Seeking a Dark Corner in the Slums, Forcibly Occupying the Basement

The rain in the slums seemed even more viscous than in the outside world. Every drop that struck one's body carried an inescapable chill and the stench of rot.

In the darkness, the gruesome sound of chewing paused for a fleeting moment. Several pairs of eyes, as greedy as wild dogs, peered out from the gaps in dilapidated wooden sheds and the mouths of gloomy sewers. They were the scavengers of this lawless land, the lowliest of carrion eaters who survived by stripping clothes from the dead and fighting over scraps, occasionally preying on the living who appeared weak.

To them, Mizuki Han and Haku were two pieces of defenseless, succulent meat. A boy with a severed left arm and blood-stained clothes, accompanied by a young girl whose skin remained delicate despite the mud on her face. In this hell, such a combination meant a form of high-value, hard currency.

"Lucky break... a rat just died, and two even tenderer ones have arrived."

A burly man covered in pustules crawled out from behind a pile of rotting planks. He held a piece of rusted iron pipe in his hand. As he moved, three other men—gaunt but with vicious eyes—emerged from different directions, subtly sealing off Han's retreat.

The leader stared at Haku, who was hiding behind Han, his Adam's apple bobbing as he let out a nauseating, strange laugh. "Leave the girl, and I, your master, will show mercy and let you, this one-armed cripple, crawl away."

Haku was so terrified that she clutched the corner of Han's coat tightly, burying her face in his back, her body trembling uncontrollably. She had seen too much malice of this kind and knew exactly what fate awaited her in the hands of such people.

Mizuki Han did not retreat a single step; his breathing pattern did not even change. He stood silently in the rain, his only remaining hand hanging naturally at his side. His oversized gray coat was soaked through, clinging to his pale, emaciated frame.

He was extremely weak now. The ice in his lungs had begun to melt, and the throbbing pain in his meridians surged like waves against his sanity. His ruined left arm felt as heavy as if it were weighted with an iron ingot. He didn't even have the strength to refine a shred of chakra.

But, did he need ninjutsu to kill these scum who didn't even possess chakra?

"Where is your hideout?" Han's hoarse voice rang out in the rainy night, calm and without a ripple.

The burly man froze, seemingly unable to comprehend what this one-armed cripple was asking, before erupting into a harsh, wild laugh. "Hahahaha! You little cripple, has your brain been flooded? You're asking about our hideout..."

Before he could finish, Han moved.

There was no earth-shattering explosion of chakra, nor any flashy opening stance. This was an ultimate killing technique, distilled from countless near-death struggles, stripped of all superfluous movement.

Han's body tilted sharply forward, his legs exploding with immense force against the mud. Like a black arrow fired close to the ground, he crossed the three-meter distance in an instant and slammed into the burly man's chest.

The man's laughter cut off abruptly; he instinctively tried to swing the rusted iron pipe. But Han's right hand had already darted out, a kunai—looted from an Anbu and still stained with dried blood—sliding into his grip.

Squelch.

With a viciously precise angle, the kunai was driven from beneath the man's jaw, through the soft, undefended spot, and buried to the hilt. The sharp blade severed the windpipe without resistance and pierced directly into the brain.

The man's pupils dilated instantly, and his body collapsed into the mud like a puppet with its strings cut, not even managing a scream.

The three thugs nearby, who had been laughing along, saw their smiles freeze into expressions of extreme horror. None of them had seen how the weak cripple had killed their leader in a single stroke.

Han did not pause. Using the momentum of pulling out the kunai, he slid low through the mud, narrowly avoiding a rusted short blade swung by a man behind him. While sliding, he pushed off the mud with his right hand, his body twisting unnaturally as the edge of the kunai precisely sliced the man's femoral artery.

"Ah!" The second thug collapsed with a shriek.

Immediately after, Han sprang up, stepping heavily onto the man's broken ankle to vault half a meter into the air. The cold kunai traced a lethal arc through the night rain, plunging directly into the third man's left eye and driving deep into his brain.

Everything happened too fast. From the sudden strike to the consecutive kills, only three breaths had passed.

The last remaining thug was already terrified out of his wits. His weapon clattered to the ground, and his knees buckled, sending him kneeling into the muck. "Don't kill me! Master... spare me!" He kowtowed like a madman, mud splattering his face.

Han walked up to him, holding the dripping kunai. His cold, downward gaze was more piercing than the winter rain of the slums.

"I will ask one more time: where is your hideout?" Han's voice remained steady, yet carried an irresistible pressure.

"It's... it's below! Just behind that pile of trash cans... there's a basement converted from an abandoned sewage reservoir..." The thug pointed to an inconspicuous corner nearby, his voice trembling violently.

"Lead the way."

Five minutes later.

The thug tremblingly moved aside a few foul-smelling boards and pushed open a heavy, rusted hatch, revealing a set of concrete stairs leading underground. The space inside was small and cramped due to the low elevation, but it boasted thick walls and a sturdy iron door. The floor was covered with rotting quilts and debris, and the air was thick with the smell of damp mold, but it was a superior hiding spot in these ruins.

"M-master, this is it. Besides us, no one dares to come near here. D-do you think I can go now?" The thug pleaded humbly, his face full of misery.

Han stood at the entrance, his gaze sweeping quickly across every corner of the basement. After confirming there were no hidden passages or traps, he nodded slightly.

"Go dispose of the bodies outside. Leave them at that intersection. I want everyone nearby to know the consequences of coming near here."

"Yes, yes!" The thug, as if granted a reprieve, scrambled up the stairs.

However, the moment he turned, the kunai in Han's hand was thrown with the speed of cold lightning. With a dull thud, it pierced precisely into the back of the thug's head.

The man slumped onto the stairs, blood flowing slowly down the concrete steps.

Only the dead could keep a secret. The dark rule of this area was that leaving bodies in plain sight served as a deterrent to other hyenas, showing them that this was the territory of someone ruthless.

Han withdrew his hand, his body swaying violently. His extreme physical exertion had finally reached its limit. He slid down against the rusted iron door.

Haku, who had been following silently and watching the swift slaughter, hurried forward. She struggled to drag the corpse away, pulled the heavy iron door shut, and engaged the thick internal locks.

Click, click.

As the final lock fell, the basement plunged into absolute silence. This cramped space became their only shelter from the storm.

The moment Han heard the locks, his nerves, stretched to the breaking point, finally showed a flicker of relaxation. The instant that gap appeared, the injuries he had long suppressed surged back like a caged beast.

An unnaturally deep flush spread across his cheeks, and his body temperature, previously cold, began to soar at an alarming rate. Black blood with a pungent, fishy odor began to seep from the puncture wound in his chest, but the most lethal threat was his necrotic left arm.

The ice crystals inside the arm—which he had forced to perform the forbidden Ice Release—were no longer constrained by chakra. They began to spread along his shattered meridians, racing toward his heart and half of his body!

Han's vision went black, and even his breathing felt as if it were carrying sparks of fire. He could clearly feel his body being torn apart by two extreme forces: the feverish flames and the absolute, crystallizing cold.

As Haku turned around, she saw Mizuki Han, who had been leaning against the door, collapse heavily onto the dirty bedding.