A Proper Student Who Only Drinks Nine Potions a Day

His voice was soft, tinged with confusion.

"Does he want to challenge the entire Gus Gang?"

"He got a little stronger and became this arrogant? What an ignorant stray dog from the bottom of society."

He pushed himself off the wall, preparing to follow.

His master had instructed him that this test subject could not die outside.

He had just taken a step.

A pale hand silently reached out from behind and to his side, brushing lightly across his cheek like a falling feather.

The fingertips were icy, soft as silk.

"Little Bloodthirsty Beast, come with me, will you?"

The voice was soft and gentle, as though coaxing a child to sleep.

The young man's dark red eyes instantly turned vacant and dull. His pupils dilated, and the red light in his irises went out.

His body stiffened for a second, then slowly relaxed like a rope with its bones pulled out.

"Yes... Master."

The shadows in the alley swallowed the two figures.

Evan headed south, briskly crossing Gooding Street, passing Hain Street, and running into the city's southern outskirts.

The road beneath his feet changed from cobblestones to gravel, then from gravel to weed-covered dirt.

The streetlamps grew scarcer and scarcer before disappearing entirely.

The smell in the air changed as well. Coal smoke and food gave way to the scent of sea wind, rust, and rotting vegetation.

South Suburban Old Factory.

An abandoned industrial complex near the sea, situated on an open patch of land beneath the cliffs.

Rumor had it that a serious chemical leak had occurred here two years ago. Several workers had died, and the factory had been ordered to shut down.

It had been left abandoned ever since. The capitalists were unwilling to spend money cleaning it up, while the government pretended to have forgotten the place existed.

Now, it had become a secret hideout for gang members around Gooding Street.

Stolen goods were traded, traitors punished, and problems dealt with in these ruins without lights or witnesses.

Evan ran nearly a mile in one breath, his face flushed and his breathing steady.

He stopped at the factory gates and looked around.

Pitch-black.

Three enormous factory buildings crouched in the darkness like giant beasts. The sea wind had peeled up the edges of the iron roofs, making them groan intermittently.

Most of the factory walls had collapsed, broken bricks scattered amid the weeds.

In the distance came the dull crash of waves against the cliffs, occasionally mixed with the barking of stray dogs and the howls of wolves from the farther hills.

"Dark enough, spacious enough. Let's see how I deal with you all."

His 1.9 physique, combined with the heightened senses granted by the Night Demon Potion, allowed him to move through these ruins as easily as a fish through water, though ordinary people could barely see their hands in front of their faces here.

Every broken wall, every ruined door, every corner where someone could hide—he could see them all clearly.

"And I can use this chance to test whether Pulis sent anyone to follow me."

He entered the factory grounds and stood in the open space between the three buildings, waiting.

About ten minutes later, a burst of noisy commotion came from the north.

The rasp of bicycle tires crushing gravel, the clatter of chains, and the crude shouts and laughter of young men grew louder and louder as they approached.

Then a group appeared at the entrance to the factory grounds.

Around twenty youths of eighteen or nineteen, riding all kinds of battered bicycles with flashlights hanging from their handlebars. Beams of light swept wildly through the darkness.

They wore cheap work jackets and dirty boots, carrying steel pipes, machetes, and iron chains. Their faces bore the excitement and bloodlust unique to young thugs.

Zack threw his bicycle to the ground, its chain clattering loudly.

He looked up and saw Evan standing arrogantly at the factory gates, arms crossed as he leaned against the rusted iron doorframe. He looked as relaxed as if he were waiting for someone to keep an appointment.

"Come on! If you've got the guts, fight me one-on-one!"

Evan's voice echoed through the empty factory grounds, carried closer and farther by the sea wind.

Zack's face darkened like the sky before a storm.

"Move! Block both exits!"

He drew the snub-nosed revolver from behind his waist and waved the barrel toward the sky.

"Today, I'm breaking all four of his limbs!"

More than twenty armed youths rushed forward in a swarm, flooding toward the factory gates.

Evan did not meet them head-on.

He turned, his body as nimble as a cat's, and slipped into the nearest factory building.

Inside was a vast space, divided by partitions and wrecked machinery into dozens of rooms and passageways of varying sizes.

Knee-high weeds covered the floor. Moonlight leaking through the shattered skylights cast several sickly white patches across the ground.

The walls were covered in graffiti and mildew stains, while the air reeked of rust, motor oil, and rotting vegetation.

Holes had been dug into the bottoms of some partitions, just large enough for a person to crouch and crawl through, like rat tunnels.

