Kaili and Kairui turned and silently exited the office.
Colonel Henry let out a weary sigh. Rising from behind his desk, he walked to the window, gazing out over the nocturnal skyline of Black Whale City—a second-tier metropolis. From his pocket, he retrieved a pack of cigarettes, tapped one out, placed it between his lips, and struck it lightly against the box.
Black Whale City stood as a paragon of modern engineering—a newly established fortress of civilization, fortified well enough to repel even C-class beasts. Housing hundreds of thousands of inhabitants, it served as a strategic hub, with all four major conglomerates maintaining branches here. Its architecture bore no resemblance to the bygone era before the Great Purge; the buildings were sleek in design, marrying aesthetic simplicity with unyielding utility. Many structures featured extended landing pads, a testament to the widespread use of aerial vehicles, which had long since surpassed cars and trains in safety and speed for inter-city travel.
On the rooftop helipad of the tall headquarters of the First Division of the League's Psionic Authority—where Henry stood—two jet-powered helicopters awaited silently in the cold.
He smoked in silence, his gaze distant and brooding. Nights like this, cloaked in solitude and burdened by bureaucratic entanglements, had become all too familiar. His role was clear: control the psionics. Those who served the League were assets; those who refused were liabilities—and liabilities, by definition, had to be eliminated.
Cook's grave had been built behind the X Mercenary Corps' encampment, beneath the broad canopy of a sprawling banyan tree. Not far from its gnarled roots lay a solemn cemetery, each marker memorializing a warrior who had once fought under the X Corps' banner.
After a brief and somber funeral, the mercenaries quietly dispersed, leaving behind a smaller group—those who had come from Protection Zone 64: Turner, Ivy, Old White, Alice, Xiao Feng, and Brann, whose wounds were still fresh beneath the bandages.
Their bond with Cook had run deeper than mere camaraderie. They stood motionless before his grave, sorrow etched across their faces. The wind howled, cold and sharp, stirring their clothes and hair. Overhead, the sky grew darker still, as though mourning with them.
It looked as if snow would fall soon.
Xiao Feng stood staring at the headstone, guilt gnawing at his heart. Had he not unleashed that final arc of lightning, perhaps Cook might have lived. That mighty surge had struck not just the beast, but may well have doomed the man alongside it.
Just then, a tall, lean figure emerged in the distance. Clad in a tailored black trench coat, he approached with deliberate steps.
A sense of unease pricked at Xiao Feng's senses. He turned—and saw him.
Lin.
Xiao Feng's brow furrowed. His voice was sharp and unwelcoming. "What are you doing here?"
In Lin's hand was a single white blossom. A faint, unreadable smile played at his lips as he approached the grave and gently placed the flower before the headstone. "In a world as cursed as this," he murmured, "who can say who death will claim next?"
Old White, Turner, and the others had never seen this stranger before. Their eyes narrowed, wary. Were it not for the flower he offered, they might have driven him off.
Xiao Feng's tone turned cold. "Leave now—before I lose my patience."
Lin's expression remained unshaken. "I came only to warn you. The League has dispatched stronger psionics—far stronger—to hunt you down. You have two options."
Old White glanced at Xiao Feng, puzzled. "You know him?"
Xiao Feng nodded. "Briefly. We've fought once. He's a Tier-3 psionic."
The words sent a ripple of shock through Turner, Ivy, and Brann. Their eyes turned back to Lin with newfound caution.
Lin straightened and swept his gaze across them, lingering for a moment on Alice. When his eyes met hers, a flicker of surprise crossed his face. He'd noticed the mechanical glint—biotech cyber-eyes.
He turned back to Xiao Feng. "Two paths lie before you. One—run. The League won't hold back this time. They'll send a Tier-4 operative. You'll have no chance against them. Two—join us. K will offer you protection."
Old White and Turner exchanged confused looks. K? Neither had heard of such an organization.
Xiao Feng gave a derisive snort. "There's a third option—you mentioned that Tier-4 psionic? We'll face him ourselves."
Lin chuckled darkly. "Don't be foolish. A Tier-4's strength dwarfs Tier-3s by orders of magnitude. They could slaughter you without breaking a sweat." His hands slid into his coat pockets as the icy wind stirred the hem of his trench coat and tousled his dark hair, lending him an almost tragic, devilish charm.
Xiao Feng replied flatly, "You needn't worry. We'll manage."
"Well, I've done my part," Lin said, turning to leave. "Brace yourselves for the storm. So few in this world are arrogant enough to challenge a Tier-4 psionic. You, it seems, are one of them."
Xiao Feng's gaze hardened. "Mind your own fate. If that Tier-4 catches you in his sights, you may not fare any better."
Lin shook his head slowly and walked away, his coat fluttering behind him. "Xiao Feng," he called back softly, "you'll join us eventually."
Old White stared after him, then turned to Xiao Feng. "Who the hell is that guy?"
"Ask Rice about the group called K," Xiao Feng said. "I don't know much myself."
Old White nodded. He glanced up at the bleak sky. "Come on. Let's get back. Feels like snow's about to fall."
They all turned, bowing once to Cook's grave before making their way back to the camp.
Alice clung to Xiao Feng's side, shivering slightly. She looked up at him with resolve. "Brother Xiao Feng, if we fight together… even a Tier-4 won't beat us!"
Xiao Feng gave a small chuckle. "Let's hope you're right." With that, he slipped off his leather jacket and draped it over her slender shoulders. Now clad only in a thin gray cotton shirt, he walked on through the wind, brow furrowed in thought.
A Tier-4 psionic... His fists clenched tight.