Chapter Thirteen: Rivalry

Lamia and Salvador established contact, and Old Wei parked the Yune between the ruins of two towering buildings. The advantage of urban construction was that the high-rises concealed everything; the roads were disordered, and even Yune would not be easily discovered. Thieves rarely devoted much effort to patrolling.

Lamia and I entered the park.

The grass reached above our waists, and the trees grew like warlords vying for territory, sprawling madly, twisting into grotesque shapes, pushing aside their rivals to claim more sunlight. I had read books from a century ago; parks were meant to be places of leisure, but now venturing into one felt like an expedition through a tropical rainforest. The branches were sharper than knives—careless movement could easily result in a cut face.

I asked, “What is Salvador to you?”

Lamia replied, “A subordinate.”

“Truly a subordinate? I feel your relationship is far too close.”

She said, “What are you imagining?”

“He must be important. Otherwise, why would you risk saving him?”

“I am responsible for each of their lives. Besides, I don’t want to pay compensation. If I can save one, I will.”

“Would you ever abandon me?”

Lamia couldn’t help but laugh. “Then, what are you to me?”

“I am your loyal subordinate! You are my best friend. In fact, I feel you’re more like family—a long-lost sister.”

The secret to social grace is a sweet tongue; the closer my words, the more seriously she would regard me. Whatever I truly thought, that was another matter—the surface must be impeccable.

This was my precious wisdom, ancient experience, the hard-earned insight of ruthless trials. If she accepted my “kinship,” Salvador would have to step aside. If not, she would feel guilty, pity me, and be even more partial toward me.

It was a melodramatic act; books from a hundred years ago said women fall for it, that even an iceberg could melt under such tactics. Is it base? No—the baseness belongs to this world; I merely follow its rules, skirting the limits. Though Director Lamia was only one of my stepping stones, she was a good one, worthy of respect and not to be forsaken.

Seeing her remain unmoved, I went on, “Director, your promise was like rain after a long drought, giving me hope to live. Come, give me your hand, look into my eyes, feel my heart, understand my intent, call me brother, confide in me, tell me you will entrust your life to me, just as I am willing to entrust mine to you.”

Lamia reached out her hand—a punch hit me hard.

“Enough with the noise,” she said.

I felt dazed for a moment, convinced my plan hadn’t failed, only that I’d been too eager.

Wait, stepping-stone director. Wait, Salvador—don’t get too comfortable. I’ve got my eyes on you; the deputy’s seat will be mine.

Salvador appeared under a circular archway, along a corridor paved with black bricks. He was clad in a black cloak, black leather armor, black leather pants.

Salvador was clearly the type—a smooth-talking, unscrupulous scoundrel adept at deceiving women and girls. He had the eyes, the nose, the skin that easily won feminine favor… In short, he was a modern Don Juan, constantly working out.

I instantly became wary, every nerve taut. Handsome, slightly brooding young men like him easily attract strong, proud beauties like Lamia. It was almost unimaginable that there hadn’t been any ambiguity between them.

Especially now—the little bastard looked at Lamia, his eyes nearly dropping with longing.

He said, “Sister.”

I was both shocked and angry at this familiar address, stepping forward: “Who gave you the right to call her ‘sister’? Who do you think you are?”

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Lamia stopped twenty meters from Salvador. “Brother,” she said.

They really were siblings? That was unexpected.

As the saying goes: shoot the horse before the rider, capture the king before the thief.

I forced a smile, gentle and amiable. “Nice to meet you, Salvador.”

I tried to approach for a handshake, but Lamia stopped me. Only then did I realize the terrain here was perfect for an ambush—high ground on both sides for snipers. A tree concealed Lamia where she stood.

“Why did you do this?” Lamia asked, her voice cold.

Salvador said, “They… They caught Betty. They said if I… I’m not afraid to die, sister, but Betty…”

“Who are ‘they’?” Lamia asked.

“Kirian’s group, and… the demons.”

I heard a sharp crack—Salvador’s left leg was shot. He collapsed in pain, but Lamia remained unmoved. She pulled my hand, and we hid behind a column.

I heard someone laughing. He shouted, “Don’t you care if your brother lives or dies? What about poor Betty?”

My mind was a muddle. I asked, “What’s going on here?”

Gunfire swept the rooftop, stone chips flew from the column. Lamia said, “Kirian! Are you trying to seize Yune?”

Kirian replied, “Of course, my dear! Yune can’t fall to your unit—it’s needed in our laboratory. I sent people after you as soon as you left the city. The credit is mine.”

