YM778.TV Chapter 469: 469: A Gentleman?
And he didn’t move in a straight line, constantly ducking into alleys, using the terrain to cloak his path.
After about ten minutes, John stopped in a dim, foul-smelling alleyway, narrowed eyes gazing at the light outside, controlling his breath, waiting patiently.
Several minutes passed with no sign of anyone, and likewise, during his fast-moving journey, he also found no signs of being followed.
John took a breather, feeling that he might have been overly jittery. Perhaps the opposing side had only sent out the suited man and no one else.
Who were they? And how did they discover him?
John pondered, considering the most likely possibility of having been noticed by someone while he was searching for clues in the places where Guo Tianxiang had frequented during the day.
It seemed that Guo Tianxiang must have been exposed, and perhaps even their connection had been found out, this was someone waiting for him to show up.
However, it was strange that they only sent the suited man to find him. Could they have not discovered his true identity? Maybe they were “outsiders.”
No, they were prepared. Otherwise, the suited man wouldn’t have woken up so quickly. It’s clear they already knew about his ability!
With these thoughts, the calmness that John had just regained was instantly disrupted.
Then he suddenly noticed a faint buzz that he had previously ignored. The sound seemed slightly louder now, and he began glancing left and right, seeking the source of the sound.
The alley was pitch black. His night vision was superior to a regular person, but he couldn’t make out everything. However, with the help of his hearing, he was able to determine that the sound wasn’t coming from the alley.
He suddenly lifted his head and saw a fist-sized, pitch-black drone hovering about five or six meters above his head.
Obviously, the thing had been at a higher altitude before and had just started descending in height, which is why he hadn’t noticed it.
Was this some sort of drone?
He knew that China had advanced drones, but…were they this advanced?
Would there be a mosquito-sized micro-drone firing tranquilizer darts at him next?
He had no interest in figuring out what the small object was. Indeed, his tracks had been exposed again, though knowing that he was being traced was useful. He just needed to evade the surveillance from the sky.
But just as he was about to dash out of the alley, he felt a vice-like hand around his neck, lifting him off the ground, and slamming him into the wall.
The hand gripping his throat was incredibly strong. He struggled to free himself, but his efforts were in vain. The offender seemed to be wearing gloves, giving off an eerie, ice-cold, smooth sensation, like some special ceramic or metal.
He raised his head, looking for the offender’s eyes first.
Although the lighting in the alley was dim, the moonlight filtering between the two buildings overhead and the faint light from outside the alley were enough for him to see a certain distance.
However, to his shocking discovery, looking down at where the hand gripping his throat was supposed to be, all he found was nothing. He could look straight across the alley to the opposite wall, even making out the grime at the base of the wall.
Looking back, he was startled to find that the sturdy arm choking him was also invisible.
Was this guy invisible?!
With this thought, his right hand swiftly pulled out a white porcelain knife from his pocket, aiming to stab it at the location of the arm choking him.
If the opponent was invisible, then it was likely that he was a member of the “Blood Clan.”
As long as they were “Blood Clan,” his porcelain knife could display an astonishing effect, rendering invisibility useless!
Unfortunately, his knife failed to meet its mark, not because the arm had transformed into a ghostly apparition, but because a vice-like grip had seized his wrist.
John was inherently stronger than a regular person, equal even to a champion weightlifter. Yet, when his neck and wrist were clamped by ironlike hands, he realized the extent of his power was being dwarfed.
Yet he didn’t give up his struggle, ready to thrash his legs around and force the opponent to let go, to create some distance, and then somehow force the opponent to reveal himself and find an opportunity for eye contact.
However, as soon as he began to writhe, his body was lifted by the neck and wrist and slammed twice against the wall.
His knife-wielding wrist got twisted, the knife was snatched away, and then his stomach was fiercely punched three times, each punch seemed to break his whole body, losing his power to resist instantly.
The furious beating only lasted less than ten seconds, but John felt like a battered eggplant, convulsing all over, entirely drained of strength.
Consequently, he was lifted by the throat, pushed against the wall, this time, a towering figure materialized in front of him.
But when John saw the figure, he froze. Although he was used to navigating through darkness and blood, and had seen all sorts of strange occurrences and terrifying beings, he was still instinctively chilled with fear at the sight.
This “person,” who had cornered him in the alley and beat him half to death, had his naked body covered with spiderweb-like patterns that looked like a skintight suit— but John could see at a glance that it wasn’t a suit, but the person’s own “skin”!
The individual was wearing a helmet, but John knew that the person wasn’t looking through the grey shield of the helmet, but through a hidden camera from above — which denied him any chance of making eye contact and thwarted his last bit of hope for a turnaround.
His ability that he had once been proud of, thinking it allowed him to move freely among city dwellers, in human society, was now easily suppressed by the opponent, absolutely crushed, with no chance of retaliation.
He now immensely regretted his lack of caution. He regretted not being more cowardly. Before setting off, he should have been immensely cautious and vigilant after noticing how those old folks hesitated regarding the East. He should have done a symbolic patrol in China and left.
After all, it was those old guys who were nearing their limits, not him. Even though he would gain the most from finding Guo Tianxiang or other “Blood Descendants”, if he died here, all would be for naught.
It’s no wonder those old folks made all sorts of excuses to avoid traveling to China themselves.
He remembered a phrase often quoted by the older members, that for them—the pureblood vampires of Europe—China, North America, and Japan were the three most dangerous regions. In these three zones, the most brutal, savage, and belligerent beings always came to life. Compared to these beings, they—the purebloods—appeared too genteel, too civilized.
