Chapter 827

The metal door of the cold storage separated the inside and outside into two worlds.

Outside was the quiet afternoon parking lot of Saitama Prefecture; inside was a white battlefield at minus eighteen degrees.

White cold air poured down from the vents on the ceiling, forming a slow-moving mist on the floor, five people stood in the mist, five short daggers and one ice pick gleamed in the cold white light, droplets of condensation fell from the blade tips one by one, making clear, rhythmic sounds in the silence.

The other side had knives, and they had killed before.

Uesugi Muneyuki swallowed, he himself was a disciple of Eirina and had some combat ability, but unarmed, facing five knife-wielding thugs, his bit of karate and judo was clearly insufficient.

That is to say, he must reveal his otherworld ability.

But if he revealed it in front of public security police……would he afterward bring upon himself some unnecessary trouble?

Or should I just let them handle it themselves……

His gaze shifted from those five people to Godai Yusuke, then to Tsugawa Shouichi, lingering on Godai Yusuke's waist for half a second—there was no gun holster, no baton ring, no handcuff pouch.

Under the delivery worker's jacket were utterly ordinary black long pants, not even a tactical waist belt.

His pupils dilated slightly.

Not from fear.

He actually wasn't afraid of these five guys; if worse came to worst, he could release all four cursed grudges to fight.

He was thinking about a problem.

For this kind of mission, how did you two guys not bring guns? Bring batons?

Did your brains get waterlogged? This level of mission and you don't bring guns???

"Godai." Uesugi Muneyuki's voice was calm, but half a tone lower than usual, "Where's your gun?"

Godai Yusuke didn't turn around. His body was slightly sideways, left hand forward, right hand back, a defensive posture with no weapons. His gaze locked onto the wrist of the knife-wielding man in front, his voice steady as if commenting on today's nice weather.

"No gun, I think we won't need it, Uesugi-san." Godai Yusuke gave Uesugi Muneyuki a thumbs-up, signaling not to panic. Uesugi Muneyuki fell silent for a second.

"Tsugawa."

Tsugawa Shouichi was chewing the last bite of that half chocolate bar, speaking unclearly: "I didn't bring one either. I don't even have a sidearm; I'm a police sergeant, my gun is locked up with my superiors."

Uesugi Muneyuki fell silent again for a second.

The five thugs opposite didn't stay silent. The man in the dark work jacket at the front took a step forward, knife tip pointing at Godai Yusuke's chest, the blade reflecting the cold storage's white light like a cold tongue.

The four behind him also spread out, forming a loose fan, surrounding the three people in the cold storage's entrance area.

Their gait was steady, not the hesitation and stiffness of first-time knife users, but the seasoned ease of those who have known what it feels like for a blade to enter human flesh.

One of them even licked his lips, his eyes gleaming with an excited, almost perverted light.

"You three," that man said, his voice hoarse and low, carrying a local Saitama Prefecture accent: "You shouldn't have followed in. You were doing fine with your deliveries, why meddle?"

Uesugi Muneyuki suddenly realized something—Godai Yusuke's heartbeat hadn't accelerated from the moment he entered the cold storage until now. How did he know? Because he stood less than a meter behind Godai Yusuke, he could see the skin on that man's neck side, and under the cold white light, the pulsation of that carotid artery was as steady as a metronome.

"Godai." Uesugi Muneyuki said, his voice low enough for only two to hear: "You have a way, right."

Godai Yusuke didn't answer.

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, that arc so tiny, so minuscule that if not for Uesugi Muneyuki standing behind him and happening to catch his side profile, it would be impossible to detect.

A "you guessed right" expression.

"Regardless," Godai Yusuke's voice sounded as if squeezed from deep in his chest, each word carrying a peculiar, heavy weight: "Please, Uesugi Chief, keep this secret."

Before Uesugi Muneyuki could ask "What secret?", the man opposite had already grown impatient.

"Charge!"

The five moved at once.

The front man stabbed toward Godai Yusuke's abdomen with one knife, motion clean and swift, the blade aimed straight at the liver's position—this was the move of someone who had killed before, knowing where the human body's weakest point lies.

The two behind him split left and right to flank, blades pointing respectively at Tsugawa Shouichi's neck side and Uesugi Muneyuki's chest. The two at the rear, one holding an ice pick, one gripping a short dagger, braced as a second wave of attack.

