Chapter 83: Someone Wants to Kill My Dog?

Outside, the sound of cars driving by could be heard, as well as the bed hitting the wall in the next room and the exaggerated, partially swollen moans, all clearly audible.

Tang Luo lowered his head and glanced at himself; he was still wearing the god-demon suit that had been consecrated, unchanged.

In his own eyes, he was still himself.

But in others' eyes—

Walking to a nearby mirror, Tang Luo looked at the person in the mirror.

That was not him; it was a man with disheveled hair, a beard that had not been shaved for several days, looking quite decadent, possibly in his thirties to early forties.

His height was about the same as Tang Luo's.

His facial contours were quite deep, more typical of a Western face; tidied up, he should count as a handsome uncle.

Without a doubt, Tang Luo had replaced someone's existence; it was not just a random change in appearance in others' eyes.

Stepping back two steps, Tang Luo saw through the mirror the decadent uncle inside, wearing a black suit, with a white shirt underneath—not quite formal attire, but not casual either.

He touched his face, feeling no beard that should have been there, only a very high-end "illusion spell" that would not reveal flaws through clipping.

"Dog, come here."

Tang Luo beckoned to the Heavenly Hound on the bed.

The Heavenly Hound jumped off the bed, climbed onto Tang Luo's foot, and moved swiftly and quickly.

No longer in its initial frail state, if placed in the wild, it could be considered a qualified predator.

"You've changed too." Tang Luo looked at the Heavenly Hound crawling onto his shoulder.

In the mirror, it was not the image of a black-footed kitten, but a small dog.

It should be somewhat larger than the original black-footed cat, but not by much.

The Heavenly Hound stared dazedly at its "self" in the mirror and began to bark a few times.

Then, it raised its head and let out a "wolf howl."

The Heavenly Hound will never be a slave!

"Don't make noise." Tang Luo rudely tapped the Heavenly Hound's head.

What a good dog—how did it become a "second fool"?

Yes, the dog in the mirror is the famous Siberian Husky, one of the "Three Idiots of the Sled," still a small Husky, not a full-grown one, otherwise it couldn't be taken out.

"One person, one dog—am I legendary?" Tang Luo thought to himself.

"Forget it; it shouldn't be a zombie world."

The noises from next door proved this world had no zombies roaming; it couldn't be the apocalypse, so hurry up and fire a few shots?

Tang Luo searched the room and soon found a wallet; opening it, he saw some money and documents.

The document was a driver's license, with the name—Todd Silas, age 42.

Besides that, Tang Luo also found a pistol, but it had no bullets, usable only to scare people.

"Feels like modern Western society." Tang Luo thought to himself.

He raised his hand; the revolver that had never appeared in the previous mission slowly emerged in his hand, ominously.

The art style of this mission world actually matched the ominous quite well.

He fastened the button inside his sleeve; the rather wide sleeve concealed the ominous, and Tang Luo suddenly had an idea, walking to the mirror.

The person in the mirror had no wide sleeves—where would the ominous be?

Tang Luo casually shook his right hand; the ominous fell into his hand, and in the mirror, Todd's hand seemed to perform a magic trick, producing a gun.

"Is this a bit of an enhancement?" Tang Luo chuckled, then put the ominous away again.

"Come on, dog, let's begin our legend." Tang Luo said, and the Heavenly Hound immediately followed.

He opened the door; outside was a corridor where stepping on it would make a squeaking sound.

To the left was a staircase going down.

Tang Luo went downstairs; this place was indeed a run-down small inn, where nothing was needed—just pay and you could stay.

A young man with brown hair, looking rather weak, was slumped over the counter, snoring loudly.

Tang Luo did not wake him, taking the Heavenly Hound and leaving the inn.

Outside, the street was bustling with people coming and going, quite lively; looking up, one could still see high-rise buildings.

This was a prosperous city.

Taking out the slip of paper and looking at it, the countdown had already started when Tang Luo stepped out of the room.

Now, the writing on it had completely disappeared, becoming a plain white sheet.

He casually crumpled it into a ball, threw it, and the paper ball was tossed by Tang Luo into a nearby trash can, bringing the Heavenly Hound as he quickly merged into the crowd.

Not long after Tang Luo left.

A woman with a curvaceous figure, wearing heavy smoky makeup, chewing gum, and in a hippie style, walked into the small inn.

She slammed her hand hard on the counter—the bell above was broken.

The brown-haired man looked up in confusion.

"Looking for someone—does he live here?" The hippie woman slapped down a large bill and a photo.

The photo was not of anyone else—it was Todd, but compared to the decadent man in the mirror, the Todd in the photo had shorter hair.

His beard was also shaved quite clean, but his demeanor remained as before—cold and gloomy.

"Oh, room 202." The brown-haired youth took the money without hesitation and also threw out a key.

As a place almost like a "black hotel," it often had all sorts of messy people staying here—gang members, debt evaders, and the like, and people often came looking for them.

"If you damage anything, pay three times the compensation." The youth also reminded them.

