Chapter 157

Chapter 157: Pursuit

“The YM-type vessel provided by Easter is broken—shattered completely. The most crucial ‘venom gland’ was also washed away by the water.” A tall, middle-aged man with scar-stitched seams across his face reported softly from the driver’s seat.  

His upper body was bare, revealing bandages wrapped tightly from his collarbones down to his chest. Even this single layer was enough to trap a film of yellowish sweat in the summer heat.  

There was no particular reason for the bandages—they were purely for healing. His old wounds hadn’t even fully healed before a certain maid had beaten him up again.  

Strangely, though, after knocking him out, she hadn’t sent him to prison but instead dumped him straight into a trash bin… That maid had been something else, though—those legs of hers looked damn sexy.  

“Is that so? What did the young mistress choose, then?” Rutherford picked at the seams of his camera, itching with frustration.  

What a shame he hadn’t recorded that scene.  

“I didn’t notice. It just exploded suddenly,” the scar-faced man shook his head. “Probably the ‘Princess’ couldn’t hold back. But there’s one thing I don’t understand—even when faced with a fake Misha, her reaction seemed… muted.”  

The original plan hadn’t involved letting the fake Misha meet the ‘Princess.’ After all, if she admitted the truth outright, the lie would collapse on its own.  

Rutherford’s idea had been to guide Gloria step by step, slowly leading her to kill Mi Xiaoliu with her own hands.  

“But the young mistress saw through the fake Misha. My acting really wasn’t up to par,” the Plague Doctor sighed.  

Rutherford had a habit of thoroughly researching his targets’ preferences and habits before making a move—like Misha’s childhood nickname, “Rice Noodle.” Unfortunately, written records alone couldn’t help them perfectly play the role of “Misha.”  

“Ah, what a pity. Then again, you’re not a professional actor,” Rutherford said without blame. “A three-million-Mira figurine, wasted… And we didn’t even secure our objective. Whatever. Let’s go.”  

“Mmm.” The Plague Doctor started the helicopter, its rotors beginning to spin.  

An opening appeared in the roof of the warehouse where the helicopter was stored.  

“Ah Kun, what color am I?”  

“Huh?” Zhang Zikun glanced up at Rutherford’s head. “Still that deep, translucent crimson…”  

“Mmm.” Rutherford unscrewed a small vial and swallowed a black pill. “You can still back out now, you know. You’re only in the trial phase—no one will hold it against you if you leave.”  

Compared to the Plague Doctor, who had broken ribs, Zhang Zikun was in far worse shape.  

Of his limbs, only his left leg remained unbroken. It was hard to imagine what kind of landing could have caused such injuries. A shard of glass the size of a pinky finger had even lodged itself in his eye—yet at the time, both his hands had been shattered, leaving him unable to remove it.  

Bandages wrapped him up like a mummy, a pitiful sight.  

Rutherford said he could still turn back, but where could he go now, abandoned in this remote wilderness with only one working leg? He couldn’t even make a phone call.  

“I don’t regret it,” Zhang Zikun shook his head. “It’s just my first time on a helicopter—I’m excited… In all my life, I’ve never felt as good as I do today. If people are born with a purpose, then mine must be to become Rutherford’s right-hand man.”  

Ever since middle school, when he first gained the ability to see people’s fortunes, he had never been welcomed by others. Even his parents had wished he would stay far, far away.  

The first academy for ability users he attended was in a place even more remote than Fanzui City—so isolated that teachers would organize students to forage for wild vegetables to supplement their lunches.  

He couldn’t understand why the Federation would build an ability-user academy in such a place.  

But no matter where he went, the moment people learned of his ability, their first reaction was to avoid him. Because while he could see others’ misfortunes, he couldn’t offer any way to prevent them.  

He was, in every sense, a walking jinx.  

After transferring, Meiqiantu Academy was over a hundred kilometers from home. His hometown had its own academy for ability users, yet he’d been sent away twice. Every month, all he received was a living allowance deposited into his bank account—not a single word of concern.  

They probably wanted him to die out here.  

Now, someone has finally recognized the true value of his ability. No matter what kind of person Rutherford was, as long as he didn’t abuse him, Zhang Zikun would follow him to the death. Because this was the true purpose Heaven had given him this ability for.  

Justice, villainy, scum—as long as they existed, they had value.  

Even if he had to become a demon, he would make everyone who ever looked down on him admit their mistakes. Regret.  

The scenery outside the window was no longer just the warehouse. Zhang Zikun knew there was no turning back now.  

One last glance at this place that held no warmth—his farewell.  

Then, by chance, he spotted a black dot trailing flames, growing larger.  

Approaching fast.

“Boss, incoming!” Zhang Zikun urgently warned.  

“Climb higher,” Rutherford calmly ordered the crow-masked man piloting the helicopter.  

It seemed the 50% “safe escape” probability hadn’t been successfully triggered.  

At that moment, dark, unhealthy blood began seeping from Rutherford’s nose and mouth, and his breathing became labored.  

Only when the poison started spreading did Rutherford take another pill—this one an antidote.  

Another method to defy the color of fate. When red appeared, and the cause of injury was unclear, he would create a controlled wound himself.  

For instance, if the prediction was a minor injury (light red), he could choose to cut his palm with a penknife now—or do nothing and wait for the misfortune to strike randomly.  

