song Shi closed his eyes and exhaled deeply.

He picked up the data pad with his right hand and rubbed his brow.

“Tch, my body really isn’t what it used to be... Even something this small is making me feel dizzy.”

Beep, beep, beep.

But quickly suppressing the thought, Song Shi closed the data pad and turned his gaze to the wide-open window.

The distant night was deep and silent, swallowing the land whole.

In this somewhat remote part of the mossy zone, frequent power and water outages were routine. Vast blocks of housing blended into the darkness, occasional flickers of light quickly extinguished.

Perhaps thousands of years had changed nothing.

When the sun set in the west, this steel-and-concrete jungle, woven with aged pipes, sank into endless darkness just as the primeval forests once did millennia ago, shrouded in vegetation and marshes, bearing the same name.

How many hunters and prey would wander in this dark forest?

Beep, beep—

A hand reached out, pressed restart, unplugged the charging cable, silenced the irritating beeping, then lifted the device, aiming it at something.

The cracked flat mirror’s surface reflected the face of the person before it.

Black coat, hidden blades, gun hanging at the waist, slung bag across the body.

In the next moment, a mask embedded with LED lights and a liquid crystal display entirely covered the young face in the reflection.

The image on the mask flickered a few times before turning completely black.

Tonight, Song Shi joined the hunt.