Knower's First Battle

Less than half a breath after Fan Ning's startled cry, a pale blue shadow had already taken shape on the mirror's surface.

The indistinct shadow bored out as if emerging from the water, thrusting a long-handled dagger straight at Fan Ning!

Fortunately, Fan Ning had already sprung up in alarm while it was taking shape. He raised the woven armchair he had been sitting in and swung it straight at the incoming dagger!

"Ah!!" Hiran, who had just been asleep, screamed in terror.

Crack—

Wood chips flew everywhere.

The figure in the mirror drove its dagger through the chair, the blade protruding several centimeters farther and glinting coldly right before Fan Ning's nose.

The tremendous impact knocked the chair from his hands above his head.

His feet stumbled, and he staggered several steps backward.

Another crack rang out.

The blue figure swiftly pulled the dagger free from the wood.

He drew his wrist back slightly to gather force, then hurled it fiercely at Fan Ning, three or four meters away.

The dagger carved a razor-sharp streak of light through the air.

At such a short distance, there was simply no time to dodge.

Yet before the figure had gathered its strength, Fan Ning's Inspiration had already given him a fierce premonition of danger. As though he had foreseen its flight path, he desperately twisted his waist and shoulders to one side—

His entire body lost balance and fell backward as he shouted, "Hiran, smash both mirrors! Hurry!"

He had no time to think deeply about how this anomaly worked, but that was the command he could think of in the shortest possible time.

The dagger grazed past his neck and buried itself in a plush toy hanging on the wall!

He reached up to touch his carotid artery. There was a wound, neither deep nor shallow. The capillary blood had not yet begun to seep out, but his skin stung faintly.

Fan Ning's heart pounded wildly!

This was not a matter of it missing by a few more centimeters!

Maybe if it had gone one or two millimeters deeper, he would have had to clutch his neck as blood gurgled out and wait to die!

Fortunately, though the little girl on the other side was panicking, the moment she heard Fan Ning's voice, she immediately carried out his command.

And she chose the most efficient method—

She swiftly climbed to the edge of the bed beside the dressing table, picked up the small silver-framed mirror beside the Candle, then looked toward the large standing mirror on the other side—

And threw it straight over!

A clattering burst of shattering sounded as both mirrors broke.

At the same time came a dull metallic click.

The blue figure's halo faded further, making his entire form slightly clearer. A revolver appeared in his hand.

What Fan Ning had heard was the sound of the revolver's hammer being cocked, or its cylinder turning.

The hand holding the gun was already raised, and it was aimed at Hiran.

"Bastard!" At the sight, Fan Ning's mind filled with fury and fear.

Less than four or five seconds had passed since it began, yet this figure had shown no room for communication between them. Three times in a row, it had launched killing moves meant to take their lives!

Fan Ning sprang up from the floor and, without the slightest hesitation, pounced at the girl standing on the bed. As he fell through the air, he adjusted his posture slightly and put himself in front of her.

Bang—! Bang—! The blue figure seemed to lower his aim slightly from Hiran's position and pulled the trigger twice.

Fan Ning thought those two bullets should have been fired at a point about ten centimeters above his tailbone, at the instant he pounced on Hiran before they hit the ground.

But strangely, he did not feel as though he had been shot.

Although Fan Ning had never experienced it himself, surely being shot should have hurt so badly he would wish he were dead.

This pajama set could not possibly be bulletproof, could it?

Instead, the white gelatinous light screen over his Aether Body seemed to tremble twice.

"Was it that temporary resonance after coming out of the Migrant Surge? An aftershock? An echo?" He was not certain himself.

The two of them crashed heavily onto the bed, Fan Ning on top and Hiran beneath him,

Their faces nearly pressed together. The girl before him had her lips pursed tight, her brows drawn together, her cheeks tense. Tears welled in the eyes fixed on Fan Ning.

Her expression was a mixture of terror, grievance, bewilderment, worry, anger, and all sorts of other emotions.

But Fan Ning had no time to say anything. He scrambled up in an instant, turned around, and completely shielded Hiran behind him.

By then, the blue halo had nearly vanished. Fan Ning could finally see that this was an ordinary human: about as thin as he was, dressed in a gray fitted outfit and wearing a white mask.

Seeing that his two shots had clearly hit their target, yet the man before him had not been wounded, the gray-clad man finally froze for a brief moment.

But he clearly would not give Fan Ning time to catch his breath. He immediately pulled the revolver's trigger at Fan Ning again.

And this time, he was aiming at Fan Ning's head!

