92. Even Faster Than Me
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After leaving Holden’s house, Dean mounted his motorcycle and headed home, intending to prepare thoroughly before visiting the estate in North Las Vegas to meet Gru Stone.
Upon arriving home and parking his bike, he habitually activated his God’s-eye view to scan the house. A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes, and an unsettling feeling crept up within him.
“Guests?”
Instinctively, Dean summoned his spectral armor to shield himself, then cautiously approached the door.
His God’s-eye view swept the interior with a full 360-degree scan—checking the kitchen, shadowy corners, behind the sofa, and the upstairs corridor.
His eyebrows rose sharply.
Two black-clad figures, dressed in black stand-collar coats with face masks, lurked furtively at either side of the upstairs corridor. Each gripped a small object, though it was too far away to discern clearly.
Nonchalantly, Dean opened the door and stepped into the living room, then twisted his wrist with a click to lock the door behind him.
Step... step... step, step.
He hummed a little tune, his expression relaxed as he ascended the creaky old wooden stairs, which groaned like a coffin lid with every step.
Finally, his God’s-eye view focused on the two figures’ equipment: in the left hand, a silenced pistol; in the right hand, a slender, transparent syringe filled with a small amount of liquid.
Dean continued forward without a hint of alarm, like a fool blindly walking into the barrel of a gun.
The shadow near the outer wall crouched like a cat, slowly closing in on the approaching man.
He moved his right elbow, raised the syringe-bearing hand, aiming the needle forward, ready to strike with a quick lunge.
But neither of the two attackers knew what kind of opponent they faced.
Invisible shadows danced.
A cold breeze swept through the corridor, brushing their faces.
Chilling as if touched by the hand of death, causing them to shiver involuntarily, goosebumps rising all over.
Pfft!
The next moment—
The inner man’s wrist twitched uncontrollably, the power of his mind diverting the shimmering needle’s tip to pierce his own chin.
A prick, a press.
The liquid in the syringe immediately injected into the would-be assailant, draining to the bottom.
“Fako!”
Two startled shouts rang out in quick succession. At that very moment, Dean suddenly lunged upstairs—
Level 2 combat activated.
His lethal skills, honed through countless trials, sprang forth reflexively.
Turn, raise the leg!
His left foot pointed sharply, like a dagger, slicing through the air with a crisp sound, striking at the unsuspecting shadow’s groin.
The shadow just withdrew the empty syringe from under his chin, unable to react in time. With a soft “pfft,” Dean’s full force landed squarely on his vital spot.
A burst of blood erupted from his crotch.
Writhing in excruciating pain, the man curled up, eyes rolling back beneath his mask, veins bulging grotesquely on his neck.
His body’s self-defense mechanism caused him to lose consciousness instantly.
The silenced pistol slipped from his grasp.
He toppled forward.
But Dean crossed his hands and pushed the half-conscious man forward as a shield against the companion behind him.
The companion panicked and retreated, raising a Kruger double-action pistol, trying to shoot Dean hiding behind the human shield.
But the trigger seemed jammed; he pulled twice without firing.
Unable to counterattack, he staggered back and slammed heavily against the wall, his spine striking the corner.
He groaned softly, face paling.
Bang!
Dean swung a hook punch from behind the shield’s shoulder, smashing the man’s nose, breaking and skewing it to one side, blood streaming down in two red streaks.
A sharp, stinging pain flooded the brain, and the man’s weapon fell to the floor.
But it wasn’t over yet!
The shield slid aside, exposing a gap.
Pfft!
Thud!
Dean’s lightning-fast double strike followed.
A horizontal palm strike sliced his opponent’s windpipe; as the man clutched his throat in silent agony, Dean’s knee crashed into his groin.
“Skill proficiency +1, Combat Level 2 (88/300)”
The man, defenseless from top and bottom, collapsed to his knees, falling in a heap with his companion, who was immediately injected with a needle in the neck.
The fight was over in less than five seconds.
The anesthetic took effect; the two bound by shadows gradually slipped into unconsciousness.
Dean collected the two silenced pistols from the floor, searched the attackers, found a bunch of keys, and removed their masks—revealing two bearded, horse-faced men with deep eye sockets, hooked noses, both about thirty years old.
Even unconscious, their mouths twitched in pain.
...
“Playing dirty with me, even using anesthetic needles?”
Dean’s gaze shifted. The fierce battle inside the house ended instantly; the sounds were muffled by the shadows, leaving the neighbors unaware.
What next? Call the police?
In the past, he might have considered it, since he knew many at the LVPD who would handle these two killers for him.
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But after Gru Stone’s acquittal, Dean’s trust in the LVPD plummeted sharply.
“I’ll handle this myself, but I won’t mess up my home.”
He reined in the raw killing intent burning in his eyes, quickly cleaned the shallow blood stains on the floor, then found some rope and tied the two up in his car.
...
Driving to a remote wilderness, Dean took off one attacker’s coat for later use, then tossed them into the overgrown sandy ground.
Drawing his silenced pistol, he aimed at their foreheads and fired a round each.
“Whizz whizz...”
“Skill proficiency +5*2, Shooting Level 1 (200/200)
Level up?
Yes!
Shooting Level 1 → Level 2 (0/300)
Agility: 12.7 → 13.2
Perception: 10.8 → 11.8
...
Heat, intense itching.
Tendons, ligaments, nerves—especially around the eyes, ears, mouth, and nose—felt as if ants were crawling, biting, tearing, then healing.
But the sensation vanished quickly.
Dean felt a surge of practical knowledge about sniper rifles flooding his mind. Opening his eyes, a brilliant sparkle flashed and faded.
A slight boost in perception brought him close to the normal human limit of 12, and the world seemed suddenly different.