“Was it the storm that caused you to lose track of us?” Lamia asked.

“Fortunately, I still caught your man—your adorable little brother. Aren’t you coming out? He’ll bleed dry soon.”

Lamia considered briefly. “Old Wei kept trying to contact you?”

Kirian said, “You’re too clever, my dear.” They fired again, bullets rattling, and I worried the column wouldn’t hold.

Suddenly, I heard a demon’s roar. White demons burst from the woods, charging straight at us.

They could control demons? Force them to appear in daylight?

Lamia drew her gun, aiming for their eyes. She’d already used up her divine sword rounds; these bullets came from the Charon mercenaries in the Ulysses lab. She fired five or six shots before taking one down.

I held my breath, focusing, but the recoil was too strong—I sprayed bullets, missing half.

The demons soon closed in. I hurriedly took Amon’s Water, vanishing from sight. Lamia tossed her gun aside, drew the captain’s longsword from the Sword and Shield Guild, its blade glowing blue-green. She slashed, splitting a demon’s head like a watermelon.

Lamia stepped back, a surprised smile flickering at her lips. The sword was astonishingly sharp—what metal was it forged from?

Another demon lunged at Lamia. She bounced off a pillar, launching herself forward. The demon shattered the column, stones collapsing and pinning it. Lamia leapt up, finishing it with a single stroke. More demons attacked; Lamia led them into the narrow path to avoid being surrounded.

While invisible, I circled to their ambush side, climbing onto the roof. I saw six rangers crouched at the eaves, guns trained on the battlefield. Their angle was poor—they hadn’t noticed my movements.

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I smeared poison on my dagger, first stabbing two in the neck. They died swiftly from the toxin. The other four shouted, “Behind! Behind!” turning around. I knew they couldn’t see me, at most glimpsing a blurry, translucent shadow. I killed another; the remaining three fired wildly—it was dangerous, I nearly got hurt, and had to move to the other side of the eaves.

One of them—a short-haired, middle-aged man with a small mustache and sunglasses—was Kirian. He said, “The enemy can turn invisible! He has the demon’s supernatural powers!”

The other two were tense, guns raised. “Director, was he modified too?”

Kirian removed his sunglasses; his eyes were completely different. His right eye was like a red demon’s, several times larger than the left, glowing bright red. He aimed his gun at where I stood, and I immediately jumped down. A gust from the bullet swept past my head.

He’d had a red demon’s eye transplanted—he could see me while invisible, which explained how he controlled the white demons.

Kirian cursed, quickly pursuing me. His stamina far exceeded normal, and in just a few strides he was within ten meters. I hid behind a tree, waited a second. Kirian’s head appeared—I stabbed with the dagger at once.

Kirian’s left hand had changed, transformed into a giant red demon’s claw. He smashed the tree in one blow, sending me tumbling five or six meters, blood soaking my eyes.

Kirian was now a monster—mostly human, but his left hand and eye belonged to the red demon. That left hand’s nails scraped the ground.

Barely, I asked, “You… aren’t human?”

Kirian said, “I am superhuman—able to fight demons! Lamia is like me, and so are you! You too!” Suddenly, he leapt toward me, his claws about to pierce me.

Bang.

His head jerked—he’d been shot. I saw Lamia at the side; her marksmanship was superb, able to hit a target moving at high speed. Blood welled from Kirian’s temple. He stepped back, Lamia fired again, hitting his throat. Kirian clutched the wound and fled swiftly.

Lamia walked toward me. “How are you?”

“Director, really, I was just about to finish him. Why steal my thunder?”

I refused to show weakness—after all, I might someday stand at the summit of power; she must never underestimate me.

Lamia smiled, helping me up. Then she went to Salvador.

Salvador said, “Sister, I… I’m sorry…”

Lamia hugged him, treating his wound with an injection. This was the perfect chance to kick him while he was down, but first, Salvador was Lamia’s kin—blood relations never hold grudges overnight, and meddling would only backfire. Second, Salvador’s weakness was already in my grasp; he was no threat to my position as Lamia’s confidant. Third, Salvador was clearly a weak fool, no match for my desert wolf cunning. On the contrary, he could be useful to me.

Salvador said, “We still need to rescue Betty.”

I couldn’t help but say, “Have you no shame?”

Salvador glared at me. “What?”

“You nearly got your own sister—my dearest director—killed, and you still have the nerve to make demands?”

Salvador lowered his head. “I know. But Betty… Sister, you know Betty is my fiancée.”

Lamia said, “Fishbone, take Odin’s Eye and search for Betty’s location.”

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