Manhattan Cruise Terminal, Hard Rock Hotel, main entrance.
A yellow taxi glided to a halt.
Inside the revolving doors, well-dressed, wealthy guests filed out in succession, easy smiles gracing their faces.
“Fourth floor, Room 406.
Chop off both his hands, pack them up in whatever you see fit, and bring them out.
If he has companions, kill them all.” In the backseat, Green held his phone screen up to Laura’s eyes.
On it was a photograph of Bullseye.
“I’m dying to know how he’s going to shoot a gun without hands.
Can you do it?” “Mm.” Laura leaned close to the screen, studied it for a few seconds, and nodded in understanding.
“Act like an ordinary kid.
Be natural, play to the advantages of your appearance, and smile more.” Green leaned back into his seat, switching the screen back to an uncompleted game of Snake.
Laura pushed open the car door.
“By the way,” Green’s voice came from behind her.
“If you fail or get caught, I won’t save you.
Useless trash isn’t worth the trouble.” Laura froze for a beat.
“…Mm.” She hopped out, slammed the car door a little harder than necessary, and took a few quick strides to naturally fall in step behind a wealthy elderly couple, blending into the crowd passing through the revolving doors.
At the entrance, a young ethnic Chinese concierge boy was carrying luggage for guests.
His gaze drifted past her casually, seeming to notice something, but he merely shifted his eyes away calmly and didn’t stop her.
“Sir, are we leaving now?” the driver in the front seat asked.
“Be quiet.” “Yes, sir.” Green’s gaze remained fixed on his phone screen, light reflecting in his eyes, displaying neither joy nor sorrow.
On the fourth floor of the hotel, Laura chose the stairs.
Stepping onto the red carpet, she tilted her head up, intently scanning the gilded numbers on every door.
“406…
406…” she murmured softly, her steps finally halting in front of the target door.
Should she knock?
She tilted her head.
Green didn’t seem to like impolite people.
So she stepped forward, raised her hand, and pounded on the door with rough force.
*Thump!
Thump!
Thump!* Inside the room, Bullseye reclined on the sofa, enjoying special service from a male staff member.
When the knocking sounded, he instantly tensed up and shoved the person by his feet away.
“Sir?” the staff member asked in a panicked whisper.
Bullseye didn’t speak.
He pulled up his pants, yanked a few bills from his wallet, threw them onto the man, and signaled with his eyes for him to shut up and hide.
The staff member frantically scrambled to pick up the cash and stumbled into the bedroom.
Bullseye reached for his waist, pulling out a thin, handguard-less dagger, pressing his thumb against the spine of the blade.
His henchmen around the room also dropped into alert stances.
One of them drew a pistol, treaded lightly toward the door, and narrowed his eyes to peer through the peephole.
Standing outside was a girl with a cocky, rebellious air.
She held her head high, seemingly to keep the oversized sunglasses on her face from slipping down.
Suddenly, her nose twitched as if she had smelled something.
“What?
Whose kid ran…” The minion at the peephole was completely bewildered.
Just as he turned back to signal to the others inside— Two metallic claws punctured the wooden door, skewered his tailbone, and burst out through the base of his thigh in front.
“Aaaaaagh—!!!!” His voice twisted in agony.
Under everyone’s horrified gazes, as the metal claws retracted, the intruder outside scrambled upward using the limp body pressed against the door as leverage.
A split second later, claws speared straight through his skull.
“Holy shit!” Bullseye’s pupils shrank to pinpricks.
He knew those claws all too well!
Not long ago, he had been in a lab using a flamethrower to test their owner’s regenerative limits.
So why was she here?!
Green didn’t kill her?!
Before he could wrap his mind around it, two metallic snaps echoed from outside as the top and bottom hinges were sliced through.
The door collapsed inward, and a figure lunged into the room against a hail of gunfire.
Bullets tore through flesh, blossoms of blood bursting across her slight body again and again, but getting hit only briefly lagged her movements.
She seemed utterly immune to pain, her ferocity inflamed by the metallic stench of blood instead.
In an instant, slaughter erupted.
…
Outside the hotel entrance, “Shang-Chi, that taxi’s been parked there for almost five minutes.
Go tell them to move along.” A uniformed manager frowned, pointing at the conspicuous taxi as he instructed the ethnic Chinese concierge boy beside him.
“Got it,” the young concierge, Shang-Chi, nodded and walked over to the taxi.
Noticing his approach out of the corner of his eye, Green rolled down the window.
“Sir, hotel policy prohibits long-term parking here,” Shang-Chi said with a polite, slight bow.
“You can pull around to the temporary valet area, and I can grab a ticket for you in advance.” “It won’t take long.” “May I ask if you’re waiting for someone?” “Something like that.” “Something like that?” Before Shang-Chi could finish his sentence— *BANG—!* A shadow plunged from high above, slamming heavily onto the hood of a sedan just a few meters away.
The booming crunch of denting metal and the shatter of auto glass erupted simultaneously.
