Chapter Fifty-One: Thunderous Strike

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In truth, even without Huang Xiwen’s orders, the moment Song Jingang made his first report, Lei Dong’s spiritual sense had already spread out like a vast net, enveloping an area nearly ten kilometers in radius. Ten kilometers was the absolute limit of Lei Dong’s current outward projection; even if he pushed himself to the utmost, he could not extend it a millimeter further. On the contrary, the effort made his temples throb violently, a faint discomfort beginning to creep in.

But Lei Dong knew he had to persist no matter what. If they ultimately failed to locate Shui Yaoxian, it would not only mean the failure of this mission, but—far more terrifying—if Shui Yaoxian fell into the hands of the Minian, the consequences that might unfold were impossible to fully predict or easily bear.

Yet reality was cruel. Lei Dong’s spiritual sense swept the ten-kilometer radius again and again, searching, probing, but not even the faintest trace could be found. He surveyed the terrain, gradually turning his attention to another side of the island.

From Lei Dong’s current position, most of the island was already covered by his spiritual sense. The only place beyond his perception was that spot—the mushroom-shaped tip that jutted out from the island, resembling the head of a phallus. It lay some twelve kilometers away, at the very outer edge of the island, where a towering statue of the Holy Emperor of Light stood in silent vigil.

That area had only been surveyed by drone from above, never explored on foot; the teams had not parachuted in from that direction, leaving it a blind spot in their reconnaissance. More crucially, near that place there was an abandoned dock and a crude, long-disused runway. If James Sam had taken Shui Yaoxian hostage and hidden in that vicinity, both ship and plane could easily come to extract them, enabling a swift escape. There was also ample cover at the base of the statue to shelter them from any storm.

All this, however, was still only theoretical—Lei Dong’s conjecture. The true situation needed to be verified in person.

Just as Lei Dong was about to report his suspicions, a sudden upheaval erupted inside the plane!

A piercing wail of a baby split the heavy, stifling air, echoing abruptly through the cabin.

“Damn!” Lei Dong tensed, his spiritual sense snapping instantly to the source of the sound.

In the passenger compartment, a child barely a year or two old—perhaps from hunger, perhaps from terror, or perhaps simply from a nightmare—had suddenly burst into loud, racking sobs.

A woman of about thirty, likely the child’s mother, hurriedly clamped one hand over the baby’s mouth while pressing the small body tightly against her chest, desperate to soothe the innocent child with her own warmth. But her trembling betrayed her terror all too clearly.

Perhaps she held the child too tightly, making him uncomfortable; the baby’s pale legs kicked frantically, his body twisting in her arms. With his mouth pressed shut, his cries became muffled and thick, the “mm-mm” sounds only deepening the chaos and distress.

Other passengers had been startled awake. They glanced at the struggling baby, then at the burly, vicious man stalking over with rage contorting his face, their eyes filled with fear, confusion, and a smoldering anger.

The brute bellowed something, storming up to the mother and snarling a guttural curse.

Lei Dong recognized the language—it was Uguchat. “Shut that brat up, or else!”

The young mother did not understand his words, only holding her child tighter, head bowed, eyes brimming with tears of terror, her trembling growing more violent.

But the child’s cries only intensified, undeterred by his mother’s fear.

“Shut up, damn you!”

“The child is hungry…”

“I said shut up!”

The savage’s face was brutal and ugly—Lei Dong instantly recognized him from intelligence reports. He shared a name with the infamous Old Man of the Mountain, most notorious terrorist overlord of a millennium past: Huo Shan.

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From secret reports he had read days earlier, Lei Dong knew this man’s temper was explosive and his ruthlessness legendary—even among the ranks of East Uguchat, he was considered a bloodthirsty fiend. As Huo Shan’s fury grew louder, Lei Dong’s heart pounded. His right index finger rested lightly on the trigger of his ready and loaded Model 21 sniper rifle, his spiritual sense locked tightly on Huo Shan’s every move.

With a harsh click, Huo Shan racked his weapon and shoved the muzzle of his submachine gun against the mother’s forehead, roaring, “Shut up, or I’ll—!”

The cold steel pressed to her brow, the woman nearly collapsed, yet her arms still instinctively shielded her child.

Huo Shan’s lips curled in a cruel grin. He shoved the mother aside, seized the infant with one hairy hand, and squeezed the tiny throat, lifting the baby high into the air. In an instant, the child’s face turned purple, his desperate, strangled cries wrenching at every heart.

Summoning strength from some deep well, the young mother leapt to her feet, clutching Huo Shan’s left arm and screaming, “No—let go of my baby—!”

No more time to hesitate! Lei Dong held his breath, finger slowly tightening on the trigger, but before he could fire, a young man in a round cap suddenly stood up from the adjacent seat, pointed at Huo Shan, and shouted in Uguchat, “You are a demon, not a true servant of the divine—you are a demon!”

By the window, Cao Jingren also sprang to his feet, his deep voice commanding, “Let that child go!”

Several passengers rose as well, their voices raised in furious protest.

A flurry of gun bolts sounded as Jabak and Sugunar pointed their weapons at the center of the commotion. Maimaijiang Tihe stood and fired a warning burst into the air, bellowing, “Everyone sit down!”