The air inside the cold storage was torn apart in that instant.

Godai Yusuke pressed both hands against the sides of his waist.

Uesugi Muneyuki thought he was about to draw something—a gun, a baton, handcuffs, or any piece of equipment a police officer should carry.

But after his hands pressed against his waist sides, nothing was drawn out. He merely pressed there, as if holding down an invisible switch, as if waiting for something within his body to awaken.

Then light came.

Not the cold storage's light, but a blood-red light emanating from within Godai Yusuke's body, from the gaps in his bones and muscles, from the depths of every cell.

Light! Ah Ah Ah!

The light spread from his waist, like magma flowing through cracks in the ground, rapidly covering his entire body, red armor growing from his skin like coral blooming in seawater, piece by piece covering his shoulders, chest, arms, and legs.

Golden lines wandered through the armor's seams, like lightning threading through cloud layers, his helmet wrapped from the back of his head forward, a pair of red compound eyes lit up on his face, the protruding horns like two burning suns.

The whole process took no more than one second.

Uesugi Muneyuki stood behind him, the hem of his trench coat fluttering in the airflow kicked up by that light.

The knife thrust came.

Godai's right hand clenched into a fist, swinging from below upward, his elbow striking like a siege hammer against the short dagger's blade.

Not the blade edge, but the blade body. Metal on impact emitted a sharp cry, the blade flew from the thug's hand, spinning several times in midair, clinking and clanking as it fell to the ground, that man's tiger's mouth split open, blood surging from the crack, his face still bore the dazed expression of "Did I stab him?", not yet turned to fear.

Godai's left fist followed up.

His elbow bore red armor, the armor's surface had a layer of faint golden patterns, like some ancient script. That elbow struck the man's left ribcage, emitting a dull, teeth-grating "beng"—not one rib, but at least three. The man's body flew sideways like a doll hit by a truck, slamming into a row of frozen shelves, the frozen pizzas on the shelves crashed down like an avalanche, burying him underneath.

He lay in the pile of frozen pizzas, eyes rolled back, mouth open, making a "hoh—hoh—" sound like a leaking balloon, at least three ribs, Uesugi Muneyuki calculated in his mind.

Shocking Heisei First Elbow?

"Uesugi Chief, please watch, my transformation!" another side, Shouichi also moved!

A bright, like the sunrise, golden yellow.

Shouichi's transformation was more flamboyant than Godai Yusuke's—light exploded from his waist, the gemstone on the belt before the illusion flashed like a small flashbang, the cold storage instantly bright as daytime.

The armor was golden, black lines traced over the golden base outlining muscle and bone contours, like a Renaissance anatomical drawing. His helmet had two rear-extending horns, like an ancient warrior's headdress, crimson compound eyes lit up on his face, narrower and sharper than Godai's.

You want to change too???

Uesugi Muneyuki swallowed a mouthful of saliva.

It's that high-beam dog! It really is him!

The Public Security Police indeed hid……they actually would be willing to dispatch these two core forces to my side?

These people of Public Security, just how much do they trust me?

Uesugi Muneyuki was momentarily moved.

Shoichi didn't wait for the knife-wielding thug to react.

His right hand grabbed the incoming knife—no dodging, no blocking, just grabbing.

His palm directly gripped the blade, metal in his palm making a creaking sound, like an aluminum can being crushed by a hydraulic press. The blade twisted, folded, and broke in his hand, fragments falling from between his fingers, clinking as they hit the ground.

The knife-wielding thug lowered his head to look at the "weapon" in his hand, now only the hilt remaining; his expression shifted from ferocious to confused, from confused to fearful—this process lasted about 0.8 seconds, longer than anything he had experienced in his life.

What is going on?

Am I filming a tokusatsu drama or something?

Shoichi grabbed his collar with his left hand, lifting him off the ground like picking up a chick.

The man weighed at least seventy kilograms, but in Shoichi's hand he felt as light as a ball of cotton.

He lifted him over his head, then swung him to the side—no throwing, just swinging, like shaking water off an umbrella. The man's body traced a parabola in midair, smashing into a row of beverage shelves three meters away.

