Chapter Ten: Silence

On the endless, earth-covered avenue, Brook wore a gentle smile, yet it sent chills down one's spine.
"Ah, poor lady, have you been abandoned by that heartless man?"
Brook took a good look at the woman before him, surprised despite himself.
"Please... don't kill me... don't kill me," Shu Zhu backed away, her voice trembling with fear. "As long as you spare me, I'll do anything, even be your dog if you want."
To survive—her sole wish now was simply to stay alive. She lacked the courage to end her own life; insanity like that was far more terrifying than death itself.
She couldn't do it. It was simply impossible.
"Though, as a gentleman, I truly dislike harming a beautiful lady," Brook said with a soft laugh, "I am a man of my word. I promised that only one would survive this contest, and that one will be me."
"Please... don't kill me." Fear had already robbed Shu Zhu of reason.
"I'll kill the small fry first, then Matthew's group, then Antoine's, and finally you and your man," Brook said, still wearing that friendly smile.
"No... please..."
"So... I won't kill you just yet," Brook chuckled. "Only after I've dealt with the others will I come for you and your companion. That was my vow yesterday, and I will not break it."
"You're willing to let me go?" Shu Zhu stared at him, astonished.
"Of course. It may only be for a few hours, but as a gentleman, I will keep my promise for now," Brook nodded with a smile. "Run as far as you can, try to be my final prey. Oh, and that faithless man of yours, splitting up to escape—I will bring you his corpse when the time comes."
Shu Zhu scrambled to her feet, stumbling as she fled, mud splattering her all over. With no time to clean herself, she could only run for her life.
...
Silence fell, suffocating the air; the entire world seemed to echo only with the rhythmic sound of footsteps.
No one spoke, but all were on high alert, ready for combat at any moment.
The position indicated on the wristband—so close now, almost overlapping.
"Hello there, little friend."
A whisper, barely audible, drifted to the small boy's ears like a wisp of smoke. He froze, alarm bells ringing in his mind.
The boy reacted instantly, rolling to one side, but not before he glimpsed a flash of crimson.
A long metal sword was buried in his chest.
"It's Brook!" The freckled girl nearest to him raised her gun and fired, but Brook had already vanished from where he had stood.
A single ambush, and one was dead in an instant.
"Damn him," Antoine rushed over, but he was too far away.
He glanced toward the distant bushes—didn't Xia Yan notice Brook's move? Or did he deliberately hold back?
"Come out, you coward hiding in the shadows!" Antoine shouted in the direction where Brook had disappeared.
"My strong friend, you should know I'm alone," Brook's voice carried from afar. "I'm no fool; I'll weaken your forces first."
"Despicable—ambushes are nothing to brag about," the freckled girl muttered, raising her gun and scanning the surroundings.
"Too bad, Miss, you'll still fall prey to my despicable tactics."
A voice sounded beside her, then a sword swept in—a flash of steel in the night, swift as a fleeting shadow.
"Damn," she cursed, firing blindly, but before she could pull the trigger, her gun was sliced clean in two.
"Antoine, help me!" she cried, bolting backward, powerless against such terrifying swordplay.
Antoine rushed in, desperate to save his teammate.
But it was too late. With her back to the enemy, the freckled girl met only one fate—a sword through the heart.
Her unwilling gaze froze into eternity as she collapsed to the ground.
In mere moments, both of Antoine's companions were dead.
"You despicable wretch, die!" Antoine roared, charging with his broadsword.
Brook regarded him with the indifference one might show an ant, as if Antoine were already dead.
One embodied sheer strength, the other, the pinnacle of speed. Their clash in the darkness was brutal—yet the outcome was not an even match but a one-sided slaughter.
...
"I don't think a muscleman like you can kill me," Brook moved with unhurried elegance, as if strolling through a park, even taking the time to speak. "To kill me, you'd need to be faster than I am. To me, your movements are as slow as a turtle's—you can't even touch a hair on my head."
Antoine's strength was indeed formidable, but all the power in the world is useless if you can't hit your target.
After just a few exchanges, the fight became a massacre. Antoine was slashed again and again, covered in gruesome wounds, barely clinging to life.
He struggled to stand, but the gap between them was simply too vast.
Xia Yan was still waiting—waiting for the perfect moment. He had planned all along to use Antoine and his companions as expendable forces, never imagining the gap in strength would be so great.
Antoine's group could barely scratch Brook.
"Now."
Xia Yan squeezed the trigger. A bullet followed a strange trajectory, weaving through cover and striking flesh.
Disbelief froze Brook's face—the first time he had ever looked so stunned.
He was wounded; a bullet had pierced his left arm.
For the first time since entering the survival tournament, Brook was hurt.
At that very moment, the audience watching the match—
A collective gasp erupted; some even leapt to their feet in excitement.
The undefeated god of slaughter, the invincible criminal—he was finally wounded...
"Incredible, just incredible."
"Sixty-One, amazing!"
"Haha, I bet on Sixty-One to win! Genius move."
"Way to go! Sixty-One killed Seventy-Five and One; Sixty-One for first place!"
"Who would have thought even Seventy-Five could be hurt? I thought he was a sure winner. Unbelievable."
"Hahahaha..."
Many people, especially those who hadn't backed Brook, relished the moment. Sometimes, strength is a crime—and Brook's overwhelming power had robbed the game of suspense.
