Crack, crack.The soft sound of joint bones that had long remained motionless broke the silence within the underground clinic.Relying on movements that still felt slightly stiff and sluggish, Elias began to lift his right hand from the surface of the sheet. The hand that had spent the past month curled dead like a stiff bird claw now slowly opened wide. His fingers still trembled quite violently, yet all his movements now fully obeyed the direct commands of his central brain.The Lazarus AI chip implanted at the base of his brain acted effectively as a bypass signal bridge. This micro-metal device rerouted command signals from Elias's brain, bypassed the scorched and damaged spinal nerve pathways, and directly zapped the muscle tissues of his physical body.Elias still could not walk normally. The paralysis in both legs remained severe, and the muscle tissue in his lower limbs had undergone significant atrophy. Yet, his entire upper body, including the movement of both hands and the

The pitch-black limousine cut through the rain, then glided smoothly into a quiet alley located directly behind the Grand Continental Hotel.The car's engine was left idling softly. In the dim passenger cabin, Elias gazed at the three holographic screens floating before his wheelchair. The screens displayed the blueprints of the hotel's fifteenth floor, complete with the heatmap positions of the guards."We're in position, El," Sloane reported from the driver's seat. "Ninety-five meters right below the Triumvirat's secret penthouse. But this hotel is a neutral zone. In the lobby, there are hundreds of their enforcers having coffee together. If you start a ruckus up there, they'll surround this hotel in minutes."Kael Thorne leaned his back against the limousine's leather seat. "So, what are you going to do now, Boss? Possess an enforcer right outside their meeting room door?"Elias shook his head slightly. "Physical violence is the language of the weak. Tonight, we use a more elegant

The pitch-black armored limousine stopped quietly at the edge of the city square, about ninety meters away from the crowd of civilians and the line of Triumvirat enforcers. The diesel engine hummed softly, breaking the sobbing cries of the townspeople kneeling while awaiting execution.The Bratva commander holding the megaphone immediately turned toward the vehicle. He furrowed his brow, suspicious of the appearance of the luxury car without license plates. "Hey! Whose car is that?! Smash the engine!" the commander ordered his subordinates.Five enforcers in the outermost row turned around, aiming their AK-47 assault rifles at the limousine.Yet, inside the dark cabin of the car, Elias did not wait for his enemies to unleash their bullets. The Ghost of Saint-Bastian had no need to wait for his enemies to kill each other to acquire corpses.Elias gazed at the holographic screen before him, then gave a brief command. "Now, Kael."On the rooftop of a three-story office building overlooki

The luxury penthouse suite had truly transformed into a deeply blood-soaked execution chamber.Nikolai, the grand boss of the Bratva faction who had long been feared by thousands of mercenaries across every corner of the world, now knelt in total surrender upon the carpet fabric soaked in puddles of his own ally's blood. The giant-bodied man wept bitterly to hold back his fear, while his entire sturdy frame shook with extreme violence.On his left side, Kenjiro's corpse stood frozen and stiff, gripping a fresh, blood-stained katana sword whose sharp tip pressed tightly against Nikolai's neck area. On his right side, El Sapo's corpse stood with its head hanging sideways from a severely torn throat, while pointing the muzzle of a gold pistol straight at Nikolai's temple.Meanwhile, the Bratva field commander who had been kneeling in terror in the corner of the room all this time had fainted unconscious from experiencing severe shock after witnessing two mafia bosses rise back up from th

Acid rain poured over Saint-Bastian once more, leaving corrosive streaks across the glass windows of the newly rebuilt Central Police Headquarters. The scent of fresh paint and wet cement hung heavy in the air, trying to mask the lingering stench of Captain Briggs's corruption.Inside the sterile, brightly lit main interrogation room, a man stood motionless before a transparent glass board.He wore a sharply pressed dark gray suit without a single wrinkle. His posture was upright, his face clear of mafia scars, and his eyes radiated pure analytical sharpness. He was not a local cop. The silver badge bearing a globe emblem on his collar proved his authority.Special Agent Arthur Cross. Interpol Transnational Crime Division.Cross was an anomaly in this city. He drank no cheap whiskey, accepted no brown envelopes, and harbored no moral blind spots. He had been sent directly from headquarters in Lyon to dissect a city that had just lost three global syndicates in a single night.Cross at