Chapter Seventy: A Fierce Beating of the Patrol Bureau Guards

In the City of Energy, gatherings like this banquet are held regularly. Tonight’s host was the young lord Mosa, accompanied by the old steward—a clear sign that the event had the approval of Lord Moshi himself. This was also Mosa’s first time presiding over such a banquet since becoming a Grade C Awakened, a mark of his father’s recognition.

Mosa took a glass of fine wine from a servant, raised it high, and proclaimed, “Tonight’s banquet is organized by me on behalf of my father. Everyone invited is someone my father greatly values. As the lord of the capital, my father is entangled in important affairs, so tonight, I will accompany you all. There is no theme—simply enjoy yourselves and relax! Cheers!”

“Cheers!” echoed the crowd.

There were no elaborate toasts or affectations of gratitude. All the city’s inner officials and business magnates present understood: your presence here meant you belonged. If you weren’t here, either you didn’t deserve it, or you would never appear at such occasions again.

With the young lord leading the way, selecting two women who caught his eye, the banquet officially commenced. During the festivities, Lu Biao appeared calm and genial, mingling and laughing among the guests. Yet, inwardly, he was filled with dread: Thank goodness for that new fellow in the team—what was his name?—who managed to retrieve the reagent for me at the crucial moment. If I hadn’t injected it before tonight’s gathering, I doubt I’d have lived to see tomorrow! Damn, that was close! Whoever dared to steal from me, just wait until I catch you—I’ll make you regret it!

By the end, Lu Biao was in high spirits, thoroughly enjoying the pleasures of the evening, once again marveling at the miraculous effects of Reagent Zero.

Today, Ye Chen had a day off.

“No need to patrol the streets in the biting wind—quite the relief, though I’ll miss the hot, cheap breakfast. A bit of a pity,” he mused as he dressed.

After countless practice sessions in his mental realm, his mastery of the Reverse Breathing technique had improved, allowing him to mold diamond-shaped darts far more swiftly. Though not instantaneous, the process was no longer awkward or laborious as it had been the first time.

As Ye Chen put it: the pursuit of power is a form of respect for one’s own life.

Captain Dai had insisted he take a holiday, which he now used to hone his newly acquired skill. He planned to leave the city, find a quiet, secluded spot, and test the power of his diamond dart—impossible to do in his cramped room, lest he accidentally punch a hole through the tin wall and send the dart flying into a neighbor’s house. That would be a disaster!

Hands in his pockets, Ye Chen walked thoughtfully along the main road toward the city gate. His train of thought was abruptly interrupted by curses and cries of pain from the roadside.

Looking up, he saw three men in the uniforms of the Outer City Patrol beating someone, while bystanders kept their distance, wary of getting caught up in trouble.

Ye Chen felt his face flush with embarrassment, then realized he wasn’t wearing his uniform today.

On the ground was a teenage boy, curled up and clutching his head, powerless against the kicks and blows from the patrolmen. He bit his lip, but couldn’t suppress his cries of pain.

The three patrolmen wore expressions of cruel amusement—merciless and repulsive.

As one of them raised his baton, poised to strike the boy’s bare head, the stick suddenly stopped mid-air. A hand reached out from behind, gripping it firmly.

The patrolman turned in fury to see a young man in civilian clothes. He shouted, “What the hell are you doing? Let go, or I’ll beat you too!”

But no matter how hard he tried, the baton wouldn’t budge.

He saw the young man’s face—cold as water, eyes deep as an abyss, etched with the word “rage.”

“Were you about to hit him on the head?” Ye Chen’s voice was low, a beast awakened and growling. “Let me show you how to use a baton.”

Before the patrolman could respond, the baton was snatched away. Ye Chen flicked his wrist and caught the handle.

A gust of force followed—a sharp crack as the alloy tip struck the patrolman’s right cheek, the sound of bone shattering mingled in. The patrolman spun like a top, feet off the ground, bloodied teeth flying as he collapsed, convulsing.

It all happened in a matter of seconds.

The other two patrolmen barely had time to react, watching their comrade’s eyes roll back as he spat teeth and blood, twitching on the ground.

One instinctively reached for Ye Chen’s collar, intending to execute his usual over-the-shoulder takedown. But Ye Chen surged forward, delivering a sweeping kick. The patrolman was sent flying toward the crowd, which parted in unison, letting him tumble to the ground, rolling until his head collided with a trash bin, showering him in refuse.

The last patrolman, taller and stronger, balled his fist and swung at Ye Chen’s head. Ye Chen sidestepped smoothly, tracing a semicircle, slipping behind him. He grabbed the man's collar and waistband. The patrolman's tall, heavy frame was effortlessly lifted.

Ye Chen walked to the roadside and hurled him against a tree trunk. The patrolman slammed into the trunk with a resounding thud.

Without sparing a glance at the third man writhing in pain on the ground, Ye Chen turned, crouched beside the boy, and asked gently, “Little Egg, are you alright?”