The hippie woman took the key, chewing gum, and lazily walked toward the second floor.

Behind her, the brown-haired youth stared fixedly at her buttocks, seemingly hoping to see the scenery under her short skirt.

It's a pity that, even after he had completely disappeared from sight, the brown-haired youth still did not get what he wanted.

Just as he vanished from view, the hippie woman's originally lazy expression instantly vanished, replaced by a stern and cold demeanor.

She took out a delicate silver pistol from her clothing and screwed on the silencer.

Stepping on the long-neglected floorboards, not a single sound was made.

Arriving at Room 202, she did not use a key to open the door.

Pressing the gun barrel against the door, the hippie woman pulled the trigger directly, the sound like pulling a cork from a bottle; after firing several shots, she violently rammed into the room.

Crouching low, she rolled on the ground to avoid any possible ambush, then raised her gun—her movements clean, swift, and effortlessly cool.

But the room was empty inside; her actions were entirely futile.

"Did he run?" the hippie woman stood up, surveying the empty room.

"Thump-thump."

Two knocks came from the door.

The hippie woman spun around sharply, aiming her gun at the door.

"Looks like I came late?" said a man knocking at the door, gun pointed at him, yet showing no trace of nervousness or fear.

The hippie woman said nothing, instead putting her gun away and asking: "How many people still know he's here?"

The two appeared not to know each other, but their conduct made it clear they understood each other's "identity" and purpose.

"Everyone knows—I found his trail and sold it off, tsk, really made a killing." The man said with a laugh, "This place is about to get lively."

"Damn it!" the hippie woman cursed outright.

"Actually, I should say I'm saving you, little guy." The man laughed, "He's the 'Messenger of Death'; back when he was killing, you were probably still playing in the mud."

"He's already old."

The hippie woman dismissed it with disdain.

"Hah." The man laughed, producing a business card, "I'm Ward. If you need information, come find me."

"Why didn't you act, but instead sell information?" the hippie woman asked.

"Because I think staying alive and making money is more important." Ward said with a laugh, turning to leave, "Besides, I also want to take action—I just haven't run into anyone yet."

The hippie woman pocketed the card and left the room as well.

In the park.

Tang Luo sat on a bench, while the Heavenly Hound beside him was struggling with the roasted chicken inside the box.

He narrowed his eyes, feeling the warm sunlight.

The world was so peaceful, like a vacation—this survival mission felt very easy.

Could it be that after 29 days, a meteorite suddenly falls from the sky at the critical moment? Or, on the last day, nuclear bombs fly everywhere?

The spiritual energy in this mission world is even thinner than in the real world.

A vagrant with a tattered hat approached Tang Luo, saying: "Sir, I haven't eaten in three days..." His body emitted a sour, foul odor.

Tang Luo took out a coin and tossed it into the vagrant's hat.

The vagrant put his hat back into his arms, bowed his body, and expressed gratitude.

The next second, a "black light" flashed—he gripped a black dagger and slashed toward Tang Luo's neck.

"A survival mission where one is hunted?"

A thought flashed through Tang Luo's mind—he grabbed the vagrant's wrist and twisted it casually.

The crisp sound of breaking bone and, after passing through the silencer, like a person's closed mouth suddenly opening, the gunshot rang out simultaneously.

The hand that had originally been holding the hat, as it was being pulled back into his arms, had at some point gripped a pistol.

Almost at the moment Tang Luo seized his wrist, he pulled the trigger.

Tang Luo tilted his head—the bullet grazed past his ear and struck a tree behind him.

"May I ask, why do you want to kill me?" With his left hand, he pulled, and the vagrant instantly lost balance, being pressed down by Tang Luo onto the chair.

"Why?"

As if hearing something unbelievable, the vagrant widened his eyes, "You actually ask why?"

"You might not believe me, but I slipped in the shower last night, hit my head, and lost my memory—I don't even remember who I am." Tang Luo said seriously.

The Heavenly Hound beside him also let out a "woof."

As a listener, Tang Luo was still quite interested in digging into Todd's story behind him, to see if there was a chance to earn great merit and power.

The vagrant held a gun in one hand, pressed against his lower abdomen, the barrel still aimed at himself, daring not to move. His other hand was broken and also unable to move.

Tang Luo casually pressed his palm against his back—yet it carried the force of a thousand jin.

He pressed him completely onto the bench, making the vagrant feel even breathing was difficult, let alone resistance.

"Death Warrant—you won't live much longer." The vagrant said.

"Death Warrant?" Tang Luo said, "How does this feel like something from the martial arts world?"

Suddenly appearing beggar assassin, Death Warrant.

This feeling is like the style of Gu Long's martial arts world—

Even a random sugar hawker on the roadside would at any moment pull out a dagger and come over to stab wildly—yes, exactly this style.

"So you're an assassin, I've been issued a Death Warrant, many assassins will come to kill me and my dog?" Tang Luo asked.

"Exactly." The vagrant said, "You won't be able to escape for long."

His tone held no joy, no resentment—just a simple statement of fact, flat and unremarkable, like talking about a business deal.