As Kane reflected, a series of clack-clack, clack-clack sounds drifted over.

  It was the distinct noise of mechanical prosthetics stepping into thick mud.

  The sound originated from behind a patch of rusted reeds nearby, unhurried and steady, carrying the playful malice of a cat cornering a mouse.

  Kane did not look back.

  He simply stood up slowly, his damaged Basilisk Stone Armor emitting a faint creak.

  Two figures emerged from the reeds.

  The leader’s lower face had been replaced by a crude metallic jaw. Greasy wires ran from his temples into his dentures; when he spoke, pistons hissed softly.

  "Lucky kid, actually managed to take down the Phase-Rat King."

  The mechanical jaw opened. The voice was dry and grating, with the texture of grinding metal, dripping with condescending arrogance.

  The companion beside him was even more grotesque.

  His entire right arm had been replaced by a rust-covered chainsaw. Dark red debris of unknown origin still clung to the jagged teeth, radiating a stench of mixed machine oil and scorched flesh.

  The man with the chainsaw arm said nothing, his gaze pinned firmly on Kane’s dark green armor.

  He scanned Kane up and down. When his eyes landed on the horrific gashes in the gauntlets and chest plate, a dismissive sneer escaped his throat.

  "People still use stone for armor these days? A relic living in the old world."

  He pointed at Kane with his remaining human hand.

  "Let me saw it open. Let's see if the person inside is as dense as the rock."

  The two closed in from the left and right, taking their time.

  They didn't give a second thought to this "scavenger" covered in filth whose right arm was clearly heavily injured.

  In their eyes, he was nothing more than a lucky bug who had exhausted all his strength winning a single fight.

  And they were the mantis-stalking orioles.

  The mechanical jaw grinned, revealing teeth that were also made of metal.

  "Leave the goods and crawl away. Don't force us to move; it'll get ugly."

  Kane said nothing.

  He didn't even look at the two men. He merely stared down at the muddy ground beneath his feet, as if calculating something.

  To the two raiders, this silence was the precursor to surrender.

  "Can't understand human speech?"

  The man with the chainsaw arm grew impatient. He raised his mechanical limb, thumb rubbing against the ignition button, producing a provocative click.

  Right then, Kane moved.

  He didn't charge forward, nor did he retreat.

  Using a posture that caught both men off guard, he suddenly leaped high toward the rear!

  "Dumbass, jumping makes you a sitting tar—"

  The mechanical jaw didn't finish his sentence. He and his companion instinctively raised their low-grade powder guns, aiming at the figure in mid-air.

  But in the next second, his eyes bulged at the completely incomprehensible sight before him.

  The dark green figure, which should have begun falling under the pull of gravity, actually...

  Stolen story; please report.

  Actually, in mid-air, it was as if he stepped onto an invisible stair. His body, in a stance that defied all logic, suddenly shot higher and twisted!

  It wasn't a glide, nor was it with the help of any tools.

  It was a pure, physical, secondary burst of power performed in mid-air!

  "What the...?"

  The mockery on the chainsaw-armed man's face froze, replaced by a ghost-stricken horror.

  They watched as the figure executed an impossible mid-air turn, like a silent night owl, effortlessly vaulting over their heads.

  Everything happened in the blink of an eye.

  Puff!

  A dull sound, so faint it was almost inaudible—the sound of a sharp blade slicing through wiring and flesh.

  Mechanical Jaw spun his head around in terror.

  He saw his companion—the man who had just been shouting about sawing open the stone armor—standing perfectly still.

  A slender dagger had precisely severed the connection between the human neck and the mechanical prosthetic from behind.

  A string of sparks flickered.

  The chainsaw-armed man’s head slumped lifelessly. His massive frame, as if drained of all strength, collapsed forward with a heavy thud into the stinking mud. He didn't twitch again.

  The dark green figure had already landed silently beside the corpse.

  Half-crouched, reverse-gripping the dagger, blade pointed upward.

  From the jump to the kill to the landing, the entire process was reaching the limit of speed—and the limit of silence!

  Mechanical Jaw’s mind went blank.

