Chapter 60: Assassination

Most people believe that the most important place in a city is the Lord’s Manor—it is the brain. Without a brain, death is inevitable.

Yet, there are some who hold that they themselves are the city’s true brain, even its soul. These are the men and women of the Research Institute.

Therefore, although their facilities are not situated in the city’s core, they are by far the safest places.

Aomori District has a total of two research institutes. One is in the district’s main city, Aomori City. The other is in Blossom City.

Why Blossom City? Among the many cities in Aomori District, it is hardly remarkable.

The answer lies in its geography.

The research institute of Blossom City is not even within the city proper, but rather on its outskirts. On two sides, it is surrounded by mountains; in front lies the city, and to the right sprawls a vast poisonous marsh.

With the institute established here, safety is not a concern.

And the toxic marsh itself is a subject of their research.

Fang Qingyun sat halfway up the mountainside, his cold gaze fixed on the research institute across the way. In his arms, he cradled a grim, menacing sniper rifle.

The gun was a meter and a half long, etched all over with intricate lines that radiated a sense of power, like the roar of a mighty dragon.

A flicker of surprise crossed Fang Qingyun’s eyes.

Several vehicles emerged from the institute and headed toward the city.

Inside the cars, a few young people were laughing and joking.

Researchers from the institute.

A chilling glint flashed in Fang Qingyun’s eyes.

These people wore the institute’s uniform—a badge of identity, a symbol of status. Ordinary folk would not dare to don it.

“I was only planning to kill a few watchdogs, but now I have better targets,” he muttered to himself.

He did not care what kind of people they were.

If members of the institute could act with impunity, why shouldn’t he?

When Old Li had spirited them away from the institute, Fang Qingyun had asked if they could seek help from the Serpent King.

Old Li had told him plainly: the Serpent King might spare his life, but would never lend a hand to deal with his enemies.

One’s foes must be dealt with by oneself.

That was the Serpent King’s iron law.

Fang Qingyun had asked, “What would the Serpent King do in a situation like this?”

After a brief silence, Old Li had answered bluntly, “He would kill. He would slaughter every last soul in the institute.”

“If you provoke him, he will leave no root or branch behind.”

“Without venom, ruthlessness, and coldness—how could he be called the Serpent King?”

“The Serpent King once led his army deep into the heartlands of two great demon empires, but among the human race, he is feared even more than by the demons.”

At the time, Fang Qingyun had laughed.

That, he thought, was the model to follow.

This was no longer his old world; here, strength ruled all.

In this world, rules did not apply to the strong.

Take the institute—if his own fists were powerful enough, would they dare move against him?

Secrets?

The Serpent King has far more secrets—why not go after him?

Now, since they’d made a move against Fang Qingyun, they would simply pin the blame on someone else, regardless of belief.

Whether others believed it or not, what did it matter to him?

Heh!

Fang Qingyun glanced silently at his own attributes.

[Host: Fang Qingyun]
[Strength: 24 (+)]
[Speed: 31 (+)]
[Constitution: 24 (+)]
[Mental Power: 24 (+)]
[Psionic Energy: 50 (+)]
[Shooting: Intermediate]
[Swordsmanship: Beginner]
[Psionic Control: Beginner]
[Summoned Beast: Dragonblood Lion (+)]
[Source Points: 1304]

The martial ranks in the beginner stage are divided into levels one through nine.

One who possesses psionic energy is a martial artist.

With over 100 psionic energy, one attains the second rank.

With over 900, the ninth.

Beyond the ninth rank, one is considered an advanced martial artist.

Though Fang Qingyun was newly inducted into the ranks of martial artists, Old Li had judged, based on his performance at the institute, that he possessed the strength of at least a fifth-rank martial artist.

Now, with his attributes further increased and his cultivation of the Slaughtering Art, he had undoubtedly reached the seventh rank.

Above the seventh rank, all are advanced martial artists.

Moreover, his source points had climbed back up to 1,304.

Becoming a martial artist had transformed his body, boosting every attribute and erasing the drawbacks from his earlier enhancements at the institute.

His speed now stood at 31 points.

Most importantly, he now had a new attribute: Psionic Control.

This represented Fang Qingyun’s command over his psionic energy.

The reason for this new attribute was the key to his next plan—the bullets.

Fang Qingyun quietly took a bullet from a small pouch.

It was crafted from a special metal, almost transparent, crisscrossed with complex white patterns.

He slowly infused his crimson psionic energy into it.

The patterns on the bullet gradually glowed brighter and brighter, until suddenly they winked out.

The markings turned a dark red.

The bullet swelled, suffused with blood-red, murderous psionic power.

Heavy. Blinding.

“Done!” Fang Qingyun’s cold, hard face broke into a rare smile as he gazed at the bullet.

Ordinary firearms were useless against demons or martial artists; they could not inflict real harm.

Thus, psionic weapons were created.

The sniper rifle in Fang Qingyun’s hands was just such a weapon—a first-tier psionic weapon.

When a user infused it with psionic energy, the gun would automatically generate psionic bullets.

However, firing in this way required time to charge.

There was, however, a more efficient and deadly method.

Physical bullets.

And not just any—the kind that matched the power of psionic bullets.

This attack method multiplied the destructive force.

To reach the level of control needed to manufacture these bullets would ordinarily take three to five years.

Fortunately, Fang Qingyun had his source points.

...

“At last, we can get out! Staring at those machines all day is enough to suffocate me,” grumbled one of the researchers in the jeep, his face eager. “Come on, let’s go, hurry—let’s relax in the city.”

Someone beside him said, “Brother Kun, I heard there was an incident at the institute. If we rush out now, won’t the professor be angry?”

“An incident?” Kun scoffed. “You mean what happened in the pressure chamber yesterday? That’s nothing at all. Some little would-be martial artist dared make trouble in the institute—if I were the professor, I’d have sliced him up already.”

“Exactly!” another researcher sneered. “We’re far too silent here at the institute. Every nobody dares to make a fuss. The professors are just too soft-hearted. We should have cracked down long ago, let everyone know who’s really in charge.”

Bang!

At that moment, a bullet struck the car’s hood.

Boom!

The vehicle exploded into fragments.

A psionic bullet?

The phrase flashed through their minds. Only psionic bullets could unleash such power.

Luckily, each of them carried some protective device. Though they looked wretched, they managed to evade the blast and scrambled for cover behind the trees.

“Hurry, hurry, call for help!” Kun’s voice rose to a shrill, panicked screech.

“Yes, yes, quick, call for help!” the others shouted in chorus.

“Damn!” Kun was stunned.

“None of you brought an emergency beacon?”

The others shook their heads, bewildered.

Emergency beacon?

It sounded familiar—supposedly a device issued to researchers for use in times of danger.

But they had never encountered any danger. Who would bother carrying such a cumbersome thing?

Besides, wouldn’t carrying it everywhere make them look like cowards?