The metal walls of the elevator were slick with a fine layer of cold condensation, a mirror to Gu Hanzhou's current state of mind. Outside, the world was a chaotic mess of neon and rain, but here, deep in the bowels of the Inquisition, there was only the hum of machinery and the smell of impending death.
Ding.
The heavy iron doors of the second subterranean level slid open with a mechanical groan. A wave of stagnant air hit Gu Hanzhou immediately—a nauseating cocktail of sharp iron, chemical preservatives, and the sweet, cloying scent of rotting meat.
This was the Interrogation Zone. In the Iron City, they called this place the "Scream-Room Silos." Even in the silence, the air seemed to vibrate with the residual echoes of years of agony, as if the very stones had soaked up the cries of those broken within these walls.
Gu Hanzhou pushed a heavy metal transport crate, his posture slumping into the characteristic, world-weary gait of Shen Bai. He kept his head down, eyes fixed on the scuffed floor tiles, moving toward the transfer hub at the end of the long, dimly lit corridor. He played the part of a bored logistics officer to perfection—a man who had seen too much and cared for too little.
"Heh, Lieutenant Shen. You're moving unusually fast today, aren't you?"
A raspy, mocking voice drifted out from the shadows of an alcove behind him.
Gu Hanzhou's fingers stiffened against the cold handle of the crate for a fraction of a second, but he didn't turn back. Instead, he forced a sharp, impatient snort from behind his filtration mask.
"The higher-ups are breathing down my neck," Gu Hanzhou growled in a raspy, irritated tone. "Who would dare move slow when the Duke is on the warpath? If you want to chat, go find a bar."
A lean, wiry man stepped out from the gloom. He was a gruesome sight; his left pinky finger was missing a knuckle, and half of his face was wrapped in blood-stained gauze, a souvenir from a recent explosion. Despite the injuries, his one visible eye—sharp and venomous like a desert viper—remained locked onto Gu Hanzhou's back.
This was The Lone Wolf.
The Vice-Captain of Lin Xiu's Shadow Guard. More importantly, he was the only survivor of the bloody massacre at Warehouse 3, having escaped death only because he had been sent to fetch extra supplies at the exact moment the killing started.
Inside his mind, Gu Hanzhou's thoughts raced, indexing Shen Bai's stolen memories. Shen Bai and Lone Wolf had crossed paths several times during supply handovers, but their relationship was thin, bordering on hostile due to Shen Bai's habit of skimming a little off the top of military rations.
"Lieutenant Shen, you seem... about two centimeters taller than usual today?" Lone Wolf said, circling Gu Hanzhou slowly. He tilted his head, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air like a predatory hound. "And that stench of cheap synthetic tobacco you usually carry... it's faint. Instead, I'm catching a whiff of... fresh iron and ozone."
"Cut the crap," Gu Hanzhou lowered his voice, projecting a flicker of genuine murderous intent. "I just crawled out of the fires on Emerald Street. I'm lucky to be breathing at all. If you're looking to pick a fight, wait until Duke Mordent finishes his inspection. I'll be happy to entertain you then."
With a dismissive grunt, Gu Hanzhou leaned into the crate, making as if to continue his journey.
"Wait."
Lone Wolf's hand shot out, slamming down onto the lid of the metal transport crate with a heavy thud. His gaze didn't go to the crate, however. It drifted down, settling with laser-like focus on Gu Hanzhou's right hand.
Specifically, the webbing between the thumb and forefinger.
There was a thick, distinct callus there. It wasn't the kind of callus formed by holding a pen or a clipboard for a decade. It was the hard, leather-like mark left by a lifetime of gripping a hilt. Shen Bai was a desk-jockey, a bureaucrat. His hands were soft, and even though he carried a sidearm, he never used it enough to earn marks like those.
But more importantly, Lone Wolf had seen those hands before. He had seen that specific, predatory posture in the flickering shadows of the warehouse ruins.
"You aren't Shen Bai."
Lone Wolf's voice dropped to a lethal whisper. A hidden sleeve-blade snapped into his palm, pointed directly at Gu Hanzhou's liver. His other hand slowly crept toward the emergency alarm button on his belt.
"The man who slaughtered my brothers that night... it was you, wasn't it?"
