Chapter 305

Chapter 305: Hacked Down by a Flurry of Blades

Fine strands of mist drifted above the corrupted sector, where eerie crystal clusters carpeted the ground. Even the thick fog seemed dyed a sickly purple by the jagged growths crowding together in wild clumps. The Special Operations Bureau’s deep-diving unit moved through it all, taking samples, sealing soil and crystals into secure containers, and carrying everything back to the real world when they “ascended.”

They weren’t only collecting evidence. They set up detection gear across the site, logging environmental readings, and hauled in a drilling rig through the Hunter Owl. The plan was to bore into the contaminated block and see how far the corruption had spread.

Where the giant tower had once stood, a pit now yawned dozens of meters deep. No crystals clustered at its bottom—only dark-purple patterns that faintly glowed, like scars left behind after something had eaten into the earth.

Foxy and Irene (Pro) squatted at the edge, arguing over what the markings meant. They had no solid conclusion, but they debated with the kind of enthusiasm that made it sound like they did.

Xuan Che stood off to the side, looking lost—and uneasy.

He held it in as long as he could, then finally blurted, “Aren’t you worried about him?”

Irene (Steel) glanced up. “Huh? Who? Oh, you mean Yu Sheng—what’s there to worry about? It’s not like he won’t come back.”

Xuan Che’s expression tightened. He still couldn’t understand how people in “Hotel” thought. He never had.

“He’s in danger! When Miss Foxy used… uh, her tail to launch him up there just now, I wanted to ask—does he always do things this ridiculous and dangerous? And you’re all used to it? And now he’s been moved somewhere else along with that weird tower, and who knows what dangers are inside—”

Irene waved him off, impatient. “Oh, don’t be so fussy. Relax. He’s fine. I even talked to him just now.

“Instead of worrying about that, why don’t you come look at this pit too? Silly Fox says those markings were pressed in by the tower’s base, but I think they cracked open when the tower launched—”

Xuan Che stared at her.

Then he let out a long sigh and decided to ignore the twitchy doll entirely.

In all of “Hotel,” the only one who was even slightly easier to talk to was the expert… and that was still saying very little.

…

Footsteps echoed through an empty corridor.

The tilted pull of gravity made Yu Sheng feel sick as he walked. At a junction he stopped, leaned against the wall, and breathed out slowly.

Lights down the hall flickered, as if the power supply was failing. In that stuttering glow, he kept thinking shadowspawn were hiding in the blur.

Maybe it was just his eyes. He’d lost far too much blood on the way here.

Hostile presences gathered in the surrounding corridors. Eyes fixed on him, watchful and patient.

Yu Sheng had felt them for a while now—the careful intent, the sense of being hunted through the dark. He wasn’t surprised.

He was on borrowed time. If a shopping mall was packed with cameras, a “spaceship” stuffed with black tech would be worse. In these corridors, there were “eyes” everywhere: corners, floor entrances, blind spots that shouldn’t have existed.

He lifted his head and took in the surroundings by feel. Classical reliefs lined the walls. Elaborate murals arched overhead. Sculptures with unmistakable religious symbolism stood in alcoves. By style alone, it didn’t feel like a spaceship at all. It felt like a church or bell tower that could jump through space. Setting aside their insane save-the-world doctrine, Holy Revere Hermitage had good taste.

After one slow sweep, Yu Sheng broke the silence. “You’ve been tailing me the whole way. The traps are already set, and the nearest passage is blocked. Are you still not coming out?”

Nothing answered him. Only the faint hum of machinery and ventilation hid behind the ornate stonework.

Yu Sheng waited anyway—calm, patient—until the dead stillness finally cracked.

Armor clanked. Iron boots struck in a neat rhythm, mixed with a few extra footsteps that were looser, messier. The sound rose from both sides of the corridor, and the enemy stepped out.

More than a dozen Bronze Knights. This time, the strange creatures didn’t bother turning invisible. They marched into the light openly, heavy and oppressive. Among them were several figures who were clearly human—Holy Revere Hermitage members.

