Formidable Enemy

"No... how is this possible?" Granny Remo frowned slightly.

According to the intelligence gathered, the blonde youth before him had been nothing more than an ordinary person until just recently. How could he possess the strength of an "Instructor"-level martial artist after only a few days?

This joke wasn't funny at all!

Not even the greatest genius could achieve such a thing.

Granny Remo had loved combat since he was a child. He had apprenticed under masters, traveled extensively, participated in countless fighting tournaments, survived terrifying life-or-death struggles, and was even hailed as a genius in the fighting world, eventually becoming a professional martial artist officially certified by the Bremen Empire.

Yet, even with all that, he was already thirty-seven years old.

How old was Gilan Iros?

Twenty!

"It seems there is only one possibility." Granny Remo looked at Gilan with eyes full of interest. "It was that Mysterious Film that transformed you!"

Gilan didn't know what an "Instructor"-level martial artist was, nor did he care to listen to the man's rambling. With a cold face, he rushed forward and threw a punch.

However, Granny Remo seemed to have been prepared. He spun around, the hem of his brown trench coat flaring, and his right leg lashed out like a cannonball, striking Gilan in the chest before the fist could even land!

BANG!!

Gilan's body recoiled, his chest throbbing with intense pain.

Though his attack was blocked, he didn't get frustrated. After steadying himself, he pulled back his right fist and thrust his left hand forward in a strike toward Detective Granny Remo's neck.

But the latter was just as fast, stepping back and delivering another kick.

SLAP!

Gilan's left hand was swatted away, instantly turning bright red and going numb.

Once the private detective gained the upper hand, he pressed his advantage. He suddenly lunged forward, unleashing a flurry of kicks. His black suit trousers whistled through the air, transforming into a heavy, powerful shadow.

Whoosh—

BANG BANG BANG BANG!!

Facing the onslaught, Gilan could only parry and defend, relying on his hardened physique. For a moment, he was on the defensive, unable to find an opening to counterattack.

Since learning the White Cross Body-Forging Technique, this was the first time he had faced an opponent who could truly contend with him in close-quarters combat. Clearly, the private detective's technique and experience were superior.

After a fierce exchange of fists and kicks, the dry, itchy sensation in Gilan's throat suddenly worsened. His head grew hot and dizzy, and his reactions slowed.

BANG!!

Detective Granny Remo's kick landed squarely on Gilan's left leg.

Gilan winced, losing his balance.

"Die!"

Detective Granny Remo's eyes were sharp. His leg, moving like a black whip, struck again, aiming straight for Gilan's head.

BANG!!!

At the last second, Gilan desperately raised his arm to block, but the force of the kick was overwhelming. Amidst a thunderous impact, he felt a piercing pain in his forearm as the immense power sent him flying.

BANG—THUD!

He first slammed into a concrete pillar to the side, then crashed heavily to the ground. The pain throughout his body and the dizzying vertigo caused Gilan to cough up blood, leaving him gasping for air.

With a rush of wind, Detective Granny Remo arrived before him.

Holding his fedora with one hand and looking down at Gilan with cold indifference, he brought his foot down!

"You motherfucker!" Gilan opened his blood-stained mouth, his eyes fierce.

Ignoring the stabbing pain in his arm, he clamped onto the detective's kicking leg. Despite the look of surprise on Detective Granny Remo's face, Gilan used every ounce of his brute strength to flip him onto the ground.

BANG!

Gilan scrambled up, his face twisted in a snarl, and brought his right knee crashing down.

CRACK!!

The detective's left lower leg was shattered on the spot!

"Ah!!" Detective Granny Remo roared. "You bastard!"

He kicked out with his other leg in a fit of rage, sending Gilan flying several meters away again.

Immediately after, Detective Granny Remo dragged his broken leg as he climbed to his feet. Looking disheveled, he pulled back his trench coat and drew a gleaming, short-barreled revolver from his waist.

"Damn it! You forced my hand!"

He disengaged the safety and pulled the trigger without hesitation.

Although Detective Granny Remo specialized in hand-to-hand combat, his marksmanship was equally formidable—far beyond that of the gun-toting thugs of the Oak Gang. It was fast, accurate, and lethal.

