Chapter 544: Live... Initiated

The scene was so absurd it made one's spine tingle.

The Shadow Legion, this legion followed Jiang Yuan, cutting through the Spider-like humanoid nest, crushing Gospel Church outposts, and never knelt even amid the contamination of the flesh-and-blood holy chant.

But now.

They knelt.

Kneeling toward the Second Floor.

Kneeling toward the source of that dark‑red pattern.

Liang Wen stood at the doorway, froze for two seconds, then lowered his head to look at his Fingerless Gloves.

The Weird patterns on the gloves—normally flashy enough to be taken to a nightclub for DJing—were now as dark as a blackout neighborhood.

He tried to bend a finger.

No response.

Again he bent.

Still no response.

Liang Wen's face twitched.

"No way?"

"My Abyss set... got the other side's under‑age anti‑addiction lock?"

No one laughed.

The crystal chandelier hung overhead, its surface dazzling, leaving no one in the hall any place to hide.

At the end of the red carpet.

The spiral staircase lay out silently.

On the stair rail, dark‑red lines emerged one after another, adhering to the walls, the ceiling, and every tightly shut private room door.

The entire clubhouse had become the palm of a crown.

Su Ming didn't go far into the doorway.

He stood a half‑step inside the threshold, his finger pressed against the edge of his wristwatch; the gray‑white pattern of the Time Marrow Worm had just emerged on his skin before being forcibly pressed back by a dark‑red force.

That suppression wasn't a break.

It was confiscation.

Su Ming muttered low, "Absurd."

Qin Zhixia's mechanical prosthetic arm unfolded; a blade shot out half its length, then clicked back.

The instrument panel was filled with red warnings.

Permission conflict.

Priority order was overwritten.

Qin Zhixia lifted his chin, staring at the Second Floor.

"All counter‑deception powers have been downgraded."

Jiang Yuan said nothing.

The Card Bag trembled at his waist; the Dark Playing Cards inside stuck to the leather one by one, like trapped fish.

He tried to summon the Dark Shadow Court.

It only unfolded half a breath.

His chest emitted a backlash, and a smell of blood rose up.

Jiang Yuan swallowed, his shoulders still upright.

From behind the Second Floor corridor came the soft click of leather shoes on wooden floor.

Not hurried.

Not fast.

Each step stepped on everyone's nerves in the hall.

The scar‑faced man walked out from the left lounge.

The short blade of stitched human skin he held dangled at his side, its dark‑red bone pattern flashing on and off.

Then a lanky young man.

A middle‑aged man with a missing arm.

A teenager whose neck still bore the scar of a containment collar.

One, two, three......

Twenty‑seven avengers emerged from all four sides of the hall.

No uniform.

No tactical formation.

Some wore jackets faded to white from washing, some still wore plastic slippers issued by the detention center, and some had fresh wounds on their faces, blood seeping under bandages.

But each person's wrist, chest, and neck were embedded with dark‑red crystals.

Those were the crown's distributed teeth.

Specifically to bite those who wield counter‑deception.

The field operative raised his gun.

As the barrel lifted, the teenager behind the scar‑faced man raised his hand to grip.

All firearm safeties locked automatically.

The magazine clattered to the floor.

Liang Wen looked at the magazines scattered on the floor and couldn't help saying, "This guy's skill is pretty dirty—disarm flow, definitely banned in rankings."

The scarred man turned his head to look at him.

That scar on his face, under the light, looked like an old ledger repeatedly slit open.

"You can still laugh?"

Liang Wen put away his punch‑worthy expression.

The scarred man stepped forward two paces, then suddenly tore open his collar.

His chest, abdomen, and shoulders were all branded.

They bore numbers.

They bore the private seal of a Yujie family.

And on another patch of skin was branded the four characters "experimental waste".

Many field operatives in the hall felt their throats go dry.

The scarred man raised his hand and patted that branded spot.

Once.

Again.

"Did you see it clearly?"

"This thing isn't a tattoo, isn't performance art, isn't some bored cyber‑tough stunt I cooked up."

He stared at Qin Zhixia, then swept his gaze toward Jiang Yuan.

"When you were high and mighty, we were begging for help."

"We knelt before the Federal Building, before the Association gate, before the Investigation Bureau, until our knees rotted—what did we get?"

He pointed at the brand on his chest, his voice hoarse and cracking.

"We got a sealed file."