They wore black hooded robes that matched every stereotype he’d ever had about cultists. Wrapped tight, faces hidden behind a black shell like a mask.

Yu Sheng laughed and pointed at one of them. “I’ve got to ask—do you guys have an industry rulebook or something? Do cult people have to dress like this every time?”

The one he pointed at advanced half a step. A muffled voice came from under the faceplate. “You have nowhere to run, intruder. Surrender, and you can live.”

Yu Sheng curled his lip. He reached into the air at his side, opened a small door, and pulled out his Tetanus Staff.

Then he gripped the spiked club and strode straight toward them.

For a heartbeat, the robed figures seemed caught off guard by how reckless he was. Two of them even flinched back on instinct. Then they snapped out of it.

“Kill him!”

The Bronze Knights surged at once.

The skewed gravity didn’t slow them. Heavy greatswords swung down with cold, practiced intent. Yu Sheng didn’t even try to wrestle those metal cans. He drove straight through, paying in flesh. He blocked and dodged only when he had to, letting blades carve into his torso and limbs, opening horrific wounds. Blood sprayed across the corridor, painting the reliefs and floor.

He swung the Tetanus Staff and closed on the nearest robed man. The club came down in a brutal overhead strike before the other could react.

The cultist clearly hadn’t expected an intruder to sprint through a wall of knights while getting hacked half to death just for a single hit. The wounds from that dozen-meter charge were nearly fatal. This was fighting with no intention of surviving.

In that instant, questions exploded through the man’s mind. First among them: Did I do something to him? Why? For what? What are you even trying to do?

He jerked back, bursting into speed no normal person should have. Yu Sheng moved faster. The overhead strike missed, so Yu Sheng stepped in and swept the club sideways.

Metal screamed. Sparks burst.

Yu Sheng froze for a fraction of a second—then the cultist flew, robe tearing apart. Beneath the black cloth was powered armor.

The side plate had caved under Yu Sheng’s brute force. The man hit the floor hard, badly injured, but still alive.

Without that armor, the blow would have snapped him in half.

Drenched in his own blood, Yu Sheng turned. Two robed figures rushed to drag their wounded companion back. The rest spread out behind the Bronze Knights. They unfastened their robes and drew weapons—blades of all kinds. Two of them even hefted chainsaw swords.

They didn’t want to fire guns inside a ship that was already falling apart.

Under the robes, every one of them wore powered armor—sleeker and thinner than Xu Jiali’s big-guy tin can, but obviously not cheap. The “mask” beneath their hoods was just the helmet, integrated into the suit.

That was impressively un-stereotypical.

Yu Sheng felt the wounds the Bronze Knights had opened begin to knit, slow and stubborn. But the weakness from blood loss told him the truth: he was running out of road. He shifted his stance, leaned on the spiked club, and stared at them.

“Who taught you to wear powered armor under your robes? If you’re going to run a cult, can you at least keep your art style consistent?”

Their answer was a storm of blades.

Cultists had zero sense of honor.

Yu Sheng was, unfortunately, much more reasonable.

He was hacked down where he stood.

He didn’t die right away. He still clung to a thin thread of breath, sprawled on the floor in a ruin of torn flesh and blood.

The robed combatants and the Bronze Knights formed a circle around him, yet none of them moved in close. They hesitated.

They probably hadn’t expected this intruder—the one who made even the “Sage” tense—to be killed so easily.

He was strong. From a flesh-and-blood standpoint, he hardly seemed human at all. Nobody would believe he’d beaten a powered-armor combatant half to death with a club.

But strength had limits. Surrounded like this, he could still die.

The robed figures exchanged glances. Someone muttered, “…So he’s really going to die?”

On the floor, Yu Sheng struggled to part his lips, as if trying to speak.

One cultist hesitated, then forced himself a step closer.

He heard the intruder whisper, weak and fading:

“Yes, I’m about to die… but some things should start living.”