The Captain Who Leaves No Survivors

A metal shelf weighing over a hundred pounds slid from the side at high speed, slamming into the ninja's knees.

The ninja's body was forced to fold forward.

Lynn had already closed the distance, a surgical suture needle—a size 10 silk thread needle—in his right hand.

To a normal person, this was merely a tool for stitching wounds, but Lynn knew the precise locations of the human body's acupoints.

The tip of the needle pierced two millimeters below the Shousanli Acupoint on the ninja's right shoulder.

Once the superficial radial nerve at this location was precisely damaged, the entire right arm would immediately lose control.

The ninja's flail dropped from his loosened grip.

Lynn's left knee slammed into his liver area.

The third one was down.

Back door direction—cleared.

Three people, less than thirty seconds.

The entire process did not produce any sound louder than the ambient background noise.

But this was only a quarter of them.

His Super Senses told him that the three from the south had already climbed through the second-floor window from the fire escape.

Three were on the roof to the north. Three were preparing to enter through the front door to the east.

Lynn picked up the flail from the ground. He weighed it—the weight and length were just right.

He walked toward the stairs.

The three from the south had already entered the second floor.

Their footsteps stopped beside the folding bed—it was empty, but the quilt was still warm.

They knew the target had just left.

Lynn stood at the foot of the stairs on the first floor, looking up toward the corner of the staircase.

Three sets of footsteps moved from the second floor toward the stairwell. They intended to clear the area from top to bottom.

Perfect.

Holding the high ground was a habitual advantage for ninjas.

But in a narrow stairwell, holding the high ground also meant your ankles were the first thing exposed to the target below.

The first ninja's foot appeared at the corner of the stairs.

Lynn swung the flail.

The metal chain wrapped precisely around that ankle.

Lynn pulled hard—the ninja's body was yanked directly off the stairs, the back of his head cracking against the edge of a step.

Less than half a second later, the second ninja leaped down from the corner, a kunai in his hand stabbing straight at Lynn's face.

Combat instinct took over.

Lynn's upper body rotated inward, avoiding the direct attack of the kunai, while his right hand had already released the flail—at close range, fists were faster than weapons.

Aikido's entering technique.

Lynn's right arm circled from the outside into the inner side of the ninja's kunai-wielding right elbow, his palm pressing against the opposite side of the opponent's elbow joint, his entire body weight combined with thirty percent of his Superhuman Strength—

Joint lock. Destruction.

The ninja let out a muffled, suppressed groan.

Lynn's left palm slapped the back of the ninja's head, and his forehead slammed into the wall.

The third ninja jumped down from the stairs.

He didn't use a weapon; instead, he formed a seal with both hands—a form of internal energy aggregation technique from The Hand's ninjutsu.

Interesting.

Lynn took half a step back.

The ninja's palms pushed out a burst of force, striking his chest.

The power wasn't great, but the penetration was strong—a type of hidden energy that bypassed surface defenses to act directly on the internal organs.

If it had been the Lynn from three weeks ago, he might have suffered internal bleeding from this hit.

But now—Indestructible was not just an increase in skin surface hardness; the toughness of his muscles and internal organs had also been enhanced.

The feeling of the hidden energy strike was like being pushed hard by someone; there was impact, but no damage.

The ninja's expression changed in the darkness.

His hidden energy should have been able to pierce through a bulletproof vest. Yet, this young man in a white coat standing before him had only taken half a step back?

Lynn didn't give him time to think.

A standard Krav Maga chin-tucking move—his left hand hooked the back of the opponent's head while his right knee lifted, the two forces sandwiching the target.

The ninja's body folded.

Three from the south. Cleared.

By the time the three from the east entered through the front door, Lynn had already returned to the first floor.

They pushed open the clinic door more cautiously than the previous groups—likely having discovered that their companions at the back door had lost contact, with no response in their communicators.

The three spread out in a fan formation.

The one in the middle wasn't holding a short blade, but a wakizashi—a grade higher than the weapons of ordinary ninjas. Squad leader level.

Lynn stood at the entrance of the consultation room, his right hand resting on the door frame, his left hand tucked into the pocket of his white coat.

He didn't hide.

"Your people are all lying in the back," he spoke, his voice carrying through the darkness, flat and calm.

"If you want to take them, I won't stop you. But if you want to continue—I suggest you reconsider."

The three ninjas' formation did not loosen.

The squad leader spoke, his voice coming from behind his mask with a faint Japanese-English accent: "You are the Healer?"

"I am a doctor."

"The Hand needs your power. Come with us, and you won't be harmed."

"I don't really like others making decisions for me."

The squad leader said nothing more.

His wakizashi was unsheathed.

The ninjas on both sides moved simultaneously.

One cut in from the left, the other flanked from the right.

The squad leader provided support from the center; the three coordinated seamlessly.

This coordination was completely different from the previous stragglers.

Under the analysis of his Super Intelligence, the movement trajectories of the three presented a highly coordinated geometric relationship—each person's position maximized the blockage of Lynn's escape routes.

But three people also had the weaknesses of three people.

Their coordination relied too heavily on a fixed formation.

Lynn did something they hadn't anticipated—he didn't dodge, he didn't retreat; he charged forward.

He charged directly into the center of the three-man formation.

This behavior violated all common sense of combat.

Facing a multi-on-one encirclement, a normal person's first reaction is to create distance, find a breakthrough, and defeat them one by one. No one would voluntarily rush into the center of an encirclement.

But Lynn's calculations were clear—at the center point of the encirclement, the three would actually interfere with each other.

Their weapons had attack ranges; at such close proximity, their blades and wakizashi could not be swung with full force for fear of accidentally hitting their own companions.

Lynn's body wedged into the gap between the three.

The blade of the ninja on the left stopped abruptly—three more centimeters and he would have slashed the squad leader.

That was the pause.

Lynn's right hand grabbed the collar of the ninja on the left, and his Superhuman Strength activated.

He lifted the hundred-and-sixty-pound ninja into the air and smashed him into the one on the right.

The two collided and tumbled away.

Only the squad leader remained.

The wakizashi slashed down.

The speed was fast, the angle was tricky.

Lynn sidestepped.

The blade grazed his shoulder—another tear was cut into the shoulder of his white coat.

The squad leader's swordsmanship was indeed strong. Stronger than everyone before him.

In that same instant, Lynn's Super Intelligence completed an analysis of his blade technique.

Based on Iaijutsu, fused with short-weapon techniques from Southeast Asian martial arts, his blade path favored diagonal slashes from the lower left to the upper right.

The second strike came.

From the lower left—

Lynn dodged to the right.

But the squad leader changed his move.

The diagonal slash turned into a horizontal swipe midway, the tip of the blade aiming straight for Lynn's throat.