To the thugs, who could only rely on flashlights, this place was a dark labyrinth.

To Evan, whose night vision had been doubled by the Night Demon Potion, this was his hunting ground.

More than twenty thugs poured into the factory building. Their flashlight beams swept wildly through the darkness like a swarm of startled fireflies.

Their footsteps, breathing, and shouted calls echoed throughout the empty building until even they could no longer tell where sounds were coming from.

Evan crouched atop a rusted crossbeam, looking down below.

Two thugs passed directly beneath him, their flashlights aimed ahead. Neither even glanced upward.

He jumped down.

The sole of his boot landed precisely on the first man's shoulder. The massive impact smashed him flat onto the ground, his face slamming into the concrete. He gave a muffled grunt and did not move again.

Using the momentum of his landing, Evan rolled forward, grabbed the iron bar the man had dropped with his right hand, and swung it backward. The bar struck the second thug squarely behind the knee.

A sickening crack came from his knee, and the thug screamed as he dropped to one knee.

Evan did not linger. Just as he was about to turn and leave, his bad luck struck.

As he ran forward, the crossbeam he had stepped on overhead, which had seemed sturdy moments ago, suddenly came crashing down.

"Damn bad luck!"

To avoid the crossbeam, Evan instinctively hesitated for a moment...

The two thugs behind him reacted quickly. They rushed in and smashed their clubs directly into Evan's back.

The searing pain made Evan's face flush crimson instantly. At the same time, the two thugs pounced on him!

Evan hurriedly backed away, kicked one thug flying, then turned to run—only for another thug to grab his arm.

The guy seemed to have gone mad, clutching Evan's arm tightly and refusing to let go.

"I got him!"

Evan shook his arm desperately, but he could not throw him off.

His expression was one of genuine surprise. He had underestimated how troublesome people could be.

His 1.9 physique did make him far stronger than an ordinary person.

But it was not enough to quickly shake off an adult clinging to him for dear life.

At the critical moment, he swung the iron bar and cracked the thug over the head!

The thug's mind went blank, and he instinctively released his grip.

Seizing the opportunity, Evan quickly plunged into the darkness, relying on his powerful night vision and heightened senses.

Chapter 20: The Impassable Chasm Between Mortals and the Supernatural

Evan endured the burning pain as he ran. After charging into the darkness, he suddenly saw a figure standing ahead of him.

"Run! This place is full of gang members."

Thinking it was a homeless man, Evan instinctively called out a warning.

But just as he was about to get closer, the heightened senses granted by the Night Demon Potion made every hair on his body stand on end.

"Something's wrong... Get away!!!"

The sensory enhancement from the potion desperately warned him.

Without another word, Evan turned and ran, quickly ducking into the factory building opposite him.

Behind him, Zack and another group of thugs heard the commotion and hurriedly raised their flashlights, moving in from another direction to surround him.

Their beams swept over the empty rooms, revealing only two companions lying on the ground—one unconscious, the other rolling around while clutching his knee.

"Chase him!"

Zack caught up from behind, pistol already in hand and aimed forward.

"I'd like to see whether this sickly bastard can dodge my bullets!"

The group rushed after him, flashlight beams swaying through the factory corridors as their footsteps rang out in a messy, panicked rhythm.

Then they saw it.

At the exit on the other end of the factory, a figure stood with its back to them, completely motionless.

Moonlight streamed in through the broken skylight, falling over the figure's shoulders and outlining a blurry silhouette.

As if provoking them.

Blood rushed to Zack's head.

He raised his pistol, aimed at the figure's back, and pulled the trigger.

Bang!

The gunshot exploded through the enclosed factory, making everyone's ears ring.

Muzzle flash burst from the barrel, illuminating Zack's twisted face.

The bullet hit.

A spray of dark liquid burst from the figure's abdomen.

The surrounding thugs erupted into excited shouts.

They all desperately wanted guns of their own. Seeing the weapon's power now sent their adrenaline soaring to its peak.

"Get him!"

Zack charged forward, waving his gun.

Then he stopped.

The shot figure did not fall.

It slowly turned its head.

The harsh flashlight beams fell upon that face. Every shout was cut off as if by an invisible hand, stopping abruptly.

It was a deathly pale face, utterly bloodless.

Its eyes were scarlet, with two dark flames burning in their irises.

Its lips parted, revealing two rows of teeth. The two upper canines were far longer than any human's should have been—sharp, curved, and gleaming wetly.

A stranger.

A Monster.