"We got the line, 'the situation is special.'"

"We got that beast promoted, and we got sent to the Black Pool Detention Center."

The scarred man grinned, his teeth filled with blood.

"Now we've taken up knives ourselves."

"You lot showed up."

"What, can't a knife be held in a peasant's hand?"

"Do you need to issue licenses before killing counts as justice?"

In the field team, someone's grip on their gun lowered a bit.

Qin Zhixia stepped half a pace forward, his mechanical prosthetic arm blocking his side.

"The harm you've suffered will be investigated by the bureau."

The scarred man laughed harshly.

"Investigated?"

"Did the investigation reach Chen Huaiyuan's head?"

"Did it reach the sixty‑three lives lost in Locust Tree Gully?"

"Did it reach the wine table of your special advisory team's old fogies?"

As he said that, the avengers behind him all lifted their heads.

The dark‑red patterns on the Second Floor lit up.

At the end of the corridor.

Zhou Ping appeared.

He wasn't standing.

He was sitting before a shattered security door.

That door was absurdly thick, its surface etched with federal protective symbols; now it had split in half, its edges smeared with dark‑red corrosion.

Zhou Ping sat on the door's wreckage, black robes draping down.

On his forehead, the Seven‑Eyed Crown pattern half‑emerged, half‑concealed.

Above his head, in the void, seven layers of blood‑red pupils hung down, overlooking the hall.

Dark‑red rule lines unfurled from his back, covering the Second Floor corridor, stretching downward, entwining the stairs, the light fixtures, every inch of the lavish décor.

Jiang Yuan looked up.

Zhou Ping was also looking at him.

The two were separated by the whole hall.

One of them is among the Federation's Strongest Yujie.

The other is the newly crowned King of Avengers.

Zhou Ping spoke, his tone not loud, yet everyone heard him clearly.

"I just want to ask one thing."

"Are you here to arrest me."

"Or to save him?"

He turned his body.

Behind the shattered security door lay a private booth.

Bulletproof glass separated inside from outside.

Inside hid an old man.

Chen Huaiyuan.

In the photo, that chest‑worn medal, the meritorious Anomalous who defended three cities, now curls up behind the sofa, hair in disarray, his suit pants soaked in a large wet patch, his entire face trembling into a distortion.

Three guards lie beside him.

B-grade Anomalous.

All the Fierce Ghosts inside his body have been stripped out, kneeling outside the glass door, like three toothless dogs.

Chen Huaiyuan sees Jiang Yuan, is first stunned, then lunges at the glass door and punches it.

"Jiang Yuan!"

"I am a key asset of the Federation!"

"What are you still waiting for?"

"Kill all these mud‑legged scum! Move quickly! I order you to act!"

In that state, there's not even a hint of the dignity of a meritorious consultant.

Liang Wen watches, his temples throbbing.

"Damn."

"This old character's image collapses faster than a tofu‑dregs construction."

Qin Zhixia does not rebuke him.

Her gaze falls on Chen Huaiyuan's soaked pant leg, then shifts to the dark‑red rule line behind Zhou Ping.

Zhou Ping raises his hand.

In the center of the hall, dark‑red lines intersect, projecting an image.

Heishan County.

Huai Tree Ditch.

Low ancestral hall.

Villagers are locked inside; outside the door stands a much younger Chen Huaiyuan.

Inside the ancestral hall, an old man holds a child, a woman bangs on the door, a man crashes into the door.

Outside, the shadow of a macaque clings to Chen Huaiyuan's back, growing larger bit by bit.

First night.

Crying and shouting.

Second night.

Begging for mercy.

Third night.

No one knocks on the door again.

The image is unembellished, unmasked.

Sixty‑three people, over three nights, were fed by fear to a Fierce Ghost.

Among the field agents in the hall, some turn their heads away outright.

Su Ming stares at the screen, his pupil color darkening.

In a previous life he saw people cannibalize.

But this kind of consumption cloaked in the guise of order is even more disgusting.

Zhou Ping's finger drops.

The image freezes on a child's face pressed against the door crack.

The child's eyes remain open.

Zhou Ping looks at Jiang Yuan.

"Protecting this bunch of beasts wearing human skin is your Investigation Bureau's mission?"

Jiang Yuan feels a surge of blood taste in his throat.

He whispers, "Chen Huaiyuan will be tried."

Zhou Ping smiles.

It's not satisfying.

It's disappointment.

