Chapter 331: Three Paths

Everyone has a goal: to go to that TV Tower.

Because they know… all those who wish will eventually gather there.

On the Investigation Bureau's side here.

The crimson light column stretches the three people's shadows long and crooked.

The rubble's broken stones beneath their feet emit a fine shuffling sound.

Jiang Yuan walks at the front, the Spinal Sword held diagonally in his right hand, the blade occasionally emitting a low hum, like a feral dog being forced under restraint.

Beside him is Liang Wen, the man dubbed Dark-Blooded King, who lifts the collar of his Windcoat up to his ears, shielding the glaring red light above his head with one hand, muttering words.

"If we swagger over like this, aren't we being a bit too flamboyant?"

"Three light columns, visible across the whole city," Su Ming says from the rear row, his voice even, "Being any lower‑key won't help."

Liang Wen turns his head to look at him: "Then why are you so tense, gripping your hand that tightly?"

Su Ming lowers his head to glance at his right hand holding the spear, says nothing, yet his grip does not loosen.

He is listening.

To the southeast, that light column is the brightest, almost excessively so, a visible vortex swirling around its shaft.

Su Ming scans the skyline and notes the direction.

Then he senses something.

"Left three, right one, someone is approaching, distance roughly—"

"Eight hundred meters," Jiang Yuan replies, his tone oddly even, "I know."

Liang Wen pats his Waist Knife: "Time to act."

The three keep moving.

At the same time, in the Commercial Street Ruins area.

Lin Fan steps on the half‑collapsed skybridge debris; the standing water beneath his feet is dyed by the power of the copper ring into an almost pure black hue. With each step, ripples spread outward, fading only after reaching three meters.

The light column above his head is the thickest in the entire city.

At a broken window on the Second Floor of the ruins, three black shadows cling to the crumbling wall, peering down, moving stealthily like rats stealing oil.

One of them grips a cut, rusted Reinforced Steel Bar, sharpened into a point, using it as a long spear. The other two brandish explosion‑proof shields scavenged from the street, ready for a full‑scale raid.

"Wait until he gets closer…"

"Don't rush, wait until he gets closer…"

The three hold their breath, even their steps shift to tiptoe.

Lin Fan continues forward, taking about four steps.

He lowers his head to glance at his foot, a single hair of Xin Yu's protrudes from the left sleeve cuff, drawing a character on the back of his hand.

He does not look up.

"Come."

The two words said casually as if inviting someone to sit.

Among the three black shadows, the one leading has a black hair, bowl‑diameter thick, sprouting at the back of his neck.

It's not wrapped, it's threaded through.

It pierces straight through the center of the cervical spine, exits from the left side of the chest, the force so great it drives the person from the Second Floor directly into the concrete wall below, scattering concrete fragments and dust.

Lin Fan's stride never stops throughout.

The two behind react; one spins and runs, the other reflexively slams the safety shield downward, hitting nothing. At that moment, the black hair in the sky comes alive, surging from the shadow behind Lin Fan; countless fine strands form a net in mid‑air, enveloping the two people tightly.

They struggle for three seconds, then fall silent.

The black hair slowly retracts, Xin Yu peeks half a face from the light and shadow, her round eyes filled with blood‑streaked tears, tugging Lin Fan's sleeve.

Lin Fan places his hand on her hair and smooths it; the lingering warmth on the back of his hand touches the slight chill of her strands.

"Well done."

Xin Yu retreats into the shadow, emitting an extremely faint breathy sound, carrying an indefinable hint of coquettishness.

Lin Fan lifts the corner of his mouth and continues toward the TV Tower.

City Center.

Chen Shao's steps are slow.

It's not caution; he simply walks at a leisurely pace, his composed demeanor like taking an evening stroll while buying a pack of cigarettes.

From the shadows of broken walls and ruins, seven or eight human silhouettes emerge.

Two are Mutants, their flesh tumors shaping the entire arm into stalactite‑like forms, black fluid dribbling from their mouths, their footfalls wet and heavy.

The rest are humans, wielding tubes, steel rods, even a drill stolen from a hardware store, blocking Chen Shao in the middle of the road.

"Hand over the goods," the leading man's voice raspy, "You're one, we're ten, be sensible."