The pitch-black night gained a touch of brightness; visibility increased markedly. He could see every spine on a cactus ten meters away with perfect clarity.
His cheeks and the backs of his hands felt the night breeze clearly, sensing the direction of the air flow.
The scent of blood, fresh grass, and earth smelled richer.
...
There were other indescribable changes, intuitive in nature.
...
He twisted his wrists and ankles, moved his limbs, feeling his body’s newfound agility, a satisfied smile crossing his lips.
Previously, with 12.7 agility and 11.4 strength, his 100-meter sprint was exactly 10 seconds.
Now, with 13.2 agility, he was confident he could break 9.8 seconds and win the Olympic 100-meter sprint gold.
...
Suppressing his excitement, Dean took out his spirit board, sensing two new spirits within, and smiled slightly.
Interrogating the living might be fooled by lies, but the dead cannot lie.
The old routine: alcohol to calm the body, then fire to ignite the corpse.
He drove back but didn’t return home. Unsure if more assassins would come, he rented a room in a nondescript hotel downtown without surveillance. He took out his spirit board and divination chessboard and set them up.
A translucent, hazy spirit floated before him.
Dean gently spun the spirit board with his left hand and began questioning.
“Name…”
Sizzle—
The board turned, assembling on the divination board—
“Tadeo Keaton.”
“Age?”
“35.”
“Occupation?”
“Hitman.”
“Why attack me?”
“Private commission.”
“Who commissioned you? How much was the pay?”
“Gru Stone, twenty thousand dollars.”
“Son of the Stone Estate?”
“Yes.”
Dean’s pupils contracted sharply.
This bastard moved faster than he did!
But only twenty thousand to buy a life? Is life so cheap nowadays?
“Did I just stir up a hornet’s nest? Rich second generation, big businessmen, politicians?”
“I didn’t plan to deal with you openly, but if you play dirty…” A chilling light flashed in Dean’s eyes. “I can only see this through to the end.”
He turned back to the stunned ghost.
“Why did Gru Stone have you use anesthetics instead of killing me outright? What did he want by bringing me over?”
“Unknown.”
“Where were you planning to deliver me?”
“Old Town Vegas, 121 Palm Street.”
The destination was not the Stone family estate.
Dean noted the address.
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“When was the delivery scheduled?”
“Before dawn, six this morning; otherwise, the contract is void.”
Dean glanced at the clock; it was now three a.m.—plenty of time.
“Any secret code or password for the handoff?”
“Knock three times, pause one second, knock three times again. ‘Goods’ left outside, then leave.”
“Alright, so I’m a human punching bag worth twenty thousand?” Dean sneered. Was this just to bind him up and torture him as revenge in the business world?
His smile faded abruptly as he realized a question.
“Before me, did you help Stone kidnap anyone else?”
“Yes.”
“Who? Names, ages, addresses, dates of abduction—tell me everything.”
The spirit pushed the board, assembling long streams of information. The details were too much to remember mentally, so Dean took out pen and paper to record everything.
Ten names, shocking to behold.
From ages and names, men and women, young and old, from remote suburbs, towns outside Las Vegas, even across state lines.
Kidnapped this year, distributed evenly from January through October.
About one abduction per month.
Dean himself was the November victim.
“Rich people really are above the rest, hiring others to kidnap so many innocents without consequence.” Dean’s eyes gleamed with mockery. “A big fish hiding in downtown Las Vegas, committing crimes under the LVPD’s nose, yet no one notices.”
Perhaps Stone was just very secretive and paid to cover it up.
If it weren’t for Dean’s unlucky kidnapping, this silent evil would have continued.
“Have you helped Stone dispose of bodies?”
“No.”
Dean rubbed his temples.
“Could the young master handle the bodies himself? Surely he wouldn’t just release them.”
Palm Street houses many residents; secretly disposing of ten bodies without a trace would be difficult.
“Or maybe he hires professionals for that.”
At the thought, a strange intuition arose in Dean’s heart.
Stone’s series of kidnappings were not simply for torture, amusement, or sale.
Moreover, since he could pay others to do his dirty work, why did he risk so much personally kidnapping Tim Campbell at Macy’s? Such recklessness was uncharacteristic.
Questions piled up in his mind.
Suddenly, a bright red alert flashed in his system.
New event triggered—Purpose.
The youngest son of the Stone family has commissioned multiple kidnappings, demanding “alive captives,” “door-to-door delivery,” with an astonishingly regular schedule—approximately one per month—targeting all ages and genders.
He personally targeted Tim.
All signs suggest something suspicious.
Now, use your abilities to uncover the truth—what is Gru Stone’s real purpose behind this frequent kidnapping spree?
Difficulty: Easy
Progress (0/100)
Deadline: 24 hours
Reward: 30 experience
Penalty: None
...
Dean’s eyes lit up—there was indeed a second event hidden!
He turned to the dazed spirit, his gaze icy.
“That’s enough questions. See you off!”
Dean’s spirit board transformed into a sharp sword, thrusting forward.
Tadeo Keaton’s soul instantly turned to dust.
Dean summoned another spirit, repeated the interrogation to confirm consistent answers, then sent it away with a single stab.
“You destroyed two ghosts using the spirit board; skill proficiency +1*2, Combat Level 2 (90/300)”
...
In the pitch-black room, two cold glints flickered.
Dean racked the slide, chambered a bullet, and checked his mimicry skill—still several days from cooldown.
But he couldn’t wait.
“Old debts unsettled, new debts added.”
“Stone sent people to kidnap me with a tranquilizer gun this time; next time it might be a sniper. Then I’m dead for sure.”
“I must act immediately and solve this problem once and for all.”
“121 Palm Street.”
“I’ll swallow my pride and deliver the ‘goods’ myself, giving you a big surprise.”
(Chapter End)