"Will be tried?"

"Your rhetoric is truly convenient."

"Back then they also said Huai Tree Ditch would be recorded."

"What was the result?"

Zhou Ping leans forward, seven blood‑colored pupils press down simultaneously.

"The record went into a sealed archive cabinet."

"The record went into a wine glass."

"The record went onto the back of his medal."

Jiang Yuan's Card Bag at his waist vibrates.

He finally raises his hand.

Three Black Cards fly out.

Half of the Dark Shadow Court unfolds, a black throne's phantom appears at the far end of the hall.

Among the Shadow Soldiers, dozens wrench themselves out of the kneeling pose, stubbornly bearing crowns of domination as they rise.

The carpet beneath Jiang Yuan's feet is dyed black by Shadow.

He steps onto the stairs.

One step.

Two steps.

On the third step, a dark‑red rule line shot out from the handrail and wrapped around his ankle.

Jiang Yuan did not stop.

The Black Card cut the rule line.

Fourth step.

Fifth step.

Behind him, the phantom of the throne pressed down; the Dark Shadow Court forced its way into the Crown's domain, tearing open a corner of the black domain beneath the second floor.

Zhou Ping remained seated.

He didn't even change his posture.

He raised one hand.

The Seven‑Eyed Crown opened wide at the same time.

Dark‑red poured down from the ceiling, turning into countless lines.

Jiang Yuan's body was slammed hard against the wall.

The Black Card scattered.

That corner of the Dark Shadow Court was pressed back underfoot.

His shoulder struck the wall, and the blood welling up in his throat slid down his jaw.

Liang Wen drew his sword.

The blade emerged half an inch, and his glove went completely dark.

"Damn it!"

"This version's nerfed too hard!"

Qin Zhixia rushed forward, her mechanical arm spewing a white-hot flow, trying to sever the blood lines on Jiang Yuan.

The woman among the avengers stood at the stairway entrance, her palm holding a dark‑red vengeful infant that lifted its head and let out a piercing wail.

The mechanical arm's rule blade got stuck.

Qin Zhixia's movement was forced to halt in place.

Su Ming's time‑marrow worm on his wrist struggled, then was pressed back beneath the skin by the crown.

He gritted his teeth: "The priority is too high; forcing a meeting triggers backlash."

Zhou Ping didn't even glance at them.

He only stared at Jiang Yuan.

"You're strong."

"Strong enough that the Federation has made you a hero."

"But if a hero only stands guard over bad debts, what's the difference between him and a high‑rank security guard?"

Jiang Yuan was pinned against the wall, the blood lines at his neck tightening ever more.

He stopped struggling.

It wasn't surrender.

It was the image of Locust Tree Gully, pressing down above all motives for action.

Order.

Protection.

Law.

Before sixty‑three corpses, these words suddenly felt thin.

So thin that a breath of wind could tear them.

Behind the glass door, Chen Huaiyuan was still roaring.

"Jiang Yuan! You piece of trash!"

"I'm a strategic asset! I'm a Federation hero!"

"You dare watch me die? Wei Gong won't let you off!"

"Kill them quickly! They're just a bunch of lunatics contaminated by the weird."

As the last words landed, the breathing of the security personnel inside and outside the hall went ragged.

The scar‑marked man chuckled lowly.

"Did you hear that?"

"That's the person you're supposed to protect."

Zhou Ping raised his hand.

The blood lines holding Jiang Yuan loosened.

Jiang Yuan fell from the wall, one knee touching the ground, his palm bracing the edge of the stairs.

Blood dripped onto the red carpet, quickly swallowed by the dark‑red rule lines.

Zhou Ping did not seize the chance to kill.

He sat on the second floor, pointing at the huge crystal chandelier directly above the hall.

"Don't rush into a desperate fight."

"A good show needs the whole world watching to be satisfying."

Everyone looked up at once.

Inside the crystal chandelier, a ring of tiny red lights lit up.

High-definition cameras popped out one by one from the lamp bases, their lenses swiveling to aim at the hall, at Jiang Yuan, and at Chen Huaiyuan, whose ugly state lay fully exposed behind the glass door.

The next second.

Everyone's communicator simultaneously popped up an alarm.

The entire network's live broadcast was connected.

The on‑screen title glowed blood‑red and piercing.

The second trial.

The defendant, Federation's meritorious Spirit‑Controller, Chen Huaiyuan.