Piercing car alarms and screeching pedestrians shattered the tranquility outside the hotel.
Shang-Chi instinctively pivoted toward the sound, shifting his footing and dropping his center of gravity.
His sharp gaze swept over the crash site before snapping upward to scan the high windows above.
“Tsk-tsk, how terrifying,” Green chuckled.
“Sir, please leave immediately.
It’s extremely dangerous here,” Shang-Chi barked back to Green before spinning on his heel and dashing into the hotel lobby.
“Mm-hmm, of course I know,” Green let out a quiet laugh, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and dangling one between his lips.
With a flick of his thumb, the lighter cap flipped open with a crisp *clink*.
“Mind if I smoke?” he asked the driver up front.
“Help yourself, sir.” *Flick.* A flame flared, igniting the tobacco.
Green took a deep drag, rested his arm on the door frame, and slowly exhaled a plume of pale smoke.
Chaos reigned outside.
The hotel’s revolving doors were jammed with panic-stricken crowds pouring out.
The man who had crushed the car hood was currently struggling to roll off onto the ground.
He was drenched in blood, his torso and legs covered in wild, claw-like lacerations.
His left arm was severed down to a half-stump, and his right arm was hacked clean off at the shoulder.
His body rolled over shards of glass littering the pavement, wringing raw wails of pain from his throat.
He stumbled to his feet, looking like a defective sausage as he gazed around in dazed disorientation.
When his eyes swept over the taxi flashing its hazard lights nearby, he caught sight of the man in the backseat—that “Owl”—staring back at him with a half-smile.
Yet those eyes lingered on him for merely a second before drifting away indifferently, as if he were nothing more than a wounded bug squirming by the roadside—far less amusing than the fleeing crowds all around.
“Hah…
ugh…” Bullseye’s face contorted in agony and humiliation.
He knew why that wolf-girl was here now—she had been tamed by Green!
Had he been betrayed?
How did Green know he was here?!
A bitter roar forced its way up his throat as he staggered toward the opposite side of the street.
Crossing the traffic lane, he was clipped by a speeding car and sent tumbling through several rolls, but he fought his way back up, stumbling forward in desperate flight.
Even though he knew deep down that the “Owl” had lost interest in hunting him, he still just wanted to run.
As far away as possible.
[Heavenly Restriction growth rate: 100%.] [New template available for unlock.] [Generated based on your soul characteristics—A Song of Ice and Fire: Drogon.] [Origin: Valyrian Dragonlord Civilization.] [Bloodline optimization applied to this template, perfectly matching your current growth.
You may complete the unlock at your leisure.] The system notifications popped up in his consciousness.
“Hmm?” Inside the car, Green paused, ash flaking off the tip of his cigarette.
He held the cigarette out the window to flick it, took another drag, his features blurring behind the curling smoke.
“Growth rate capped?
But I haven’t even moved a finger…” A flicker of realization gleamed in his eyes.
“It seems my subordinates’ actions count toward mine as well.” However, he didn’t confirm the unlock immediately.
There were too many eyes and ears here, and since the new template pointed toward a non-human war beast, he couldn’t be sure what kind of disturbance unlocking it would cause.
He needed a safe location.
Just then, a blood-drenched Laura squeezed through the hotel’s revolving doors.
In her arms, she cradled a long object hastily wrapped in newspaper.
Blood steadily seeped through the paper, making it look at first glance like a pair of baguettes slathered in ketchup.
She yanked open the car door and tossed the bundle onto the floor mat.
“Good job,” Green praised offhandedly, casually nudging the bloody package aside with his foot to use as a footrest.
Laura was clearly dissatisfied with such casual dismissal.
She stared straight at Green.
The sunglasses were gone from her face, perhaps shattered during the fight.
Noticing her gaze, Green showed a hint of helplessness on his face.
Flicking his cigarette butt away, he pulled Laura to his side and kissed her forehead, which was smeared with blood and sweat.
Laura’s body perceptibly stiffened, her shoulders tensing up before slowly dropping back down.
She looked down, pointed at the newspaper-wrapped severed arms at her feet, held up two fingers, and then tapped her left cheek.
Her movements were clumsy, but her intent was unmistakable: one arm per kiss.
“You can count now?” Green chuckled.
Laura bumped him with the crown of her head, stubbornly maintaining her pose.
“Alright, alright.” Green shook his head, leaned down, and planted another kiss on her cheek.
Only then was she finally satisfied.
Green reached his hand under her tattered hem, his palm pressed against her skin, moving along her ribs and spine to check if her bones had been pulled out of alignment by the regenerating muscle.
Where his fingertips touched, Laura’s skin flinched uncontrollably, her breathing quickening slightly.
Yet she never shifted her gaze, looking at him in quiet silence.
Green paid her reaction no mind.
Once he confirmed her bones had set properly, he withdrew his hand.
“I’m hungry,” she said.
“Mm, I’ll take you to afternoon tea.” “To the Continental Hotel.” “Yes, sir.”