Of course, whenever this topic came up, the elders would eventually gather their fear and hesitant remarks, then add some comments with a hint of pride. They’d say those ‘barbarians’ and ‘Blood Beasts’ were temporary tyrants, and there were only a few who could live for more than a decade. However, the true immortals that could retain their heritage were still them, the genuine “Blood clan”.
“If you live long enough, you’re bound to see the bodies of your enemies floating downstream.”
“To live gracefully and eternally—that is the essence of being a ‘vampire.’”
Of course, that is, if you don’t meet any of those “savage” and “brutal” beings.
Just as John believed he was about to be devoured by this savage monster from the East, the extremely high-tech helmet of the monster slowly opened its mask.
He saw a pair of round eyes without any eyelids covering them, quite different from ordinary human eyes—barely any eyelids visible; pitch dark.
An opportunity!
Although he had no idea why his opponent suddenly decided to expose his eyes, this were a chance for a counterattack. John wouldn’t let it slip.
He stared intently at his opponent’s eyes, while his yet-to-be-severed left hand struggled to grip the wrist that was choking his neck, allowing himself to make a faint sound.
To his surprise, the opponent’s hand which was throttling his neck loosened, enabling him to speak easily. It almost felt like the opponent was deliberately creating space for him.
“The eye is an intricate and fascinating organ. Today, over 75% of the information processed by most people’s brains comes from the eyes. However, most people assume that the eyes are just endpoints for gathering information, and the brain makes the final decisions. They only perceive the eyes as being deceived by visual information. But they don’t realize that the ‘endpoint’ of the eyes can also be invaded, directly influencing the brain’s decision-making process. Perhaps the person who first said ‘the eyes are the window to the soul’ didn’t realize that the statement could be interpreted more directly.”
The dispassionate voice, an English tongue with a slight Mandarin accent, explained some seemingly incomprehensible philosophies. Amid the low, gruff, and raspy tone, there seemed to be tiny metallic granules abrasively rubbing against each other.
The murmuring sound of John’s peculiar syllables gradually ceased. Fear and despair flooded his blue eyes again. He knew his hypnosis effort had failed. Even without that helmet and camera isolating his line of sight, he couldn’t use his ability.
Looking down at the collapsed John Cavendish, “Mr. Liang” indifferently said in English, “There’s a black van outside, clean yourself up before you get in.”
A moment later, John realized that the terrifying figure had vanished once more; even that small drone was no longer visible above his head.
He was unsure whether the terrifying figure was simply camouflaged, hiding nearby, or whether the drone had just ascended high enough into the night sky, out of sight.
But he was certain that escape was impossible. The opponent was aware of his capabilities, and had already rendered them futile. Given they hadn’t killed him on the spot, maybe he still had a chance to negotiate?
As long as he could survive, as long as there was a chance to live, he would seize it.
John dredged up a little bit of energy and rose from the ground. His right wrist, previously twisted like a pretzel, was recovering considerably. His fingers regained limited movement.
His back still felt awkward. With every movement pain seared through him, giving his walk a duck-like waddle. Yet he didn’t dare linger in the alley, fearing his terrifying opponent’s wrath. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he hobbled towards the exit.
Upon leaving the alley, he saw a large black GMC customized van parked at the roadside. And the driver sitting in the cockpit was the burly man in the suit who had come to fetch him from the bar.
The burly man turned around briefly to look at him before turning back, showing no sign of surprise.
John sighed slightly as he reached out to open the swing-door of the van. However, he stopped when he noticed the dirt on his hand, remembering the words of that “terrifying being”.
His mouth dry, he withdrew his hand, vigorously wiping it on his custom-made suit from a well-known bespoke shop in Florence. He then unbuckled his overcoat, wiped it on his backside, pants, and shoes alike, before he discarded it reluctantly by the roadside.
Just when he was about to open the car door, the driver side window rolled down. The burly man looked at the coat on the ground, then at the trash can a little way off.
John hesitated, his hand gripping the doorknob tighter. Eventually, he bent down to pick up the coat and walked a few steps to stuff it into the recyclable side of the trash can
The interior of the GMC van was quite spacious. It was not overly luxurious but had a strong technological aura, decked out with a plethora of screens and many control buttons. It looked more like a cockpit of a precise instrument.
There was nobody in the back of the van. As he got into the vehicle and shut the door, his initial intent was to sit on the only large seat.
The car’s intercom came alive with the driver’s voice: “Don’t take the seat, it’s not for you.”
John froze momentarily, his gaze swept across the cabin—there weren’t any other seats. After a brief moment of hesitation, he squatted in the corner, arms around his knees.
The van started to move.
The moment John got anxious, striving to confirm whether the “terrifying existence” was in the car, that distinctive low, gruff voice vibrated through the air.
“Were you in Myitkyina recently?”
John was startled, making sure the voice was coming from that single seat right in front of him. The “terrifying existence” had just managed to get into the vehicle without him sensing its presence?
“Yes… I heard about the incident that happened there on the night of March 8th. So, before coming to China, I dropped by Myitkyina.” He confidently acknowledged. This question made him realize that the few people he encountered in Myitkyina, who had interrogated him, were likely affiliated with this “terrifying being”.
“Did you come from Europe or America?”
“I came… from Europe, Slovakia…” John carefully responded.
“Oh? Europe? Are you part of that… ‘Red Rose’?” “Mr. Liang” chuckled, his figure slowly emerging.
“You…You know us?” John felt this was a good sign.
But the words of “Mr. Liang” plunged him into an icy pit.
“Yes, I know. You guys are just a bunch of pathetic maggots who can only dig holes to hide away, scrounging off the gullible to feed yourselves, measuring your victories by who can live the longest.”