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Night completely swallowed the last glimmer of sunset.
The "North Star" was like a white blade, slicing a long-lasting wake through the ink-blue sea.
The sea breeze was colder than during the day, carrying a heavy, salty stench, making the ship's antennas and cables howl shrilly like whispering ghosts.
Noah, Feng Ling, and Bruce MacWeen had already changed into their full tactical gear and gathered on the aft deck.
Night vision goggles, communicators, weapon mounts, spare ammunition... "Get ready, we leave in half an hour."
Noah's voice broke the silence as he checked the quick-draw magazines on his tactical vest.
Not far away, Bruce MacWeen was chewing gum, making rhythmic "pop, pop" sounds. He leaned against the railing, wiping his modified.45 caliber pistol with a deerskin cloth, every part polished to a shine.
He looked relaxed, even a bit casual, but his eyes, constantly scanning the surrounding sea, held a beast-like alertness.
Hearing Noah's words, he stopped, spat the gum into the sea, and whistled.
"Half an hour? That's enough for a nap."
His tone still carried that deep-seated arrogance.
Noah ignored his provocation, simply looked up, and suddenly asked a seemingly unrelated question.
"Do you know Leon S. Kennedy?"
Bruce's action of wiping the barrel paused slightly.
He looked up, and for the first time, a look of genuine surprise appeared in his defiant blue eyes. He sized Noah up suspiciously.
"How do you know him?"
Leon S. Kennedy—this name was practically a legend within the U.S. Secret Service.
He was an ace agent directly under the President, an absolute authority in the field of anti-bioterrorism, and a goal for junior agents like them to look up to and chase.
How did this Eastern man, this so-called BSAA Asia-Pacific head, know that name?
"Was he your instructor?"
Noah continued to ask, his tone as flat as if he were discussing the weather.
The expression on Bruce's face became a bit strange. He fell silent for a few seconds, seemingly weighing something.
"...I guess so," he admitted vaguely.
"In the field of anti-bioterrorism operations, no one is more professional than him."
When he said this, a trace of respect unconsciously appeared on his face—an instinctive recognition of the strong.
Noah curled his lips slightly, a smile that seemed somewhat meaningful in the cold sea breeze.
"Didn't he mention me to you?"
"...!"
Bruce's eyes widened suddenly, looking at Noah in disbelief.
When Leon was training them, he had indeed mentioned some past events—secrets known only to a very few.
He mentioned that living Hell, Raccoon City, and an Easterner who fought alongside him, someone who was as calm as if he weren't human, yet more human than anyone else.
That man had used incredible Chinese Kung Fu to fight Tyrants barehanded.
Leon said that man was the most unique and powerful "civilian" he had ever seen.
His name was... Noah.
"I thought... I thought the Noah Leon mentioned was just someone with the same name..."
Bruce's voice was dry; he felt as if his throat were blocked.
He had always thought that the mythical figure in Leon's stories was perhaps just a legend, or had long since vanished into the dust of history.
And the Noah before him, appointed as a high-ranking BSAA official, was just a lucky person who had gotten lucky in politics—a "desk jockey" who rose through national connections.
The smile on Noah's face deepened.
"Now you know he's not."
"..."
Bruce was completely speechless. He felt his cheeks burning. Recalling his previous self-righteous provocations now felt like a circus clown performing somersaults for a king.
Just as the atmosphere reached peak awkwardness, Feng Ling walked over with steady steps.
There was no unnecessary expression on her face, as if she didn't feel the subtle change in atmosphere between the two at all.
"The speedboat and gear are ready. We can leave."
Her voice was always so calm, like a precision instrument accurately reporting a conclusion.
Noah nodded. He stood up, walked to Bruce, and reached out to pat his stiff shoulder.
"Let's go, rookie."
Bruce shuddered. He stared blankly as Noah walked past him. That "rookie" carried a bit of teasing but no malice; instead, it felt like a Senior giving a wake-up call to a junior.
He was stunned for a moment, then shook his head with a bitter smile. His arrogance was like a punctured balloon, deflating instantly.
"Fine, in front of you, I really am a rookie."
He muttered under his breath and then quickly followed. This time, his posture was much humbler.
Under the cover of the deep night, a flat-shaped, all-black stealth speedboat was slowly lowered into the sea.