Bang!—Bang!—Bang!—

Three shots in succession, without the slightest hesitation!

When the bullets came within two or three centimeters of Fan Ning's skin, they seemed to meet tremendous resistance. Their speed plummeted, and in the end they struck his brow, cheek, and nose—painfully.

Especially the last one to his nose. Fan Ning felt warm liquid already flowing from his nostrils.

The light screen of his Aether Body shook violently.

When the third bullet struck Fan Ning's nose and fell away, countless pale golden motes burst from his body.

The light screen finally shattered!

"A Knower? How could this commission possibly involve a Knower?" The gray-clad man's expression, previously devoid of any emotion, finally changed.

Inside the revolver, aside from the chamber left empty to prevent accidental firing, all five bullets had been fired.

He did not dare slow his movements. He skillfully flicked out the cylinder, took bullets from the pouch at his ribs, and began reloading while taking a slight step back.

Click, click...

Naturally, Fan Ning would not give him time to reload. He grabbed a stool beside him and charged over, preparing to bring it down on the man.

The gray-clad man was extremely practiced at loading bullets, and because he had widened the distance between them, he quickly pressed the cylinder back into its brass frame.

Just as he was about to aim at Fan Ning again—

One invisible thread of Fan Ning's Inspiration detected a burning candle, while another outlined the revolver's entire casing and grip.

He imagined connecting them, then gently tugging them toward each other—

The candle went out.

The gray-clad man suddenly felt the gun in his hand turn as scorching hot as a branding iron, its wooden grip directly charring black.

With no mental preparation whatsoever, the gun fell straight from his hand—indeed, even if he had wanted to hold on, he could not have, let alone aim it.

But he still instinctively tried to seize the gun on the floor.

What greeted him was the stool in Fan Ning's hand.

With a dull bang, the stool slammed solidly into the man's head, jarring Fan Ning so hard that the web between his thumb and forefinger nearly split.

Though Fan Ning was not particularly physically strong, he was still an adult man in his early twenties. With adrenaline pumping madly through him, that blow sent the gray-clad man seeing stars, his temples throbbing violently.

Fan Ning threw away the stool and bent down, reaching out.

Just as he was about to touch the ground, the gray-clad man endured the intense pain and kicked the gun away.

Fan Ning had no time to retrieve it and could only grab another weapon at hand.

Who would have thought the gray-clad man did not want to keep tangling with him like this? He quickly retreated several more steps.

Hiran had thought Fan Ning had already been shot, and she had not considered the burst of shattered light motes too deeply. A trace of ruthlessness and hatred flashed through the little girl's eyes as she jumped off the bed and hurried toward the gun.

The gray-clad man beckoned, and the dagger buried in the plush toy on the wall actually spun through the air back into his hand.

"Hiran, watch out!" Fan Ning cried out.

His Inspiration reached once more toward the scorching revolver on the floor and the dagger in the gray-clad man's hand.

Outline, connect, pull—

The dagger suddenly became scorching hot.

But perhaps because the gun it exchanged temperature with had cooled considerably, or because the gray-clad man had steeled himself this time—he endured the searing pain in his palm, his arm trembling as he raised the dagger.

Suddenly—

Crack, crack, crack...

The moisture condensed from the gray-clad man's breath on his face, along with his mask, froze into a dense layer of solid ice!

At the same time, a small hole melted through the solid ice outside the roof above the bedroom ceiling, exposing bluish-gray bricks and tiles.

Fan Ning had used Temperature Exchange once again!

The gray-clad man's vision was obstructed, and the dagger he threw deviated greatly from its path. It swept past Hiran's side without incident!

Then it curved back toward Fan Ning like a boomerang! Only its path was even farther off.

Another dull bang rang out. This time, Fan Ning put every ounce of strength he had into it.

The stool struck the man's head so hard that wood chips flew.

The gray-clad man finally slumped, staggering several times before collapsing into a seated position in the corner.

"Caloen, where were you shot?" The little girl's voice sounded as though she was about to cry.

Fan Ning's arms were aching and swollen too, and he gasped for breath. "I wasn't shot. Stop crying already."

He also felt his thoughts dispersing into emptiness, his temples throbbing, with little Inspiration remaining.

He did not know whether the ability itself consumed a great deal, whether the temperature difference he had exchanged was too great, or whether the distance had been too far.

At his gesture, Hiran obediently handed over the revolver she had picked up.

Fan Ning then aimed the gun at the gray-clad man by the wall.

Suppressing the killing intent in his heart, he asked in an icy voice, "Who are you? What do you want?"