Evolution

Adams did not spare the two newly raised mounds another glance. He casually lifted his right hand, palm down, toward the muddy ground beneath his feet, soaked in blood.

A viscous substance, as deep in color as the earth itself, condensed and flowed out of thin air beneath his palm.

In an instant, the thick muddy substance separated from his palm, fell to the ground, and rapidly took shape, solidified, and rose.

Within a few breaths, five soldiers made entirely of earth and stone, identical in color and texture to the ground, stood silently before Adams.

"Clean up the battlefield, collect the spoils, finish off anyone still breathing, and throw all the corpses into the sea."

Adams's voice was calm and flat as he issued an unquestionable command. He was a man of his word; what he said, he did.

The five Dirt Soldiers silently bowed. Like the most loyal machines, they immediately turned and strode toward the fallen lackeys with heavy yet swift steps.

They silently searched, dealt finishing blows, collected, and carried. Their movements were efficient and cold.

Adams stepped forward, crossing twisted corpses and thick pools of blood as he headed for an inconspicuous corner at the deepest end of the alley.

Several rotten wooden barrels and miscellaneous junk had been piled there. He stretched out a large hand stained with blood and easily pushed aside the obstacles, revealing a dust-covered travel backpack beneath them.

He had deliberately placed it there before the battle began.

He picked up the backpack, casually brushed off the dust and wood chips, then sat cross-legged beside a pool of blood that had yet to dry. The massive backpack rested on his lap as he untied its sturdy straps and reached inside to rummage around.

Very soon, he pulled out a large object simply wrapped in broad leaves.

He peeled back the leaves, revealing a processed steak inside. Without any hesitation, Adams opened his mouth and tore into it with a savage bite.

The tough sinews were easily ripped apart. He chewed in huge mouthfuls, his powerful jaws opening and closing with force, producing a chilling sound of swallowing.

The enormous steak disappeared at a visible rate. In only a short while, Adams had eaten it clean, sucking and chewing away even the remaining membranes.

He exhaled in satisfaction. His formerly flat, firm abdomen now swelled high as if inflated, stretching his tattered clothes taut enough to nearly burst.

Then, a sudden transformation occurred!

A stream of scorching white vapor abruptly rose from Adams's bloodstained silver-white hair.

Wisps of white steam began rising from his entire body, and the air around him warped slightly from his suddenly elevated body temperature.

Sizzle... sizzle, sizzle...

Fine, teeth-grinding sounds came from all over his body. Lead bullet fragments embedded in his muscles and buried deep in his tissues were slowly forced out through gruesome wounds by a power from within.

From the dark red holes in his flesh, distorted, misshapen lead fragments were expelled along with dirty blood, clattering down into the pool of blood and mud beneath him.

At the same time, the pores all over his body seemed to open like floodgates, beginning to seep copious amounts of viscous fluid.

The black fluid carried an indescribable stench and filth. It swiftly covered the blood and mud on his skin, then gathered into tiny streams that ran down the grooves of his powerful muscles, dripping onto the ground and mixing with the bright red blood into a strange dark brown.

As the black fluid drained away and the bullets were forced out, something even more astonishing happened!

The dense gunshot wounds across his body, deep enough to expose bone, and the huge gashes torn open by the ship's anchor... vanished as if erased by an invisible eraser.

His torn skin visibly closed, healed, and regenerated. The overturned flesh contracted inward, severed blood vessels reconnected, and ripped muscle fibers wriggled and grew...

In only a few breaths, every horrifying wound had completely disappeared!

His skin was smooth as ever, gleaming with healthy, vigorous luster under the pale sunlight filtering through the gaps in the gun smoke.

Only his shredded rags and the dried dark-brown stains covering his body bore witness to the brutal battle that had just taken place.

Adams lowered his head and glanced at his unscathed chest and arms, his face showing no surprise.

As though all of this were as natural as breathing or drinking water. Over the past two years, he had witnessed this body's evolution countless times.

After every intense expenditure and every serious injury, as long as it consumed enough massive, pure food energy, this body would instinctively absorb it and transform, thoroughly purging all external injuries and internal toxins in this manner before becoming even tougher.

He slowly rose to his feet. As he stood, the swelling in his abdomen rapidly subsided as if air were leaking out, restoring the distinct, rock-like contours of his abdominal muscles.

He rolled his neck and shoulders, his joints letting out soft cracks brimming with newly born strength.

Just as he was sensing his own increased power, the five Dirt Soldiers had already completed their task efficiently.

All gang members, including the two leaders, had been sunk into the sea. The things they had carried were placed at Adams's feet:

A jingling pouch of Beli, standard-issue longswords, more than a dozen usable flintlock pistols and their matching ammunition, some scattered gold and silver jewelry, and several small oil-paper packets containing powder that gave off a strange smell.

Adams's gaze fell on the flintlocks and longswords. Their number was clearly reflected in his eyes. With a thought, he created more than twenty new Dirt Soldiers, neither too many nor too few, exactly matching the weapons on the ground.

He gave the first five soldiers a slight nod.