At the crack of gunfire, the cabin froze for an instant. But the young man in the round cap immediately lunged forward, grabbing Huo Shan’s weapon and shouting, “Fight these devils with everything we have!”

The cabin was on the verge of chaos, a massacre imminent. Huang Xiwen could bear it no longer and shouted, “Go!”

With a sharp click, Song Jingang smashed the emergency lighting controls. The cabin was plunged into darkness for a heartbeat, then every overhead light blazed to life, dazzling all within.

In that split second, Wu Yun and Bei Shiliang wrenched open the cabin doors. The team stormed in, shouting, “Everyone down!” Silenced assault rifles flashed with faint muzzle bursts—four muted shots, and four terrorists fell at once, each with a neat black hole between the brows, blood spurting as they crashed to the floor!

Huo Shan suffered the grimmest fate—two rounds struck him at once, and a heavy-caliber sniper bullet from fifteen hundred meters away exploded his head like a watermelon, scattering blood and brain matter in a ghastly spray!

Lightning-fast, each shot was fatal.

The passengers, their eyes adjusting to the lights, realized in shock that the four ruthless terrorists were now corpses at their feet.

Among them, Chen Weizhe, the island separatist, showed sharp instincts. When the lights flickered, he did not stand up in panic like the others, but dove down, drawing his Makarov pistol and aiming at Cao Jingren’s chest.

He knew that, according to special forces protocol, snipers would be stationed outside, but with the window shades down, infrared scopes would be ineffective, and with a high-value hostage in hand, he could at least threaten the enemy.

But he never imagined just how terrifying this special forces team was, nor the monstrous skill of the sniper outside—a heavy-caliber armor-piercing round punched through the window at an impossible angle, striking his forearm even before his gun could touch Cao Jingren.

With a sickening crack, Chen Weizhe’s left arm was blown apart, the bullet burying itself in the opposite wall. He didn’t even have time to scream before losing consciousness, his last thought: How could this be…

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“Save him!” Huang Xiwen shouted. Wu Yun, already at Cao Jingren’s side, swiftly plucked Chen Weizhe from the seat like a chicken, clumsily binding his wounds—clearly, this man still had his uses.

Only now did the cabin’s passengers begin to comprehend what had just transpired.

They stared at the four dead bandits, then at the five black-clad, camo-painted commandos bursting in—figures they’d only ever seen on television dramas—and listened to the familiar sound of Mandarin. The whole crowd stood dazed, as if in a dream.

After a long moment, a mighty cheer erupted from the throng: They were saved!

Watching the jubilant crowd, Huang Xiwen felt a surge of relief—but even more, he felt tension.

The bandits were dead, the vast majority of hostages rescued unharmed. Bei Shiliang and Luo Haoran, the two demolition experts, were already at work defusing the bombs planted around the cabin. Thanks to Song Jingang’s earlier takeover of the surveillance system, the explosives had all been precisely located. Before these two experts, they were no threat at all.

But far more crucially, there was still no word about the other objective…

“I believe,” Lei Dong’s voice finally sounded in the headset, “Shui Yaoxian should be in the southeast sector, near the Holy Emperor of Light’s statue!”

“Search immediately!” Huang Xiwen did not press Lei Dong for his reasoning. After years of working together, he had an instinctive, absolute trust in Lei Dong’s powers of perception, intuition, and intelligence analysis.

Lei Dong acknowledged crisply, “Understood,” and rushed down from the statue, heading southeast to track their target.

Inside the cabin, Wu Yun, Lang Tianyu, and Song Jingang worked to calm the passengers, verify their identities, and follow up leads on Shui Yaoxian’s whereabouts. Huang Xiwen pushed through the crowd, striding directly to Cao Jingren.

The elderly man had already stood up, his clothes spattered with blood from Chen Weizhe’s wound. Yet his expression remained calm as ever. Before Huang Xiwen could even salute, the old man smiled and spoke: “You’re the commander of this operation?”

Huang Xiwen hesitated a moment, then replied, “Yes, may I ask, Mr. Cao…”

“No need for pleasantries. Here—” Cao Jingren cut him off, taking a small round box from his jacket pocket. “That lady who was taken left this behind amidst the chaos. It may be useful to you.”

It appeared to be nothing more than a woman’s compact, but Huang Xiwen felt certain it was not so simple. He took it, puzzled, and opened it gently. Inside were only an eyebrow pencil, a powder cake, and a small mirror set in the lid—nothing else.

He closed the case, turning it over and over in his hands, shaking it gently. Suddenly, his expression changed. Pressing one corner, there was a soft “click”—the lid split in two down the middle, springing open to reveal, behind the mirror, a tiny metallic chip less than a centimeter across, nestled in a hollowed slot.

Was this it?

Huang Xiwen’s heart pounded uncontrollably as he lifted the chip. But in the next instant, his face changed dramatically!

As soon as the chip left its recess, the once-ordinary mirror flickered to life—it was actually a miniature LCD display! After a brief flurry of static, a small light appeared in the corner of the screen, flashing a brilliant red…

ps: Don’t blame the simplicity of this battle—the true fight has yet to begin…