The three boarded the speedboat. As the electric engine emitted an almost inaudible hum, the boat glided into the darkness like a black fish, racing toward that massive maritime tomb.
The closer they got to the luxury liner named the "Spencer," the more eerie it became.
It was like a steel mountain floating on the sea, standing silently ahead, but the hull, which should have been brightly lit, was completely dark.
Only a few portholes emitted a faint light, which, on the pitch-black hull, looked like a few demonic eyes peeking into the human world, flickering.
In the air, besides the saltiness of the sea breeze, there seemed to be a faint, nauseating scent of blood and decay.
The speedboat stopped about five meters from the liner, engines cut, bobbing gently with the waves.
"Sonar detection shows no abnormal activity in the lower hull. Infrared scans also find no large-scale heat source clusters. Either there's no one on the ship, or..." Feng Ling analyzed calmly, looking at the data on her tactical tablet.
"Or they're all things that don't need to emit heat," Bruce chimed in, his expression now incredibly solemn.
Noah didn't speak. He just untied a bundle of high-strength climbing rope fixed to the side of the speedboat and weighed it in his hand.
Then, under the astonished gazes of Feng Ling and Bruce, he made a move that was completely beyond their understanding.
Noah bent his knees slightly, lowering his center of gravity to the absolute minimum, his whole body like a fully drawn bow.
The next second, the speedboat beneath him suddenly sank, and a terrifying force erupted from the soles of his feet!
His figure shot into the sky like a cannonball, tracing a stunning parabola through the air, accurately falling toward the massive anchor chain of the Spencer!
"Thud!"
A muffled sound.
His tactical boots stepped firmly onto the cold, rough anchor.
The massive impact caused the suspended anchor, weighing dozens of tons, to sway slightly.
However, Noah did not pause for a moment.
As if completely ignoring Newton's laws, he kicked off the swaying anchor, using the reaction force to rise even higher!
The entire sequence of movements was fluid, filled with an explosive sense of power and an indescribable coordination.
Like a lithe leopard, he stretched his body in the air, his hands easily grabbing the edge of the deck railing, and with a pull-up, he silently flipped onto the deck.
The whole process, from jumping to boarding, took only a few seconds.
In the silent night, there was only the sound of waves hitting the hull.
On the speedboat, Bruce MacWeen's mouth was wide enough to fit a fist, his blue eyes bulging like copper bells, his expression one of ghost-seeing horror.
"WTF!"
A most pure curse burst uncontrollably from his mouth.
He swore that all the secret missions he had ever carried out and all the strange people and things he had ever seen combined were not as shocking as the scene before him.
This was no longer something a human could do! This was defying physics!
Beside him, although a flash of surprise crossed Feng Ling's face, she quickly regained her composure.
She glanced at the completely petrified Bruce and said calmly, in the tone of a veteran.
"You'll get used to it."
Bruce turned his head mechanically, looking at Feng Ling's unruffled face, feeling his worldview being repeatedly ground into the dirt.
"...I think I need some time to process this..."
Just then, a bundle of black rope fell from the sky, accurately landing on the speedboat. The other end had clearly been secured on the deck by Noah.
Feng Ling ignored Bruce, who was still questioning his life, expertly checked the firmness of the rope, and tied this end securely to the speedboat.
Then, alternating her hands, she climbed up with agile and standard movements, quickly disappearing into the shadows of the deck.
Bruce looked at Feng Ling's figure, then up at the bottomless darkness, finally coming to his senses from the massive shock.
He took a deep breath, grabbed the rope, and followed her up.
Only this time, the movements of this top-tier agent seemed so... plain and simple in the face of Noah's astonishing performance.
When Bruce's feet finally stepped onto the solid deck, he truly felt the eeriness of the ship.
The deck was empty, but not messy.
A lounge chair sat there solitarily, with an open magazine and a pair of sunglasses on it, as if its owner had only left temporarily and would be back soon.
Not far away, at the outdoor bar, a wine glass lay on the ground, the dark red liquid long since dried, leaving an ugly stain on the deck.
The entire deck was like a stage with the pause button pressed; all the noise and prosperity had come to a screeching halt in an instant, leaving only a deathly silent shell.
The wind brushed past his ears, carrying a... dragging friction sound from deep within the cabins.