Chapter Sixty-Nine: When a Mind Adept Becomes an Assassin

Chapter Sixty-Nine: When a Thought Master Becomes an Assassin

He had expected to see Nalan Sheng panic, but Zhang Weilun only saw her give a faint smile, as if everything was unfolding exactly as she had foreseen.

The small storm projectile struck Nalan Sheng, and her body was instantly swept away by its force, carried off into the distance. Yet her form seemed to dissolve like smoke, stretched into a thin line.

“Not good, it’s an illusion!” Zhang Weilun immediately gathered the last remnants of his strength, conjuring a wind shield behind him...

But he was still a step too late. In the next instant, his entire body was seized by an invisible force, hoisted into the air, and then slammed down onto the ground. Pain shot through him as several ribs snapped. Again he was lifted, again he crashed down; with each impact, another rib broke.

“I... concede...” Zhang Weilun was forced to admit defeat aloud, fearing all his ribs would break otherwise.

Once he conceded, Nalan Sheng ceased her assault, ended all illusions, and formally secured victory. From this day forward, she was officially a qualified E-ranked psychic.

“Bravo!” Applause erupted as many stood to cheer. Xia Zheng was among them. In that moment, Nalan Sheng was like a star, greeted by the cheers of thousands. Yet the absence of her family from the Nalan clan cast a shadow over her expression.

Xia Zheng sneered inwardly—how petty the Nalan family was, lacking any true courage. No wonder they were merely a branch of the clan. By acting this way, they only deepened Shengsheng’s sense of estrangement.

He cared little for such matters. Now that Nalan Sheng had secured her professional credentials, the two could soon embark on their journey together.

His phone vibrated as Xia Zheng slowly left the hall. He knew Nalan Sheng would be occupied with media interviews, special visits from the Professional League, and invitations from numerous companies and teams—the military might even try to recruit her, despite the Nalan clan’s clear refusals.

Outside, the clamor faded. Xia Zheng saw that the call was from a hidden number, which piqued his curiosity.

Upon answering, a voice altered by a voice modulator spoke: “Xia Zheng, arrive at the location ten kilometers outside the city within half an hour. Your friends are in our hands—three women. If you’re late, you’ll bear the consequences.” The call ended, and another hidden number sent a ten-second video clip.

In the video, Meng Hu, Claire, and Zhang Ziqi were clearly unconscious, bound hand and foot, their clothing intact and unharmed. For reasons unknown, they had been drugged and now lay in a shabby room, with a camera set up nearby, apparently to record something.

Xia Zheng showed no outward anger; his gaze was icy cold, almost devoid of emotion.

He did not inform Nalan Sheng, but sent her a message: "Shengsheng, I’m picking up some company friends—let’s all have dinner together soon, at the latest tomorrow, maybe even tonight." Then he turned off his phone and paid it no further heed, swiftly leaving the League Hall.

As his figure faded, Nalan Rong emerged from the shadows, accompanied by several men in white brocade robes, black bands covering their eyes.

“Any movement from Sheng?” Nalan Rong asked.

“No unusual activity,” a white-robed, black-banded man replied.

“So, he plans to handle this alone. Should I call it fearless or reckless?” Nalan Rong remarked with a hint of mockery.

Another white-robed man observed, “But he’s not dragging Miss Sheng into danger—he shows some responsibility.”

A third asked, “Should we inform him of our arrangements at Delansol?”

“No need. The boy is too proud and aloof—let him rely on his own luck,” Nalan Rong shook his head. Xia Zheng’s fiercely independent nature made him unsuitable as an ally to the Nalan family.

With that, the group melted back into the shadows, leaving no trace behind.

Xia Zheng had his AI assistant, Yu Hua, set a thirty-minute countdown to keep track of time. He didn’t bother hailing a cab but broke into a run, controlling his speed so as not to attract too much attention. Even so, he became a focal point on the street, faster than many taxis.

Five minutes later, he exited Dannut City and entered the wilderness, accelerating to full speed. His figure was like an arrow loosed from the bow, scenery on either side blurring into streaks.

Ten kilometers was nothing at his pace—a matter of minutes—and he neared the destination under the cover of night.

