At the end of this convoy, a van welded all over with armor plates kept its distance, neither too close nor too far, maintaining about fifty ters from the dozen or so cars ahead that were ’joined together’.
"Progress is smooth." The glasses-wearing Hunter adjusted his glasses, "Though the timing was a bit earlier than expected, it seems to be effective."
"Shouldn’t draw the White Tiger over prematurely, right?" The Hunter driving expressed concern.
"We’ve already left Sunfall Ridge, and 5198 is chasing us from behind. If the White Tiger happens to co over now, everyone will be swallowed by 5198..." said the glasses-wearing Hunter.
"Now I’m rather worried that the White Tiger might not want to intervene... if so, it’ll take so effort to deal with the White Tiger later." The glasses-wearing Hunter continued.
"Let’s take it step by step, at any rate, first deal with these Dubhe... Dubhe... Dubhe... uh... uh..." The guy in the back who liked to flatter the glasses-wearing Hunter suddenly gasped as if suffocating, clutching his throat fiercely, his body convulsing uncontrollably, kicking the back of the front seat repeatedly.
"What’s wrong with you?" The glasses-wearing Hunter turned around, only to see a horrifying scene.
White fungal threads erged from the Hunter’s nostrils, eye sockets, and ear canals, swiftly climbing over his skin to cover him completely... within re seconds, his body was enveloped entirely by these threads.
Then these threads began collapsing inward until fully absorbed by a "new body."
A young man familiar to them replaced the Hunter and appeared in the back seat, offering a polite smile to the others in the vehicle.
"It’s you?!" The pupils behind the glasses of the Hunter constricted slightly—this guy who had devoured their companion was indeed one of those Hunters from Dubhe Tower!
"Kill him!!"
No need for the glasses-wearing Hunter to speak further, Old Snake had already drawn his dagger, poised to stab the young Hunter.
But the opponent’s reaction was quick too; in the instant that Old Snake swung out the dagger, he raised his hand and firmly grabbed Old Snake’s wrist.
Despite exerting all his strength, Old Snake couldn’t move his wrist an inch further, feeling as if it were trapped by a heavy vise rather than a human hand...
Yet, the next mont, the shocked expression on Old Snake’s face turned into a sinister smile of triumph.
He pressed lightly with his thumb on the end of the dagger handle, causing the blade to pop forward several centiters, the sharp tip piercing Sun Hang’s chest.
The wound was shallow, at most two or three milliters deep, but for Old Snake, that was entirely sufficient.
"You’re already dead." Old Snake sneered, "The toxin I secrete, as long as it touches a living creature’s wound, even if only one ten-thousandth of a milligram enters the bloodstream, it is lethal... let alone the poison on my knife has been concentrated hundreds of tis, you have at most a few seconds to live, better think about what last words you want to say!"
"Oh, is that so?" Sun Hang glanced at him, pinching the dagger with his other hand, he issued a gentle wrench, snapping the blade in two.
Then, he held the broken dagger tip, imitating Old Snake from earlier, extending his tongue to lick it, while using an exaggerated tone to say, "My knife, it’s coated with deadly poison..."
"You... you..." Old Snake couldn’t help but widen his eyes, but soon, he realized sothing even more frightening.
The wrist held by the opponent had completely lost sensation, dangerous crimson lines extended rapidly beneath the skin towards the torso.
"You’re also into toxins?!" Old Snake was aghast, "Impossible! No one could resist my toxin! No one could poison !"
His yelling carried a hint of despair, noticing the skin on his arm surface began to swell with dense blood blisters, layered upon layered, like swiftly proliferating cancer cells, quickly covering his entire arm.
Old Snake opened his mouth wide, but could no longer utter a sound—the deep crimson bloodlines had climbed his neck to his face, soon, even his mouth began to grow those chilling blood blisters.
"Who... who are you?" The glasses-wearing Hunter asked with a trembling voice—holding a gun aid at Sun Hang’s head but lacking the courage to pull the trigger.
He didn’t know why, intuition told him, even if he fired at this Hunter, he couldn’t kill him.
Pointing a gun at him provided so sense of security, but once pulling the trigger, if the opponent didn’t die, then it would probably be himself who would perish.
"Who am I?" Sun Hang released Old Snake’s wrist, tossing aside the "seedbed" completely parasitized by scarlet spores, "Good question, I’d like to know who exactly I am?"
"What do you an?" The glasses-wearing Hunter’s breath beca uncontrollably rapid, "What exactly do you want?"
"You all spent fifteen million to buy my life, and you ask what I want?" Sun Hang couldn’t help but find it amusing.
"How... how did you know?" The matter being reached this far, the glasses-wearing Hunter knew pretending ignorance was aningless, rather than deny to the end, might as well die understanding.
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