Chapter 55: The Wrath of an Ant, Blood Spattered Across the Room

Ever forward, forging life from the jaws of death.

Under the "cover" of the Ruin Beast, Ren Zhong—the "Wastelander"—raised his butcher's blade for the first time.

A sharp crack.

From its hiding place beneath his rear neck armor, the tenfold-dose stimulant injector slowly extended its gleaming needle, plunging deep into the junction of his spine and brainstem.

A thick, almost viscous liquid surged into his body.

A stabbing pain seared through him. Ren Zhong's body convulsed, his scalp prickling as if scalded by boiling oil.

For an instant, his vision went black. Then, a spark of light flared at the edge of his sight, and his vision returned, sharper than before.

To an outside observer, nothing seemed to have changed. Yet, if one focused intently, they would notice new details in his field of vision—details once overlooked—now stood out in stark clarity.

He powered up his armor; a cascade of diagnostic parameters streamed down the edge of his visor like a waterfall.

Ren Zhong glanced at them—one sweeping motion.

In just 0.15 seconds, he absorbed all the diagnostic information, including data on the dozen or so new auxiliary components he had installed.

His neural response index had soared from 52.9 to 529.

The speed at which his brain processed information had multiplied manyfold.

Short-range propulsion nozzles, mounted on his back, extended outward. From each side of his waist, they erupted with orange-red flames nearly twenty centimeters in diameter, each ringed by halos of light.

Ren Zhong lifted off, soaring over the white wall and gliding toward the professional team’s manor, drawing ever closer.

He slowly reached back, unfastening the heavy arc blade—1.6 meters long, 0.3 meters wide.

The blade was unsharpened, its cutting power coming from a high-frequency oscillation, much like a power chisel.

Once activated, the blade's thick body would blaze with an electric, sapphire glow from the heat.

Simply hoisting this weapon and engaging its oscillation function required his armor to output over 180 kilowatts of power.

At last, Ren Zhong hovered above the manor’s outer wall, gazing downward.

The manor’s arrangements unfolded before his eyes.

In a flash, another set of data crossed his mind—the standard schematic of the third-generation Iron Curtain automatic defense system, provided by Ju Qingmeng at the arms market.

As a highly regarded automatic defense system, it would always be subtly adapted to the specific environment—placement of automated weapons, construction of fire grids, ammunition ratios, arrayed sensor scanners, and more.

Yet, so long as it was the same system, the types of firearms, ammunition, rockets, energy weapons, and tracking drones used would remain largely the same.

Ren Zhong memorized these details and crafted countermeasures in his mind, readying himself for every contingency.

He observed, continuously refining his plans, strategizing every step.

At last, Ren Zhong drew a deep breath, his eyes flashing with cold light.

You treat us like ants, deciding our life and death at your whim, without a second thought.

Tonight, you will learn what the fury of ants truly means!

He powered up the amplifier, surging to 180 kilowatts—blue light exploded from his arc blade.

Leaning forward, he redirected his thrusters—becoming a diving eagle hurtling downward.

In the center of the town, the "Sauron’s Eye" swiveled abruptly, searching for threats. It paused on Ren Zhong for 0.05 seconds, then quickly turned away.

He had been mistaken for a Watchman.

The next instant, Ren Zhong crashed fiercely into the courtyard of Lin Wang’s manor.

Sensing the unknown intruder, the third-generation Iron Curtain responded instantly.

Camouflaged turrets burst open from the rock garden, walls, the central tree trunk, the manor rooftop, and the beams of each floor. Thick and thin barrels extended, and tracking drones, shaped like miniature aircraft, emerged one after another.

In a heartbeat, the tranquil manor transformed into a deadly killing field.

Machine guns swept the night, invisible lines of fire streaking toward Ren Zhong as he landed.

But Ren Zhong had already extended his left hand, the exoskeleton surging to maximum output as programmed.

His armor instantly delivered 400 kilowatts.

He had pushed the amplifier to its absolute limit.

He had, of course, anticipated the massive delay from running the amplifier at such excess.

Now, his control delay reached 0.2 seconds!

But everything remained under control.

Before the operation, Ren Zhong had programmed every command.

From this moment, for the next two minutes, everything would unfold as scripted—a premeditated scene.

Human and armor fused as one; he moved like an AI controlling a game avatar, executing a flawless, injury-free boss fight.

If adaptability was not a factor, Ren Zhong’s instantaneous combat ability at this moment equaled that of a third-level mech warrior.

This time, his predictive analysis differed from all before. Drawing on his genius intellect as a twenty-three-year-old PhD, he synthesized every detail, built a mental model, and ran the simulation in his mind.

A thunderous impact.

His left palm slammed into the stone floor.

Cracks spiderwebbed outward.

Meanwhile, the rear thrusters twisted.

Like an eagle, he barely touched the ground, darting forward in a jagged line, streaking directly for the manor’s third floor.