The new citrus, fresh orange juice, milk, and pomegranate tomato juice in the cold storage scattered like grenades, plastic bottles bouncing on the ground with a puff-puff-puff-puff sound, brown liquid spraying from broken bottle mouths, pooling into small streams on the cold storage floor.

Shoichi pulled back his hand, looked at his palm, then at the smashed shelves, his compound eyes flashing crimson briefly. He turned his head toward Uesugi Muneyuki—though the Kamen Rider mask showed no expression, Uesugi Muneyuki inexplicably read a message: Did I use too much force?

Uesugi Muneyuki stood at the cold storage door, a few drops of juice on his trench coat.

He watched Shoichi's "I caused trouble" posture, the corner of his mouth twitching once—not a smile, but something like a helpless "thanks for the favor." "It's fine." Uesugi Muneyuki said, his voice returning to its usual steady, unhurried calm in any situation: "There's insurance." Shoichi's compound eyes flashed again, as if confirming the meaning of "insurance."

Then he turned back, facing the remaining three thugs, fists clenched, body slightly lowered, adopting a more cautious, clearly force-controlled combat stance.

The remaining three no longer needed more encouragement.

Two of them simultaneously made the same motion—turned, ran.

But they ran the wrong way. The cold storage's depths had no exit, only more shelves and colder air. They rushed toward the innermost part, feet slipping on the smooth floor, nearly falling, then desperately pulling open one freezer door after another, trying to find a hole to crawl out of; the other man holding an ice pick did not run. Not because he was brave, but because his legs had gone soft, his knees like two boiled noodles, the whole man slumped on the ground, the ice pick slipping from his hand, rolling twice on the floor, stopping beside Godai's feet.

Godai lowered his head to glance at the ice pick, lifted his foot, and stepped down on it slowly and steadily.

Metal under his foot's armor was crushed into a thin sheet, emitting a sharp creaking sound, like a small animal's dying scream. Then he began walking toward the direction the two had fled.

His steps were not fast. Even slow could be said, the red armor in the cold storage's lighting flowing with a dark red luster, like iron just taken from a furnace, the crimson compound eyes faintly visible in the white mist, each step sending a dull thud from metal stepping on concrete—thud, thud, thud—like some apocalyptic death knell.

The two reached the cold storage's deepest point, pulled open a heavy door marked "pork," slipped inside, then pulled the door shut from within.

The metal door clanged shut with a "clank," heavy breathing and suppressed, near-sobbing whimpers coming from the cold storage's depths. Godai walked to that door, stopped, and looked at it. It was a metal rod about two centimeters thick, inserted into the door frame's groove, able to withstand at least two hundred kilograms of pull.

He reached out, two fingers pinching the end of the rod.

A light pull.

The rod came out of the groove like a toothpick, bending into an impossible angle, like a twisted wire. Godai tossed the bent rod aside casually; the metal hitting the ground echoed for a long time in the empty cold storage.

He pulled open the door.

The two men were huddled behind a pile of frozen pork, one crouched, one prone, both pairs of pants wet—not from condensation, but urine, steaming in the minus eighteen degree temperature.

Godai froze, realizing it wasn't sweat, but urine!

Indeed, they fought me—when would they have time to sweat?

Godai turned around, grabbed each of their legs, and dragged them out toward the cold storage's exterior.

The situation over there was similar, Shoichi directly lifting the two men up.

The man slumped on the ground suddenly burst with a will to survive as Shoichi approached—he sprang up from the ground, rushed toward the door, trying to slip past Uesugi Muneyuki.

Uesugi Muneyuki shifted sideways to let him pass—not because he was afraid, but because he didn't want to dirty his clothes.

The man rushed past him, pulled open the door, charged into the cold storage's receiving area outside, where there were people; he waved his knife, trying to seize a hostage, but behind him, Uesugi Muneyuki's fingers made a trigger-like motion……this guy felt as if his rear brain had been struck by a heavy punch, his whole body flipped once in midair, face down on the concrete, motionless, his body slightly twitching.

And Uesugi Muneyuki retracted his fingers, lightly blowing on his fingertips.

One shot, direct hit~

The cold storage was in utter disarray—overturned shelves, scattered frozen pizzas, juice bottles rolling everywhere, the air filled with the smell of juice, frozen meat, frozen peas, and some indescribable mixed odor.

Settled……even smoother than imagined.