The sound of footsteps pounding against the corridor floor grew closer, rhythmic and heavy like the knocking of the Reaper. They advanced openly, leisurely, carrying the absolute confidence of hunters who knew their prey was firmly within the snare.
Tian Cang sprinted.
The way he ran carried the cold calculation of a grand commander—something entirely different from the panic those pursuing him expected to see. In his mind, the map of the selection camp appeared as vividly as a chessboard he had memorized by heart.
Three intersections ahead.
To the left lay the living quarters—too many dead ends, easy to be cornered. To the right was the training grounds—too open, easy pickings for archers and mages. Only the path straight ahead remained: the old warehouse district. A labyrinth of ruins, shadows, and the smell of rust.
He gritted his teeth, accelerating forward.
BOOM!
The wall behind Tian Cang collapsed under a terrifying force. The hunters smashed through matter to shorten the distance. Three figures flooded in like grey ghosts, clad in streamlined light armor optimized for swift killing. One held a short sword, one brandished a long spear, and the one in the center had bare hands wrapped in black bandages, radiating a pressure that caused the air to warp slightly as if heated by flame.
A professional purge squad. A multi-class coordination.
Tian Cang suddenly veered into a narrow hallway. The spearman seized the opportunity instantly, unleashing a lightning-fast thrust. The spearhead tore through the air with a piercing whistle.
Tian Cang did something insane: he lunged directly into the strike's path.
SHLIK!
The spearhead impaled his left shoulder. Blood splattered against the grey wall. But in that moment, Tian Cang's lips curled into a ruthless smile. He used his right hand to grip the spear's shaft tightly, locking it within his own flesh like a steel trap.
Before the spearman could grasp what was happening, Tian Cang closed in, delivering a knife-hand strike to the opponent's throat.
CRACK!
The sound of dry bone shattering echoed. Tian Cang yanked the spear out of his own wound and, spinning his body, hurled it back with every ounce of his strength.
SHLIK!
The spear flew like a massive bolt, piercing the stomach of the charging swordsman and pinning him to the stone wall. Blood ran down Tian Cang's arm, soaking the floor, yet his speed never faltered.
The final pursuer followed relentlessly.
The unarmed warrior moved with unusual speed, each step gliding across the floor, his weight distributed so perfectly he was nearly silent. He waited for an opening instead of attacking recklessly, trailing with the patience of one who knew the right moment would come.
Tian Cang intentionally decelerated as he passed a narrow corner.
The assassin unleashed an armored punch toward the back of his head.
Tian Cang tilted his body, letting the fist graze his ear, then pivoted his hips to counter with a powerful blow of his own.
THUD!
The two fists collided in mid-air. A small shockwave rippled out, sending dust cascading down.
"Heh..." the assassin snarled, his eyes glinting with a manic excitement. "Finally, a prey that knows how to bite back."
He began to accelerate. A flurry of punches and kicks rained down like a storm, pure strength and relentless pressure driving Tian Cang back step by step, until his back was nearly against the wall ahead.
Tian Cang glanced quickly to the right. The old wooden wall there was rotten, riddled with fissures running along the grain like dried-up rivers.
Enough.
He intentionally left an opening at his chest. The assassin concentrated all his weight into a decisive punch. At the exact moment of impact, Tian Cang dropped his weight and slid to the side at an angle only those who had stood on the brink of death hundreds of times could ever master.
BOOM!!!
The thousand-pound punch slammed directly into the rotted wall. The surface exploded. Both Tian Cang and the assassin plummeted into the dark void below.
The old warehouse district. The air was damp and musty, thick with the smell of rusted metal and engine oil that had settled over years.
Tian Cang landed in a perfect roll and stood up, his glowing red eyes quickly adapting to the darkness. He reached out and snatched a rusted iron chain dangling from the rafters, his other hand bleeding but gripping tight.
The assassin fell shortly after, brushing dust from his shoulders and looking around with disdain. "Still running? This will be your grave."
Tian Cang swung the iron chain. The target was a moth-eaten wooden pillar supporting the ceiling above.
WHIP! CRACK!
The chain wrapped tightly around the pillar. Tian Cang summoned the full strength of his deviation, bracing himself and pulling with all his might.
"What? You're insane!"
BOOM!!!
A massive section of the ceiling and heavy metallic scrap collapsed right onto the assassin's position. Thick dust billowed up, obscuring all vision.
Amidst that white haze, Tian Cang lunged like a black panther. He sensed the warmth and heartbeat of his opponent through the darkness rather than using his eyes. A loop of the iron chain wrapped around the assassin's neck and tightened.
CRACK.
The sound of a snapped cervical vertebra ended the battle in silence.
Tian Cang stepped back, leaning against an old crate, his chest heaving.
Three of them. Only the vanguard.
The wound on his left shoulder still seeped blood, but he felt the dark ichor of Blood Devour silently mending the muscle fibers—slow and persistent, like a tailor working quietly in the dark.
He looked up.
Through the massive hole in the ceiling, a dim light shone down, silhouetting a person standing at the edge looking down. He wore casual clothes, unarmed, in the relaxed posture of someone watching an entertaining performance.
Two gazes met across the murky space.
A sensation of coldness and arrogance radiated from the figure above—a feeling more terrifying than death itself, in the sense that death merely ends things, whereas the one looking down at him now could prolong anything at will.
The man smiled. His voice drifted down light as air yet strangely resonant; the mechanical voice from the magic circle earlier and this voice shared the same frequency:
"Good run, No. 17-46. You have passed the combat proficiency test."
He paused for a beat, his smile widening.
"But even that is not enough to leave this place."
CLANG. CLANG.
The dry sound of metal clashing echoed from the warehouse entrance, then from behind, then from the sides. Thick steel bars were pulled across every single exit, one by one, with the steady order of a trap prepared long ago.
This was a cage. Built before the battle even began, waiting for the right prey to step inside.
Tian Cang stood straight, casting aside the bloodied iron chain in his hand. He looked at each of the locked exits in turn, then up at the figure standing above with the relaxed smile of one who held the scales.
His gaze grew still—quiet and cold in the way something that has been under too much pressure for too long begins to turn into stone.
He wrapped the chain around his fist. Turn by turn, tightening it.
"Then come down here and hunt me."
The shadows of the old warehouse swallowed him. Only the deep crimson pupils remained glowing in the void—steadfast and calm in a way those looking down from above had never seen in a prey before.