“Hmm?”
As Zhao Ling’er brushed past Lin Hao, she paused, glancing back at his retreating figure.
That silhouette… familiar?
Her brows furrowed. For a moment, she stared, perplexed. But logic intervened—her blind husband couldn’t possibly be here. Shaking her head, she noted the stranger’s steady gait, nothing like a sightless man’s cautious shuffle. Curiosity flickered, then faded. She left without another thought.
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Inside the shop, weapon racks lined the walls—daggers, rapiers, all tools of stealth. The air reeked of metal and blood-money.
“If you’re here to buy weapons, we’re closed today,” said the mustached clerk, eyeing Lin Hao’s veiled hat.
“I’m here for work,” Lin Hao rasped, deepening his voice.
The clerk straightened, wariness replacing skepticism. Assassins weren’t to be trifled with.
“Your name, sir?”
Lin Hao paused. “Jing Ke.”
Jing Ke? The clerk frowned—no such name on the killer rankings. A rookie?
“Tasks are ranked: Common, Intermediate, Hard, Red List.”
“Common. Local.”
The clerk’s lip twitched—amateur. He flipped through files.
“Ah. Luck’s with you.” He slid a dossier across the counter. A crimson Kill stamp glared from its corner.
Target: Chen Da-Jiu
Age: 38
Strength: Tier 2 Warrior
Identity: Owner of “Heavenly Gambling Den”
Location: Heavenly Gambling Den
Guards: 23 (Tier 1 Warriors)
Bounty: 100,000 silver
Attached was a portrait: a scar-faced brute, left cheek marred by a jagged blade mark. The dossier detailed his crimes—rapes, extortions, beatings.
“Three percent commission deducted upon completion. Our agents will verify the kill.”
Lin Hao nodded, exiting. 70,000 silver net. Not bad.
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The gambling den’s gaudy sign loomed, its doors shut tight. Inside, raucous shouts seeped through walls—curses, dice clatters, the stench of desperation. Next door, a pawnshop leeched off losers trading heirlooms for one more bet.
“Find him. Quick and clean.”
The Kung Fu Fly zipped from Lin Hao’s shoulder, slipping through a rear window.
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Inside the den, ten tables swarmed with gamblers. Guards lurked in corners, muscles taut. At the far end, Chen Da-Jiu lounged, a courtesan squirming on his lap. His scarred face twisted into a grin as coins clinked into his coffers.
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“Old Ba’s rigged dice are golden. Another million this month!”
Through the fly’s eyes, Lin Hao marked his target.
Kill.
The fly circled stealthily, avoiding Chen’s警觉gaze. Enhanced intelligence guided its tactics—no reckless charge.
Chen, a Tier 2 Warrior, sensed movement behind him. He whirled, hand reaching for his dagger. The fly veered, landing on the courtesan’s back.
Wait.
Patience.
The courtesan giggled, oblivious, as Chen resumed groping her. The fly inched closer, scythe-legs glinting.
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Outside, Lin Hao leaned against a wall, feigning disinterest. Minutes crawled.
Suddenly—
Sssshhk!
A wet slice echoed in his mind’s eye. Chen’s roar choked mid-bellow. The courtesan screamed as blood sprayed her face.
Chaos erupted. Gamblers stampeded. Guards drew blades, searching frantically for an attacker who’d already vanished.
Through the fly’s vision, Lin Hao watched Chen collapse, throat slit ear-to-ear. The fly darted out, evading flailing arms, and returned to its master’s shoulder.
Ding! Mission complete. 70,000 silver acquired.
Lin Hao turned, melting into the crowd. Behind him, the pawnshop clerk gaped at the commotion.
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At the assassin’s den, the mustached clerk stared at Lin Hao. “Already? It’s barely been an hour!”
Lin Hao tossed Chen’s severed ear onto the counter. The clerk recoiled, then counted out silver notes with trembling hands.
As Lin Hao left, the clerk muttered, “Jing Ke… Remember that name.”
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Dusk fell. Lin Hao stood atop a rooftop, the fly perched on his finger.
“Next step: funds for evolution. But first…”
He glanced toward Zhao Manor, where lanterns glowed. Zhao Ling’er would soon hear whispers of a mysterious killer—one who moved like shadow, left no traces.
Let her wonder.
The fly buzzed eagerly. Lin Hao smiled.
“Patience. We’re just getting started.”
Somewhere, a system chimed:
Ding! Host completes first assassination. Unlock: Silent Hunter Title (Stealth +15%).
The night swallowed them whole.
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Claiming the Bounty
“Tch, just a fly.”
Chen Da-Jiu sneered dismissively at the Kung Fu Fly but scanned the crowd warily. Rumors of a hired killer had put him on edge.
“If I find out who ordered this, I’ll skin them alive!” he growled, grabbing a liquor bottle and guzzling.
The fly’s compound eyes glinted. Now.
It streaked toward Chen’s exposed throat.
Sssht!
Bladed legs flashed. A crimson line bloomed across Chen’s neck.
“Huh?” Chen clutched his throat. Blood gushed between his fingers with a wet hiss.
Gurgle.
He collapsed, choking on his own blood. The courtesan’s scream pierced the din.
“Boss is dead!!”
Pandemonium erupted. Gamblers stampeded. Guards drew swords, searching vainly for an attacker who’d already vanished through a window.
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“Well done.”
Lin Hao stood at the street corner, praising the blood-flecked fly on his shoulder. He strolled away, the gambling den’s chaos fading behind him.
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Back at the assassin’s den, the clerk gaped as Lin Hao reentered.
This rookie’s chickening out already? he thought derisively.
“Mission complete,” Lin Hao stated flatly.
“What?!” The clerk’s jaw dropped. Two enforcers emerged, hands on daggers.
“False claims cost tongues,” the clerk warned.
“Check the den. Slit throat.” Lin Hao leaned back in a chair, relaxed.
As if summoned, a skinny scout rushed in. “Boss Chen’s dead! Throat cut! Must’ve been a master assassin!”
The clerk paled. Sweat beaded his brow as he bowed deeply. “A-apologies, Master Jing Ke! Your payment—”
He produced ten gold notes—10,000 each.
Lin Hao pocketed them wordlessly.
“P-please visit again!” The clerk groveled at the doorway, watching Lin Hao disappear into dusk.
“Who was that?” the scout whispered.
“Jing Ke. Killed Chen in ten minutes.”
The scout shuddered, touching his own neck reflexively.
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In an alley, Lin Hao discarded his hat and cloak. Zhao Ling’er’s sharp eyes might recognize the garments. No loose ends.
He melted into the twilight, the fly humming contentedly. Somewhere, gold notes rustled in his pocket—70,000 closer to his next evolution.
The night held promise.