Sparks and debris exploded behind him, smoke billowing up.

The earliest-responding firearms all missed their mark.

A rocket screamed in on a slanted trajectory, trailing a long tail of flame.

Ren Zhong’s shoulder-mounted single-shot gun fired precisely.

The bullet crossed four meters, striking the rocket’s warhead and detonating it in midair; the shockwave roared toward him.

It knocked his rising figure slightly off course.

This change of direction was too abrupt.

Scarlet beams from energy weapons swept past, slicing through the air where Ren Zhong had been a moment before—again missing him.

He had already memorized the recognition, targeting, computation, and order-issuing processes of these automated weapons from the schematic.

Now, Ren Zhong’s own “program” was pitted against the Iron Curtain’s.

Victory was his.

As he soared through the air, he spun, his arc blade blazing blue as he lunged forward.

A tracking drone, about to strike his back, exploded as he pierced it.

The shockwave slammed into him.

Though his armor absorbed much of the impact, Ren Zhong’s body still shuddered violently, suffering internal injury.

But the deviation in his path was corrected; he continued his assault on the third floor.

He crashed through the balcony railing, slamming into a third-floor window.

The alloy bars buckled and bent, the bulletproof glass shattered.

Mid-flight, Ren Zhong reversed his grip, slashing a passing pillar and detonating a second drone that was just emerging.

Fragments from the pillar, flung outward by the shockwave, struck and detonated several incoming rockets.

Only a few bullets pierced the shockwave, striking his armor.

These high-powered rounds could normally kill a second-level Ruin Beast instantly, but the shockwave had already deflected them, and Ren Zhong’s reactive armor detonated in anticipation.

A cacophony of ricochets and explosions rang out like firecrackers.

Armor and deflection worked in tandem.

Ren Zhong suffered only the impact.

He spun—blue light erupted from his blade.

All systems surged to 500 kilowatts output.

Maximum power, total overload!

Slash!

A deafening boom.

The alloy window, strong enough to withstand a frontal charge from a second-level Ruin Beast, was hacked open by the high-frequency arc blade.

Ren Zhong surged forward, ramming through.

Metal screeched and groaned—he was a living tunneling machine, forcing his way inside.

He had breached the Iron Curtain system that Sun Miao had claimed no second-level professional could ever overcome.

In the room’s corner stood a capsule-shaped, high-grade alloy sleeping pod with automatic defenses—identical to Sun Miao’s.

Suddenly, two huge metal tubes rose from each end of the pod—miniature automatic mortars, aimed straight at Ren Zhong.

The armor plates on his thighs snapped open; he fired preemptively, thumb-sized grenades erupting in a chain of explosions.

Within moments, the room was filled with metallic dust.

After a 0.2-second delay, the pod’s mortars fired—only for the shells to explode immediately, damaging their own barrels.

The effect of Ren Zhong’s metal dust smoke grenades.

Then, over a dozen of his assault devices activated in sync!

As programmed, he advanced, arc blade raised high.

He unleashed a furious, overwhelming assault on the sleeping pod—far beyond the limits of a second-level mech warrior.

Inside the pod lay Bei Lihui.

On the third-floor balcony, a dartboard bristling with darts stood as silent witness.

This was Bei Lihui’s floor.

A minute later, the surface of the ultra-tough alloy sleeping pod—capable of withstanding a half hour of assault from a second-level Ruin Beast—was smashed open by Ren Zhong.

The capsule tumbled violently, and Bei Lihui—his head bloodied from the shaking—spilled halfway out of the gaping wound.

He still wore a blue combat suit, blood streaming from a head wound of unknown origin.

Wen Lei’s pocket watch still hung at his chest.

The life detector Ren Zhong had installed confirmed the scoundrel was still alive.

Bei Lihui’s breath was steady, his eyes shut tight, a defiant sneer fixed on his lips—lost in some dream of glory.

Seeing that face, fresh and old hatred surged within Ren Zhong.

His once-calm breathing grew ragged.

He stepped forward twice, tossed aside the battered arc blade, and clenched his fist.

Fueled by the stimulant, his mind was in a state of frenzied excitement—eyes wide, jaw clenched, his cheeks nearly bursting.

His fist crashed downward, smashing into Bei Lihui’s skull.

A sickening crunch.

Red, white, and black splattered everywhere.

Die!

Die!

Consumed utterly by rage, Ren Zhong broke free of his pre-set routines, now overriding the 0.2-second delay with his own will.

He seized the headless corpse, flinging it into the air.

Both fists, like electric jackhammers, rained down blow after blow.

It was only when the armor’s self-diagnostic blared a critical warning—one minute to system failure from overload—that he finally stopped.

Five minutes of berserk armor time were almost up.

The room was shrouded in blood mist, bone shards scattered, flesh strewn about.

Ren Zhong stood alone.

No one else remained.