BANG!!

The bullet flew at a tricky angle, aiming straight for Gilan's head.

Ding.

Detective Granny Remo held the gun, his expression suddenly freezing in place.

In the blink of an eye, a triangular iron plate appeared before the blond youth, perfectly timed to block the bullet and send sparks flying.

Just as Detective Granny was left bewildered, a double-barreled shotgun emerged from behind the plate, locking onto him.

Gilan, holding the shotgun, flashed him a savage grin.

Detective Granny's expression shifted violently; an indescribable aura of death enveloped him, more intense than any he had ever felt before!

His left leg was broken, so he instinctively lunged to the right.

Yet, it was as if Gilan controlled everything; he pulled the trigger almost at the same moment—

BOOM!!

In mid-air, the detective's head exploded!

Blood and brain matter splattered across the ground.

The headless corpse hit the floor with a thud, skidded a short distance from the momentum, and lay still.

"Pah!" Gilan turned his head and spat out a mouthful of bloody phlegm. "Trying to kill me? You deserve to die!"

He stowed the shotgun and the triangular shield, clutched his chest, and walked over to Detective Granny's body. He crouched down and fished a pack of "Mark Brand" cigarettes and a brass-engraved kerosene lighter from the man's pocket.

Click—hiss.

Gilan lit a cigarette and sat on the edge of the second-floor concrete slab, his legs dangling over the side. He gazed deeply into the desolate clearing outside, smoking in slow, steady drags.

The detective's corpse lay beside him, both silent.

Granny's strength was not to be underestimated; in hand-to-hand combat, he had even held the upper hand. If not for the surprise element of the "Iridescence" dimensional space, he likely would have met his end here.

The slight sense of complacency he had felt after mastering the White Cross Body-Forging Technique quietly dissipated.

After a while.

Gilan took the final drag, exhaled a long plume of smoke, and crushed the butt against the floor.

After a brief rest, he finally felt better. The pain throughout his body had eased, and he had regained a bit of his energy.

Standing up, Gilan picked up the detective's snub-nosed revolver. He didn't recognize the model, but he felt its performance and power were far superior to his lost Luger. He tucked it directly into his waistband holster, replacing the Luger.

Inside the detective's trench coat was a hidden pocket containing two 9mm speed loaders, totaling 12 rounds of revolver ammunition, all of which Gilan took.

Beyond that, Gilan also found a roll of banknotes and a strange black ticket on the body.

"A rich guy, after all," he raised an eyebrow.

The roll of bills consisted entirely of "10" denomination Caesars, totaling 25 notes—250 Caesars in all.

That was equivalent to the total income of a low-level worker after twenty years of working without eating or drinking!

For Gilan, this was a massive fortune!

He placed the money into his handbag and carefully examined the black ticket.

The ticket was printed with exquisite engravings of a pair of spread-winged kites, with the words "Atonement Voucher" boldly inscribed in the center. Below it was a motto in flowery script:

"Confess your secrets, receive witness. Wash away your sins, complete your salvation."

The signature read: Atonement Church, No. 5, 1st Street, Horst, Black City.

"Atonement Voucher? Atonement Church?" Gilan murmured.

His original self had never encountered these things from the wealthy districts, but he had heard a little about the "Atonement Church." It seemed to be a church that worshipped the "God of Listening and Witnessing"—the "Twin Kites."

Gilan stuffed the ticket into his handbag as well, glanced back at the corpse, and turned to walk down the concrete stairs, intending to leave as soon as possible.

But where can I go...

A sense of bewilderment welled up within him.

Ever since he transmigrated, he had either been on the run or on the way to being on the run.

I just want to live a normal life once. Is that really so hard?

Gilan gritted his teeth, his eyes becoming exceptionally firm.

No matter how hard it is, I will survive! And I will live with dignity! I will live like a human being!

Rumble, rumble...

Just as Gilan stepped out of the unfinished building and onto the gravel path, the sound of carriage wheels reached him.

He looked up and froze.

An exquisite private carriage was driving toward him. A man and a woman sat in the back, both dressed in expensive fabrics. They looked at him simultaneously, their faces wearing kind smiles.

They're here for me...

The thought flashed through Gilan's mind.