  A cold, slimy sense of dread crawled up his spine to the back of his skull, making every hair on his body stand on end.

  He finally realized what kind of monster he had provoked.

  "No... you..."

  Fear stripped him of the ability to beg. He shivered, trying to raise his gun, but he was met only by the emotionless pupils hidden in the shadows of the cracked helmet.

  Kane moved.

  This time, he didn't jump high. He stayed low to the ground, a bolt of green lightning instantly lunging past Mechanical Jaw’s left side.

  Too fast!

  Mechanical Jaw only felt a gust of wind sweep past. He didn't even have time to turn his lumbering body.

  By the time he finally tracked Kane’s silhouette, his opponent had already leaped a distance away.

  Then, he saw the final image of his life.

  The figure was in mid-air, right hand holding the dagger extended to the side.

  Immediately after, the body exerted force again in the air, catapulting backward at a sharp angle!

  A flash of silver light, accompanying the retreating figure, flickered across his throat.

  Shing.

  A very faint sound.

  Mechanical Jaw felt his vision begin to spin.

  He saw his own body, the filthy mire, the distant mechanical wreckage...

  Finally, his head and Kane's boots hit the ground almost simultaneously.

  Kane flicked the dagger.

  Not a single drop of blood clung to the edge.

  The speed had been so great that the wound was passed before the blood could even spray.

  He quietly savored the strange sensation of perfectly blending air-time, directional shifts, and assassination.

  It was an unprecedented sense of control—the power to toy with enemies in the palm of his hand.

  The corners of his mouth, hidden beneath the helmet, quirked upward uncontrollably for a split second before flattening again.

  He looked down at his new boots. That fluid [Refraction Kill] was something he had just come up with on the fly.

  By combining the burst of an [ Aerial Step ] with a dagger strike, he could create attack angles and surprise effects far beyond imagination.

  This wasn't just mobility; it was an entirely new way to fight.

  The excitement that had sparked from the birth of a new ability finally settled, condensing into a sense of absolute mastery over his own power.

  He didn't dwell on it further. Leaning over, he began systematically looting the bodies.

  These two unlucky bastards had clearly been prowling this area for a long time. Their pockets were stuffed with scattered scraps of heavy iron slag, several tubes of low-grade nutrient paste, and a few rounds of barely usable ammunition.

  Better than nothing.

  Kane stuffed everything of value into his backpack.

  His gaze fell upon the chainsaw arm. Although it was clunky and consumed an absurd amount of energy, the wear on the blade and the core motor was low. In the black markets of Blackrock Town, it could fetch at least three vials of "Hummingbird" Gene Optimization Fluid.

  Not a bad trade.

  He put in some effort, skillfully severing the wires and piston rods to dismantle the entire mechanical limb.

  Only after finishing this did he walk back to the already stiffening corpse of the Phase-Rat King.

  Enduring the agonizing pain in his shoulder, he used his dagger to expertly harvest the two powerful rear leg tendons and pried out the pair of massive incisors capable of biting through sheet metal.

  These were the most valuable prizes of this trip to the Silt Flats.

  Once the loot was packed and tied down, Kane rotated his badly injured right shoulder.

  The sharp pain persisted, but the new power surging through his body made the injury feel far more tolerable.

  He glanced back at the mire that had fundamentally changed him, then turned toward the direction of Blackrock Town.

  It was time to go back.

  From the pocket closest to his chest, he pulled out a cold metal token engraved with a wolf’s head.

  On the back of the token was a serial number: C-734.

  The mysterious "Hunter's Tavern"—a place where the wasteland’s true powerhouses and madmen gathered.

  In the past, he was just a scavenger scraping by, without even the right to knock on that door.

  But now, with the defense of the Basilisk Stone Armor and the unpredictable footwork of [ Aerial Step ], he felt he might finally be ready to see the world behind that door.

  While he was at it, he’d check the Blackrock black market to see if there were any bounties on transport truck hijackers and offload his "new stock" for better equipment.

  Tucking the wolf-head token away, he hoisted his heavy rucksack, identified his bearings, and vanished back into the endless, rust-colored sea of reeds.

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