Chen Shao stops.

The leading man assumes he's considering, steps forward: "You know, the people under my command—"

Snap.

It's the sound of something being crushed, low, with the crisp snap of breaking bones and the wet, squelching hiss of muscle tissue under extreme compression.

Not one person, but four, simultaneously.

The four standing at the outermost edge, at some point began compressing their entire bodies toward the center, arms pressed against the torso, heads tucked down into the shoulders, finally collapsing into a lump of dark red, landing on the asphalt road, punching a small pit.

No scream. Pressed so tightly that even the mouth was gone.

The leading man turns his head, a short syllable issuing from his throat, then crosses his legs and changes direction, collapsing to the ground, hands clasping his head, motionless.

Chen Shao crumples a tissue and tosses it, then slips his hand back into the Windcoat pocket.

The remaining few and the two Mutants all stand still in place, unmoving.

It's not that I don't want to run; I truly can't—psychic force pierces every muscle like an iron hook, severing all voluntary motor nerves at once.

Xu An, barefoot, emerged from the shadow and stopped as he passed a man clutching an iron pipe to his chest.

The man's jaw was trembling.

Xu An lowered his head, glanced at him, gently lifted the Red Wood Ruler in his right hand, and let it fall in a single, clean, decisive strike.

Then he kept walking forward.

Three seconds later, the man's brain matter burst outward.

Chen Shao didn't look back, and stepped toward the TV Tower.

In the north sector of the Abandoned Factory, along both sides of the half‑collapsed main road, the building structures are nearly half‑wrapped in tumor tissue spawned by Blood Moon radiation, pushing Reinforced Steel Bar and glass outward from within.

The monsters surged up from the north, numbering twenty‑to‑thirty; even the smallest are as large as a sedan, and each step they stamp leaves pits of varying depth in the asphalt.

Jiang Yuan stood at the front of the formation, hands hanging naturally, a Spinal Sword in his left hand and a Boning Knife in his right.

Liang Wen stepped back half a pace, ready to provide support. Su Ming said nothing, sheathed the Simple Spear, crossed their arms over their chest, and stood firm beside them.

Jiang Yuan thrust the Spinal Sword into the ground, the tip piercing the asphalt, then released his grip and stepped back two paces.

"Get up."

A low voice.

The Shadow beneath his feet moved.

It's not a tremor, it's a flow—like heated black mercury spreading outward from the ground in all directions, spreading faster and thicker, until the entire street's shadows came alive and surged toward the monsters.

Shadow Legion, full‑strength.

When the first wave of Shadow Ghosts lunged, the largest tumor monster in the front row thumped twice, then froze; its outer skin began to peel away layer by layer, collapsing inward so swiftly that it couldn't even scream, leaving a pool of dark‑red fluid seeping into the asphalt.

In less than ten seconds, all the monsters on the street were gone.

Liang Wen clapped his hands, whistled, and said, "This is insanely satisfying, damn it."

Su Ming glanced at the black‑smeared street and fell silent for two seconds.

"There are still people following us," he said, scanning the rear, "one group at three o'clock, another at eight o'clock, each about two hundred meters away."

Jiang Yuan drew the Spinal Sword, brushed the dust off its tip.

"If they follow, let them follow."

"Make them see more clearly."

High among the ruins, within a damaged building, a remnant squad huddled in the shadows, having witnessed the recent purge; several members' breathing had become erratic.

"Damn..."

The leading man gripped his dagger, his jaw clenched, the blade leaving a shallow indentation in his palm, though he didn't feel it.

To the north is the man whose Shadow covers the whole street.

To the southeast is the youth treading Black Water, accompanied by a female ghost.

In the City Center is the monster too lazy to lift its hands, crushing people into balls outright.

"... Three routes," another person swallowed, "all head toward the TV Tower."

"Then we..."

"Follow," the leading man sheathed his dagger, his voice pressed low, "follow, and wait until they're exhausted before we move in."

"Those three... can they be exhausted?"

No one answered the question.

Outside the window, three scarlet pillars of light burned silently in the night sky.

In the direction of the TV Tower, the whole sky had been suffused with the ink‑green light of the Weird Domain, 538 meters tall, from foundation to tip, all alive.

Just waiting for them to go.