Xia Zheng unfolded his spiritual senses, scanning the area. Within several hundred meters, every living creature, structure, terrain, and plant was mapped in his mind. Ten minutes had passed since he’d received the mysterious call and video; he resolved to familiarize himself with the surroundings.

Repeated scans finally located the captives: Meng Hu and the other two.

A dilapidated, two-story wooden building stood surrounded by more than fifty ambushers, all revealed under his spiritual vision.

Through his senses, three individuals exuded only the faintest hint of psychic energy—barely perceptible. Seven or eight others radiated stronger energy, and then twenty more showed even greater fluctuations. The last group of twenty-plus had the most intense energy flows.

Comparing his own aura to theirs, Xia Zheng gained insight: his energy was slightly higher than the three captives, but nearly equivalent. The enemy was at least B+ rank.

“If I’m right, the stronger one is, the more expertly they can control and conceal their energy. Those of lesser ability cannot mask their presence,” Xia Zheng concluded, forming his plan.

He avoided a frontal assault, opting to pick off targets one by one.

Inspired by Nalan Sheng, Xia Zheng used his psychic power to generate mist, cloaking the area within hundreds of meters in fog, then vanished within it.

“What’s going on, why is it so foggy?” Behind the damaged building, two patrolling guards paused. The larger man frowned at the white mist.

His companion replied, “Who knows? This place is nothing like the Western Territories—too much rain, always wet.”

“Yeah, this dump... but those three girls upstairs are something else. Too bad we don’t get to enjoy them,” the guard sighed regretfully.

The fog thickened before them. They paid it little mind, walking deeper until, suddenly, the white mist twisted into ropes, binding them fast.

Both were psychics, not easily subdued, but in the next second, one found his mouth suddenly pierced by a silent, sharp spike formed from condensed mist.

The other felt a blade pressed against the back of his neck, as a man's voice spoke: “Answer my questions honestly, and you’ll live. Otherwise, you’ll meet your comrade’s fate.”

“Who are you, how dare you threaten me?” the guard protested.

Another spike pierced his mouth, and he fell, dragged away by mist-formed ropes.

Xia Zheng appeared, muttering to himself, “Not an ordinary criminal group—their resolve is strong. No matter, I’ll just kill them all.”

He continued to eliminate the outer guards, and in moments, over a dozen lay dead by his hand.

He felt no pity; those who dared harm his friends and colleagues would soon target his family. Such threats must be stamped out at the first sign, never allowed to think they could control him.

Eventually, the loss of contact with the guards caused alarm among the rest, who organized into groups of five and ten to search the area. But the obscuring mist made it difficult to find him.

As their attention dispersed, Xia Zheng lured them one by one into the fog, ambushing them. All were below B rank, the strongest only C+. Against his stealth attacks, they stood little chance.

A team of ten included five enhancement-type psychics, four superhuman-types, and one nature-type. The nature psychic wielded wind powers similar to Zhang Weilun, but lacked lethal capability—he could only clear mist to expand visibility, his combat prowess unimpressive.

Whoosh!

An arrow shot suddenly toward the nature psychic.

“Careful!” A superhuman-type stepped in, punching the arrow aside. Yet the force behind it was unexpectedly strong; though deflected, it struck the wind psychic in the shoulder, missing his heart but still causing a painful wound.

He crouched, clutching his injury, as other guards crowded around. The next moment, the ground beneath them softened, and all fell into a deep pit that appeared where they had stood.

Water quickly flooded the pit, catching them off guard in this chain of traps.

As three struggled to climb out, two more arrows flew. One dropped back into the pit, clutching his throat; another grabbed an arrow, collapsed. The last was snared by mist-formed ropes and dragged into the woods.

“Speak—who are you, and why did you kidnap those three women?” Xia Zheng gripped the survivor’s shoulder. After three waves of assault, the man was near breaking.

“We’re... from the Delansol Consortium. The young master and the old master bribed a TV station, knocked out the three women during an interview, said it was to make you suffer for the humiliation they endured.”

With a crack, Xia Zheng snapped the man’s neck, then used the mist to drag his body deep into the forest for burial. He had become a cold-blooded assassin, showing no mercy.

“Delansol Consortium... I knew you’d be hostile, but never thought you’d target those close to me. Now you’ll pay. You will learn the price for touching anyone I care about.” In that moment, Xia Zheng’s eyes blazed with madness.