Blackrock Town, beneath Ribcage Bridge.

  The same sewage system Kane had once used for his "golden cicada shedding its shell" escape was now spitting out two figures from the deepest shadows.

  Stinking wastewater rose above their ankles. The stone giant followed silently behind, while the figure leading the way—though his pace remained steady—carried an inescapable aura of exhaustion that even the cloying, humid air couldn't mask.

  Kyrie’s workshop.

  When the oil-stained metal door, spliced together from countless scrap parts, was pushed open, the shrill screech of grinding and a pungent stench of scorched metal rushed out to meet them.

  In the center of the workshop, Kyrie wore a pair of exaggerated goggles. He was manipulating several mechanical arms, performing final calibrations on a pair of black metal power legs that exuded a sense of violent beauty.

  Hearing the noise, he didn't even look up.

  "Yo."

  Kyrie’s signature raspy voice—sounding as if it had been sanded down—rang out mockingly.

  "If it isn't the big shot who stirred up the entire Silicon Desert and played Kunlun Corp like a bunch of fools?"

  "How’d you end up looking like two stray dogs that just crawled out of a drainpipe?"

  He finally looked up, pushing the goggles onto his forehead. His bloodshot eyes held a gaze of undisguised scrutiny and gravity.

  His hands didn't stop, however. He snatched a canister of military-grade medical spray and several rolls of polymer bandages from the workbench, tossing them toward the two without looking.

  "Fix yourselves up. Don't get my place dirty."

  Crag caught them in one hand and silently began to treat the wounds on his body.

  Kane didn't move.

  His gaze was already death-locked onto those power legs.

  They were fundamentally different from when he had left them.

  The originally crude metal skeleton was now covered by layers of matte black armor, the lines fluid and bursting with a sense of power. What was exposed at the joints were no longer ordinary hydraulic rods, but bundles of dark red, knotted fiber—resembling biological muscle.

  The King’s Sinew!

  They seemed to still possess life, pulsing slightly within the gaps of the armor.

  "[ The Predator ]."

  Kyrie seemed satisfied with the look in Kane’s eyes. He patted the armor of the power legs with the posture of one caressing a work of art.

  "I’ve fixed them for you. They’re even stronger than before."

  Kane stepped forward, preparing to equip them.

  "Don't be in such a hurry."

  Kyrie reached out and clamped a hand down on his shoulder, his eyes becoming exceptionally cold.

  "If you want to take them, you have to listen to the new 'manual' first."

  He pointed at the dark red sinew fibers.

  "The Phase-Rat King’s tendon... the material activity of this thing is even more unstable than I imagined. It isn't a dead object. It’s still 'alive'!"

  "To prevent it from tearing your own muscles apart while you’re sprinting—or simply absorbing your legs as nutrients—I’ve forcibly implanted three safety limiters inside."

  Kyrie’s voice carried no emotion.

  "I call it: The Gift of the Curse."

  Kane’s brow furrowed slightly.

  "What does that mean?"

  Kyrie pulled back his lips, revealing teeth yellowed by tobacco. His smile held a trace of madness.

  "It means that for the Peak Burst Mode of these legs, I’ve built a dedicated power module using that Blue-rank energy core you gave me."

  "In this mode, you can only activate it a maximum of three times a day."

  "Each time, the duration cannot exceed ten seconds."

  "Exceed that limit..."

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  Kyrie paused, each word sounding as if it were being squeezed through his teeth.

  "The sinew material will undergo irreversible decay. At best, the entire leg will be scrapped on the spot. At worst..."

  He made a gesture representing an explosion.

  "Boom!"

  "You’d better be prepared to spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair."

  The air inside the workshop grew still in an instant.

  The only sound remaining was the faint hum of the mechanical arms on standby.

  Crag stopped mid-motion while treating his wounds. The look he directed at the power legs was filled with trepidation.

  This wasn't an upgrade.

  This was clearly strapping a time bomb to Kane’s body!

  Kane remained silent.

  He stared at [ The Predator ], a masterpiece of ultimate temptation and lethal danger. After a long moment, he finally spoke slowly.

  "I understand."

  No complaints, no interrogations.

  Only calm acceptance.

  He knew that this was the law of the wasteland. Any great power must inevitably come with an equal price.

  Kyrie gave him a long look, a flicker of nearly imperceptible approval passing through his eyes.

  He liked dealing with smart people.

  "The legs are yours."

  He turned and rummaged through a pile of junk, fishing out an oil-stained data pad and tossing it to Kane like a piece of trash.

  "And this—the decrypted contents of that shitty box."

  "Don't ask me anything; see for yourself. Once you're done, get the hell out. My little shop can't accommodate two jinxes like you."

  With that, Kyrie pulled his goggles back down, turned away, and continued to tinker with his beloved parts, ignoring them completely.

  It was as if everything that had just happened was merely an ordinary transaction.

  Kane took the data pad, the cold sensation of the metal transmitting through his fingertips.

  He didn't check it immediately.

