Chapter2

The iron hooks pierced through the collarbone, rubbing against the bones with each step. With every step, the force of the hooks grinding against the bone crevices caused excruciating pain, radiating from the collarbone to the entire chest and back. The steel chain dragged across the marble floor of the elevator car and corridor, making a rough metallic scraping sound, all the way from the first floor to the top floor.

When the two carved bronze doors opened in front of me, a blinding light rushed out.

Crystal chandeliers hung from the twelve-meter-high dome, and dozens of chandeliers lit up simultaneously, illuminating the entire banquet hall as bright as day. The air was filled with the scents of expensive perfumes and top-quality cigars, but these were quickly dispelled by the stench of blood dripping from my body—blood had dripped from the elevator entrance all the way to the banquet hall entrance, leaving a trail of deep red dots on the marble floor, like some kind of ominous arrow.

The 500-square-meter hall was packed with people. Almost all the city's prominent figures were present. Businessman in suits held champagne glasses in small circles, while socialites in evening gowns pointed their phones toward the entrance. Hundreds of eyes shone like spotlights, filled with undisguised curiosity and mockery.

"Young Master Victor has brought a new pet?"

"This is quite a unique look; he's still bleeding."

"Who's he? He looks pretty good in a fight."

"What can he fight? Didn't you see the chains are piercing his collarbone? He's a cripple."

Whispers arose from all directions. Victor walked ahead and suddenly yanked on the chain. The iron hook at my collarbone ripped open, the force tearing flesh and forcing me to stumble forward two steps, dragging me abruptly to the spotlight in the center of the banquet hall. The light shone directly on me, making the bloodstains particularly glaring; the dark red stains on my clothes looked like an abstract painting.

Viktor casually picked up a bottle of red wine from a passing waiter's tray, held it up so everyone could see the label—the vintage was enough to buy a family car. He flicked his wrist, and the bottom of the bottle smashed onto the marble floor.

Bang.

Dark red liquid mixed with sharp shards of glass splattered all over the floor. A few pieces bounced up and tore the fabric of my trousers, leaving shallow scratches on my skin. The smell of red wine mingled with the stench of blood, creating a cloying and pungent mixture.

"Lick it clean." Viktor straightened the cuffs of his bespoke suit, turned around, and gestured to the socialites around him, who were holding wine glasses. "Let me show you ladies how obedient the former greatest war god of the North is now."

A burst of laughter erupted around them. Countless cell phones were raised, flashes going off one after another, the sound of shutters blending into a cacophony of noise. A socialite covered her mouth, laughing until tears streamed down her face, while others, holding wine glasses, took a couple of steps forward to get a better look.

I didn't move.

The bone-piercing nails in my shoulders were still embedded in the bone crevices, suppressing the force and locking away my inner energy. But my back was straight, my gaze fixed straight ahead, falling on the broken glass and spilled red wine on the ground. I didn't bend over, nor did I utter a sound; I just stood there, like a rusty but unyielding iron stake.

The silence froze Viktor's smile for a moment. He had lost face in front of the socialite; his facial muscles twitched slightly, and his eyes turned cold.

"The bones are quite strong."

He took a tactical tablet from his adjutant, quickly swiping his fingers across the screen to project the interface onto the holographic screen in mid-air. It was the voltage monitoring system interface in the basement of Bunker 7, with camera footage displayed in sync—the cryo-chamber was in the center of the frame, its green light stable, and Elena's figure was shrouded in white mist. Real-time voltage readings and various life support system parameters were displayed at the bottom of the screen.

"The cryogenic chamber's standard operating voltage is 220 volts." Viktor's finger hovered above the voltage control slider. "If I pull it up slightly now, ten thousand volts of high voltage will instantly puncture all the chips. You tell me—"

He stared into my eyes and said, slowly and deliberately, "How many seconds can that woman inside last?"

My breath hitched. Elena's pale face, lying in the white mist, instantly filled my consciousness; that face was frozen in my memory as it had been five years ago.

"Kneel down." Victor's fingers touched the edge of the slider, his thumb pressing on the plastic casing, the slight clicking sound clearly audible in the now quiet banquet hall.

The surrounding scions of wealthy families, raising their glasses, shouted, "Didn't you hear what Master Victor said? You stray dog, kneel down! Kneel down!"

I closed my eyes.

The knees that never bent amidst the hail of artillery fire on the northern frontier, the knees that never bent while charging through enemy lines at minus forty degrees Celsius on the polar ice caps—they all paled in comparison to the faintly beating green electrocardiogram on the screen. As long as she can breathe, I'll swallow anything.

With knees bent, the body falls due to gravity.

Click.

His kneecap slammed heavily into the shards of broken glass scattered on the floor. The razor-sharp glass fragments instantly pierced the composite fabric of his tactical trousers, embedding themselves in his flesh and grinding against the thin bone at the front of his knee. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through his thigh like an electric current up his spine and into his brain. Crimson blood gushed from below his knee, mixing with the red wine on the floor and spreading a large, dark red stain along the marble's veins.

"I'm so impressed! Quick, take some pictures!"

"I recorded it! I'll post it on my social media!"

"What should the caption say? 'The former war god of the North, now the pet dog of young master Victor'?"

The crowd erupted in a frenzy. A blinding sea of flashes erupted, the shutters clicking incessantly. Those usually aloof celebrities were now pushing and shoving, phones in hand, like spectators watching a circus beast finally put on its show. Laughter filled the air. A woman in high heels stepped on my finger; she glanced down as her heel slid over it, but didn't even stop walking.

I kept my head down. Blood and wine spread beneath me, the dark red liquid slowly expanding. With each tiny adjustment of my knees, shards of glass were ground deeper between my bones. I swallowed the churning blood in my throat, each mouthful tasting of rust.

In the shadows unseen by all, his lowered eyes were as still as stagnant water. Beneath that stillness, the qi, locked tightly by the bone-piercing nails, was vibrating wildly at an alarming frequency, like a storm trapped in an iron cage. Each heartbeat was accompanied by a rebound of qi impacting and suppressing the patterns, and the nails emitted an extremely faint metallic hum, the frequency of which grew higher and higher.

I'm compressing. I'm forcing all my killing intent, humiliation, and rage deep into the very core of my body, until even my bone marrow is on the verge of resonating. The two long nails on my shoulder blades, unable to withstand the gradually boiling power within me, are showing micro-cracks on their compression patterns that are invisible to the naked eye.

I'm waiting. Waiting for a moment when I don't have to worry about anything anymore.