But this time, there was no telling where the injury would land. Maybe a wooden splinter would lodge itself under his fingernail, impossible to remove.  

“No good! We don’t have enough initial ascent speed! We’re still too low—if we have to, we’ll bail!” Despite his words, the crow-masked man didn’t stop maneuvering.  

“Then we gamble. Fifty-fifty odds it misses us.” Rutherford crossed his legs, unmoving. “Ah Kun, what’s my color now?”  

Zhang Zikun checked again. “Black… Mr. Rutherford, it’s black!”  

“And now?” Rutherford activated his ability.  

“Same as before. A dark, bloody red.” Zhang Zikun nervously glanced outside—then froze. Unnoticed until now, the Plague Doctor’s head was wreathed in pitch-black.  

If both of them were in such dire straits, what did that mean for his own fate?  

Before he could warn Rutherford, the incoming object closed in enough to identify—a rocket?  

At its speed, visibility meant impact was imminent.  

The Plague Doctor wrenched the helicopter upward, narrowly dodging. The rocket struck the warehouse below, flipping it over in a blast that rattled their aircraft.  

“Yes!” The Plague Doctor’s heart nearly stopped from the close call.  

Zhang Zikun could even feel the heat from the explosion—yet no shrapnel hit them.  

But the crow-masked man’s black aura remained.  

Then—ping-ping-ping!  

A metallic clatter rose from below, like bullets striking a vehicle in a GTA game. But in reality, the sound was far more chilling.  

Zhang Zikun trembled, turning painfully to peer through the window.  

Below, a masked brute was loading a second rocket into his launcher.  

Dotted across the sky, flying enforcers surrounded them, spread out to avoid friendly fire.  

Zhang Zikun had never seen such a scene. Weren’t the media always saying Fanzui City’s supernatural police couldn’t even protect their own cameras?  

Before he could process it, Rutherford yanked him and leapt from the helicopter.  

The three-story-plus drop blanked his mind. Neither of them could fly.  

Behind them, the rocket struck true. The explosion consumed the helicopter—and the crow-masked man—in an inescapable fireball.  

For a dual-ability user (LV3 Virus and LV3 Control), surviving a direct hit would’ve required plot armor.  

Rutherford pulled a cord on his jacket. Like Kaito Kid, his leather coat unfurled into a glider—but untrimmed and weighed down, it could only spiral downward.  

Bullets whizzed past them like a warning, yet still tore holes through the fabric.  

Miraculously, the tattered glider landed them in a distant river. The only hit? A shoulder shot on Zhang Zikun—instantly flooding him with numbness.  

“Tranquilizer darts…”  

The realization barely had time to form before the drug’s effects overwhelmed him. The world dissolved into muffled sounds and distorted shapes as consciousness slipped away.

Plunging into the water from such height with improper posture, Zhang Zikun swallowed a mouthful of river water violently. With the anesthetic taking effect, his consciousness faded rapidly.  

In his final moments of awareness, he saw Mr. Rutherford tearing away the tattered glider and swimming toward him with powerful strokes. Bullets peppered the water’s surface around them, yet not a single one found its mark.  

Mr. Rutherford hadn’t abandoned him after all, despite his earlier words…  

When Rutherford broke the surface with Zhang Zikun in tow, coincidence struck again. A small boat floated conveniently beside them, its engine primed and ready.  

After loading the unconscious youth aboard, Rutherford plucked the unfired tranquilizer dart embedded in his clothing and smiled up at the airborne enforcers. “You’ve learned,” he remarked.  

His rigid bulletproof vest had barely stopped the dart – a torso shot would have been disastrous.  

Six years ago, his pursuers had used live ammunition, though few rounds ever reached him.  

These tranquilizers weren’t meant to capture him alive at this stage, but to give teammates a fighting chance when “coincidental” friendly fire occurred.  

This time, they dared not even use lethal force directly.  

Even if a gun barrel accidentally pointed toward an ally – even with fingers clear of triggers – weapons checked countless times would still “misfire.”  

Then other officers would scramble to rescue comrades who lost consciousness mid-flight.  

Yet no one broke formation. They’d prepared for every contingency before hunting the Red Prince.  

With enough volleys, eventually one bullet would bypass fate’s defenses.  

Against the Red Prince’s abilities, every officer risked dying to freak accidents. They’d come prepared to sacrifice. Letting him escape meant more children would be harmed.  

“Goddammit! Who leaves a boat in rapids like this? Wasn’t the area cleared?” an angry voice crackled over comms.  

“Found it. Some rich guy’s moving truck was overweight for the bridge. They dumped the yacht.”  

“Who ships yachts by truck? Give me a break!”  

“You think my old squad died for logical causes? One man choked to death drinking water during ops!” The Ninja’s retort silenced the channel.  

Rutherford gunned the boat downstream, Zhang Zikun nearly bouncing overboard behind him.  

Then – under blazing sun – piercing cold.  

The boat launched onto a suddenly frozen river, stuck fast.  

A hundred meters of water flash-frozen to glassy perfection.  

Trapped?  

Rutherford calmly positioned Zhang Zikun before him, pressing a waterlogged gun to the youth’s temple. “You tracked him, yes? Then you know – he’s one month shy of sixteen.”

[Translator’s Note: See the index page for this Novel if you want to see the Amazon Link for the eBooks.]

[https://ko-fi.com/golden_dragon]