  Instead, he walked over to [ The Predator ], unequipped his worn-out prosthetics, and slotted his legs into this brand-new chassis of steel.

  Click.

  The neural interface gave a light snap.

  An unprecedented, savage sense of power surged instantly from the soles of his feet through his entire skeletal frame!

  It felt as though he wasn't stepping on the ground.

  He was stepping on the whole world.

  Kane and Crag sat in the most inconspicuous corner of the workshop.

  On the screen of the metal data pad, a ghostly blue light reflected off their vastly different faces.

  Crag’s face held a look of pure, uncomprehending bewilderment.

  Kane’s face, however, was hidden in the shadows of his hood, his expression unreadable.

  Inside the workshop, only the ear-piercing screech of Kyrie grinding parts remained.

  Crag unconsciously tightened his fists.

  Kane closed his eyes, his thoughts unknown.

  "Planning to go throw your life away right now?"

  Kyrie’s icy voice was like a bucket of slushy water, slamming into Kane’s spiraling emotions.

  He had stopped his work at some point and was leaning against the workbench, staring coldly at Kane.

  "Look at yourself."

  "Your mind is stretched as taut as a piano wire about to snap. You fought your way out of the Silicon Desert and then rushed back here without stopping—you think you're made of iron?"

  "Keep this up, and Andrew Zoe won't even need to lift a finger. You'll finish yourself off first."

  The madman, usually immersed in his own world, was currently more sober than anyone.

  His words, like a morning bell or a twilight drum, struck hard against Kane’s heart.

  Kane snapped out of it instantly.

  He took a sudden look back at everything that had happened since leaving Scrapyard 7.

  The high-intensity combat.

  The endless calculating.

  The frantic fusion of skills.

  He had been running constantly, passively reacting to one crisis after another, never allowing himself a single moment of rest or reflection.

  The new information from that mysterious box had almost caused him to lose his mind and repeat his past mistakes.

  He slowly exhaled a breath of turbid air, forcibly suppressing the killing intent churning in his chest.

  "He’s right."

  Kane turned toward Crag, his voice carrying a trace of exhaustion he hadn't even noticed himself.

  "We need to find a place to hide."

  This was the first time he had actively admitted his vulnerability in front of his companion.

  Crag looked into those eyes—eyes that had regained their calm but gained a newfound depth—and gave a heavy nod.

  "I’ll take you somewhere. I found it during my previous training."

  "It’s... very quiet there."

  Kane stood up and placed nearly all the Kunlun Credits he had left onto Kyrie’s workbench.

  "This is all I have left. If it’s not enough, I’ll pay you back later."

  Kyrie glanced at the pile of money, cursed under his breath, and swept it into a drawer.

  But as the two were about to leave, he tossed a nondescript small metal sphere from the corner.

  "It jams all signals and scans. Crush it to use it."

  "Consider it a gift."

  ...

  As Kane and Crag merged back into the labyrinthine alleys of Blackrock Town, several obscure gazes stuck to them from all directions like maggots on a bone.

  The corner of Kane’s mouth curled into a cold arc.

  He didn't try to shake them off immediately.

  Instead, he led Crag through the complex clusters of buildings, weaving through them as if taking a casual stroll.

  At a corner—

  [ Earth Flash ]!

  His figure vanished, instantly appearing in a different alley.

  Before a row of pipes venting high-pressure steam—

  He leapt suddenly, activating [ Aerial Step ]. The moment the steam billowed out, he vaulted onto the rooftops.

  ...

  He consecutively executed three such "sleight of hand" maneuvers, playing the trackers like fools.

  Finally, in front of a massive central steam pipe, a valve opened. A dense fog capable of obscuring all vision erupted with a roar!

  "Move!"

  Kane barked in a low voice and activated [ Shadow Veil ]!

  He and Crag’s figures completely merged into that white chaos, vanishing without a trace.

  Seconds later.

  When the thick mist dissipated, the scouts from Felix, Kunlun, and other unknown factions saw nothing but an empty street.

  Target: Completely lost.

  Codenamed "Ghost," he had vanished from everyone’s radar.

  ...

  At the same time.

  In the Kunlun Corp command room, Andrew Zoe watched the signal light on the screen go completely dark. He slammed the data pad in his hand into the wall, letting out a beast-like roar.

  In the Silver Wolf Squad outpost, Rennie looked at the target's disappearance on the map. A playful smile appeared on his face, as if he were watching the opening of an even more brilliant play.

  Inside the illegal underground clinic, Booker—having just fitted his new prosthetics—received the report from his subordinates. His intact human eye flickered with an even more morbid and feverish light.

  And in Felix’s tavern.

  Felix was slowly and methodically wiping a glass tumbler with a pristine white cloth.

  Shadow stood silently behind him.

  "The fish has slipped the hook," Shadow whispered.

  Felix held the glass up to the light, admiring the transparency of the walls, devoid of a single impurity.

  "No."

  He paused, the smile at the corner of his mouth becoming meaningful.

  "The dragon has entered the ocean."

  "Send out the word. Withdraw the net."

  "We watch and wait."

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