"Take the money pouch and jewelry."

The five soldiers immediately bent down and grabbed the pouch and the meager gold and silver.

As for those oil-paper packets on the ground giving off a cloying scent? He did not even mention them.

"You, pick up the guns and swords."

He turned to the more than twenty newly created soldiers and lifted his chin toward the pile of weapons.

The command was issued, crisp and decisive. Adams no longer looked at his legion. He slung the backpack over his shoulders, turned, and headed toward the docks, with the Dirt Soldiers following close behind.

Half an hour later.

Adams stood before a relatively orderly two-story building. On the crooked wooden sign by the entrance, a blurry dagger emblem could barely be made out.

He looked up at the tightly shut door and let out an almost inaudible sigh.

"I hope this place doesn't disappoint me."

Half an hour earlier, he had learned the locations of the Blood Anchor Gang and Dagger Gang headquarters from local fishermen at the docks.

He had gone to the Blood Anchor Gang's hideout first, but the filthy, chaotic environment there had made him physically uncomfortable.

He had only created another five soldiers and ordered them to collect the spoils there before hurriedly leaving for this place.

After ordering the armed soldiers to stand guard, Adams raised a hand and gently pushed open the heavy wooden door. With a creak, the scene inside unfolded before him:

Rough log tables and chairs lay scattered about, while shattered clay cups and unidentified stains littered the floor.

A dim corridor extended inward on the left, ending at several broken doors—the communal sleeping quarters where thirty Dagger Gang lackeys had been crammed together.

On the right, a crude wooden staircase led to the second floor, where the gang leader's private bedroom was located.

Adams thought for a moment, then created several soldiers the same color as the floor, bringing the total to fifty—the maximum number he could currently create.

"Search for valuables."

He gave the newly created soldiers the simplest possible order.

The soldiers immediately sprang into action, flooding into the dormitory and throughout the hall, while dull impacts and the sounds of breaking wooden boards rang out continuously.

Adams ignored the chaos behind him and merely tilted his head slightly toward the five soldiers carrying the valuables.

"Follow me."

He stepped onto the creaking wooden staircase, the five soldiers carrying the money pouch and jewelry following silently behind him.

Two and a half minutes later, he stood before the only heavy wooden door on the second floor.

The door was unlocked. He reached out and pushed it open.

The room beyond was not small, yet it was filled with a suffocating mixture of luxury and filth.

An astonishingly large bed occupied the center. Directly across from it stood a rough stone pillar. Three figures were tied to it.

The ropes bit deeply into their flesh. The three young women were barely clothed, their hair dry and tangled like weeds, their faces still marked by bruises and dried tear stains.

Their eyes were hollow and unfocused, like rag dolls whose souls had been torn away. They showed no reaction whatsoever to the huge figure entering through the door, as though they had long since sunk into endless darkness, numb even to fear.

The air still carried the scent of cheap perfume, sweat, and a kind of indescribable despair.

Adams's brows furrowed sharply. He strode over without a word, not even looking into the three women's empty eyes.

He extended a palm-sized hand and seized one of the thick hemp ropes embedded in a woman's shoulder blade. His fingers tightened like steel pincers.

Rip!

The tough hemp rope snapped between his fingers like a rotten blade of grass.

The broken end dangled limply. He moved with astonishing speed, grabbing and tearing with both hands. Rip! Rip! Rip! The remaining ropes snapped beneath his fingers, fragments scattering everywhere.

The entire process was brutal, direct, and efficient.

With their restraints suddenly gone, the three women collapsed along the cold stone pillar like boneless lumps of clay, curling up on the floor and trembling.

"The Dagger Gang is gone. You're free. Go back where you came from."

Adams's voice rang through the empty bedroom like a block of ice smashing against stone, utterly devoid of warmth. Setting aside his age, the important thing was that he had no interest in things that clearly were not original.

The three women jolted as if struck by invisible whips.

After several seconds of dead silence, immense terror and joy finally crashed through their numb nerves like a tsunami.

Whimpers and muffled sobs sounded intermittently. Struggling, they used what little strength remained to support one another, crawling toward the door on hands and feet without daring to look at Adams again. Their instinct to escape this den of evil overwhelmed everything else.

Their stumbling footsteps faded down the stairs. Only Adams and the five soldiers behind him, holding the valuables like lifeless clay statues, remained in the bedroom.

"Put them down. Go stand guard outside."

Adams gave the five soldiers an order.

The soldiers obeyed. They gently placed the money pouch and jewelry on the dark red bedspread stained with grime, producing dull metallic clinks.

Then they turned, marched out of the bedroom in neat, heavy steps, and closed the heavy wooden door behind them.

Adams removed the travel backpack from his shoulder and placed it on the floor by his feet. He crouched down and reached inside.

A moment later, he withdrew his hand. In his palm was a strange object.

It had a smooth, streamlined casing that glinted with the cold, hard metallic sheen of something from another era. About the width of a palm, it resembled a wristwatch.

Most strangely, its surface was not glass, but an entire black mirror like a frozen night sky.

TO BE CONTINUED