At last, someone had shattered his myth of invincibility. Even if Brook wasn't dead yet, the excitement was palpable.
...
"Die," Brook snarled at Antoine, gone was all his earlier ease. His sword flashed, a shadowy blur of slashes raining down on Antoine.
Someone was ambushing him, and with terrifying skill. If he didn't kill Antoine quickly, he would be finished.
"So it was him,"
Brook cursed himself for overlooking the possibility that the sharpshooting boy and Antoine might team up.
He had chased Shu Zhu and her companion, hoping to confirm their identities. When he caught Shu Zhu, he assumed the one fleeing in the other direction was the sharpshooter.
But he was wrong. The boy hadn't run with the woman, nor had he fled at all. The one with Shu Zhu was someone else.
The boy had been hiding near Antoine all along, lying in wait from the start—so well hidden that Brook hadn't noticed a thing.
He had become the prey in his own hunt.
Anger, unwillingness, hatred...
Brook knew that if he'd been on guard, he wouldn't have been caught so easily. But against the combined force of the boy and Antoine, his chances of winning were slim, his odds of dying still high.
Brook's attacks grew more frenzied; Antoine struggled harder, bleeding profusely as his wounds multiplied.
Another bullet whistled through the air.
"Despicable," Brook grunted, rolling aside to dodge the "unmissable" shot.
"Die!" Antoine seized the opening and brought his sword down in a heavy arc.
Because of his evasive maneuver, Brook was now unable to dodge the direct assault.
With a sickening thud, Brook raised his sword to block, enduring the crushing force. His body nearly sank into the soil, his arms went numb, and blood sprayed from his mouth.
Xia Yan did not let the chance slip by—this was the only moment he might deal Brook a fatal blow.
He fired three bullets in quick succession, aiming for Brook's legs, heart, and head.
If any of those found their mark, Brook would not survive.
"Die... die... die!" Antoine's rage fueled his every blow, hacking with all his might. He sensed his own death approaching, but he was determined to take Brook with him.
If he was going to die, he'd drag Brook to hell as well.
"I'm not resigned to this," Brook snarled through gritted teeth, lunging at Antoine. His left arm was severed by the blade, falling away in an instant.
With a twist of his sword, Brook cleaved off Antoine's head. For a moment, a headless body stood, then collapsed in a fountain of blood.
"Run!" Brook fled in a frenzy. As he did, another bullet struck his right shoulder, the burning pain inside almost suffocating him. But if he didn't run now, death was certain.
Brook sprinted dozens of meters in an instant, out of handgun range. Xia Yan remained calm, unhurried. Waiting beside him was the prepared 'Eagle Eye' sniper rifle.
He took aim—night vision clear, target in sight. Brook's exposed head was right there.
He squeezed the trigger—so natural, so easy, with no sense of foreboding.
Brook ran faster and faster, death's shadow closer than ever before. The Reaper in the darkness had never been so near.
I won't lose! I'm the strongest!
That boy isn't as strong as me. If I escape now, I can win. Even if it's just a game of hide and seek, my points will take first place!
But his thoughts were cut short.
Brook fell, unwilling to the end, a sniper's bullet in the back of his head. His resentful face was frozen in a grimace, like a tragic sculpture.
At the same moment, in the dark city of District Nine...
Countless people erupted in wild cheers. After nearly thirty days, the contest had finally ended.
Not Brook, not Antoine, but this young boy—he had won, and by a landslide. He wasn't even scratched.
A miracle... it was nothing short of a miracle.
Many citizens, roused by the commotion, peered out their windows, bewildered at the silent, moonless sky.
...
Meanwhile...
"This battle, I still won," Xia Yan smiled, but pain returned to his head.
"Why now... and worse than before..." he gritted his teeth, but couldn't hold on. After a few steps, he collapsed to the ground—
He slipped into unconsciousness!
Agony, suffocation, madness—a feeling of being smothered...
Was he, like Brook and Antoine, succumbing to genetic defects and dying?
"Heavens, let's see if a miracle is happening," the host's camera switched to the unconscious Xia Yan. "In this shocking battle, the victor is not Brook or Antoine, but this earnest young liar. What's this—he's fallen asleep again."
"Viewers, we face an ironic outcome. Contestant Sixty-One appears to be on the verge of death, yet he stands as the highest-scoring criminal in the game. Only three remain—his woman, his friend. Will they keep fighting, or simply hold their scores until the contest ends?"
No one placing bets cared about such things. All that mattered was whether they won or lost.
This heart-stopping battle had allowed an unknown, Xia Yan, to last to the end. Many cheered in excitement, while others cursed bitterly.
They had placed their bets, and they had won—they were thrilled.
They had placed their bets, and they had lost—they were furious.
"He won, he actually won!" a middle-aged woman shrieked with glee. She had wagered five hundred credits on the boy, and would now reap a fortune.
"You brat, even if you're dying, you'd better survive until the end—I bet three hundred credits on you," a fat man bellowed at the camera, worried that if Xia Yan died now, he'd lose his massive payout.
"Stay alive, damn you! I've bet so much on you—if you die, I'll have to jump off the roof," a burly man screamed at the unconscious Xia Yan.
No one cared about a criminal's life. Live or die—it didn't matter. Only the winnings, or the losses, mattered.