The air in the corridor seemed to freeze. The hum of the ventilation fans became a roar in Gu Hanzhou's ears.
He knew then that the game was over. No amount of acting could deceive the raw, instinctual intuition of a professional killer who had smelled his own death once before. He didn't waste time with a denial. He didn't beg.
The "slumped" posture of the lazy Lieutenant Shen Bai vanished instantly. In its place stood a tall, cold figure that radiated the aura of a peerless, unsheathed blade.
"Smart men usually don't live very long," Gu Hanzhou said.
With a sudden, violent burst of strength, Gu Hanzhou's arm blurred. The massive, heavy metal crate, which should have weighed hundreds of pounds, was tossed aside like it was made of balsa wood. He swung it with a savage arc, hurlng it directly at Lone Wolf's chest.
CRASH!
Lone Wolf was fast—explosively so. He threw himself into a sideways roll, narrowly avoiding the crushing weight of the crate, and his thumb slammed down on his alarm trigger in the same motion.
He waited for the deafening sirens. He waited for the automated turrets to swivel and lock on. He waited for the heavy boots of the Inquisition guards to come thundering down the hall.
But the silence remained. The alarm didn't scream.
"What?!" Lone Wolf's face paled beneath his bandages.
"Your communication channel was jammed the moment I stepped off the elevator," Gu Hanzhou's voice was no longer raspy; it was as clear and cold as a mountain spring.
Before entering this level, Su Qingyue had used her unique Primal Blood frequency to temporarily paralyze the local sensor hub. They were in a dead zone of their own making.
[Black Order] left its sheath with a hiss of dark promise.
There was no longer any need for masks. The Imperial Gold energy he had been suppressing exploded outward like a dam breaking. The dark-gold ripples flooded the corridor, thick and oppressive. Because of the recent reforge and evolution, the blade didn't just glow; it crackled with arcs of black electricity that shredded the very air.
"Blood-Ignition Phase?!" Lone Wolf's eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated terror.
Back at Warehouse 3, this "mine-slave" had barely been at the Blood-Awakening stage. To leap across an entire major realm of power in just a few days... it was a feat that defied every law of cultivation Lone Wolf knew.
Knowing he was trapped, Lone Wolf let out a desperate, animalistic roar. His body ignited with a sickly, dark-purple aura as he burned his own life force for a final gambit. His short daggers became a blur of steel, aiming straight for Gu Hanzhou's throat.
Gu Hanzhou didn't even blink.
He didn't parry. He didn't retreat. He simply took a single step forward.
[Flash Strike: Sonic Resonance]!
The step covered several meters in a blink. The black blade of [Black Order] sliced through the air with such velocity that it created a momentary vacuum, pulling the oxygen out of the hallway.
The two figures crossed paths in the center of the corridor.
Gu Hanzhou stood still, his back to his opponent. He slowly, deliberately, slid [Black Order] back into its sheath. The click of the hilt meeting the scabbard was the only sound in the room.
Lone Wolf remained standing in his attacking posture, his daggers held high. A few gurgling, wet sounds escaped his throat as he tried to speak. Then, a thin red line appeared around his neck.
A moment later, his head slid from his shoulders, hitting the floor with a dull thud. A geyser of hot, crimson blood sprayed upward, painting the cold ceiling of the Black Prison in the colors of the sunset.
"Lone Wolf, you were right to recognize me," Gu Hanzhou said, his eyes devoid of emotion as he looked at the fallen man's identity card.
He reached down and snatched the card from the floor. "But you were wrong about my strength. You brought a knife to a slaughterhouse."
With a callous kick, he sent the corpse tumbling into a nearby disposal chute meant for organic waste. He adjusted his collar, took a final drag of his synthetic cigarette, and blew the smoke over the cooling blood.
The security cameras at the end of the hall flickered once—a signal from Su Qingyue that the looped footage she was feeding the system was about to expire.
Gu Hanzhou didn't linger. Using the higher-level permissions granted by Lone Wolf's ID card, he broke into a sprint, heading directly for the final barrier—the massive vault doors leading to the third subterranean level: The Inverted Tower.
His father was behind those doors. And god help anyone who stood in his way now.