Sirens wailed throughout the damp, metallic entry terminal of Sector 9. Red warning lights spun, bathing the rusted support pillars in a rhythmic, bloody hue. Mina crouched behind a fractured concrete barrier, her fingers clawing at the rough surface. "Get back!" she screamed, her voice barely carrying over the deafening mechanical screech from above. "Those are Class-4 automated defense turrets! They will vaporize you!" Ruan did not flinch. Standing in the center of the vast, steel-plated corridor, his worn gray cloak fluttered in the hot exhaust venting from the floor grates. Above him, three massive metal panels slid back with a grating hiss. Heavy, multi-barreled defense turrets descended from the ceiling, their hydraulic joints locking into place with terrifying precision. Mana-infused barrels began to spin, humming with a volatile, crackling blue light that smelled intensely of ozone. Behind the reinforced glass of the security booth, three city guards watched, their faces pale but their eyes filled with a cold, detached expectation. "Unidentified anomaly detected," a synthesized, emotionless voice boomed from the overhead speakers. "Lethal force authorized. Stand down immediately or face absolute erasure." Ruan looked up at the cold, lifeless machines. Sadness, deep and quiet, settled in the corners of his eyes. Once, humanity defended its sanctuaries with blood, sweat, and the refined spirits of martial artists who spent lifetimes mastering their bodies. Now, they cowered behind automated metal boxes powered by the leftover energy of celestial parasites. "Pathetic," Ruan murmured. His hand rested loosely on the wrapped hilt of his ancient sword. He did not draw the blade. "Target locked. Executing," the robotic voice droned. Three blinding beams of plasma erupted from the turrets, tearing through the air with a high-pitched shriek that shook the dust from the ceiling. Heat rolled through the corridor, melting the plastic warning signs on the nearby walls. Mina squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable sound of vaporizing flesh. Instead, a sharp, metallic thud echoed through the chamber. Ruan had simply tapped the butt of his wooden sheath against the steel floor. Boom. An invisible, violent ripple of pure, compressed Qi exploded outward from the point of impact. It was not magic. It possessed no elemental affinity, no divine signature, and no system-assigned rank. It was simply the raw, concentrated kinetic force of a mortal who had mastered the physical universe through sheer, unyielding discipline. The oncoming plasma beams shattered. They did not detonate; they literally cracked like brittle glass and dissolved into harmless, drifting blue sparks that vanished before they could touch Ruan's cloak. That same invisible shockwave rushed upward, slamming into the ceiling with the weight of a falling mountain. The three massive steel turrets groaned as the pressure buckled their reinforced frames. Metal screamed. Gears sheared off and rained down like hot shrapnel. Within a fraction of a second, the high-tech defense systems were crushed into flat, useless pancakes of scrap metal, dangling limply from their snapped mounts. Silence fell over the corridor, heavy and absolute. Inside the control booth, the guards dropped their weapons, their jaws slack, their fingers trembling. "No... no skill activation detected," one guard stammered, staring at his blank interface screen. "No mana signature. What did he just do?" --- Mina slowly opened her eyes, her breath catching in her throat. Scrap metal lay scattered across the scorched floor, still glowing red from the heat of the crushed generators. Ruan stood entirely untouched, his posture relaxed, his hand still resting casually on his sheathed weapon. "You... you destroyed them without even drawing your sword," she whispered, her voice shaking with a mixture of awe and terror. "They were poorly constructed," Ruan said flatly. Before Mina could reply, heavy, rhythmic footsteps began to echo from the dark corridor leading deeper into the sector. Each step vibrated through the metal floorboards, carrying a dense, oppressive weight that made Mina's chest tighten. "Keep back, all of you!" a booming, arrogant voice commanded. Heavy blast doors at the end of the hall hissed open, sliding into the walls to reveal a small army of armored figures. Leading them was a massive man standing over six and a half feet tall. His armor was crafted from thick, polished black steel that seemed to absorb the light, adorned with the golden emblem of an anvil and a hammer. A crimson cape billowed behind him, though there was no wind. "Guild Master Jack..." Mina whimpered, her body trembling as she tried to shrink further behind the concrete barrier. "He's the leader of the Iron Aegis. An S-rank hunter." Jack stopped twenty paces from Ruan, his chest puffed out, a patronizing smirk plastered across his rugged, bearded face. Golden energy flickered around his boots like small, crackling sparks of lightning. "Well, well," Jack said, his voice echoing off the metallic walls. "I was told a high-threat entity was breaching Sector 9. Imagine my disappointment when I find a filthy, unregistered rat in a beggar's coat." Ruan did not answer. He simply stared at the large man. "What's the matter? Tongue-tied?" Jack mocked, taking a slow step forward, his heavy armor clanking. "You got lucky with those cheap turrets. But you are in the presence of an S-rank Hunter now. I am the shield of this sector, blessed by the great God of Iron." Ruan closed his eyes for a brief second, channeling his inner sight. When he opened them, the physical world faded, replaced by the flow of spiritual energy. He looked at Jack's soul. What he saw made his stomach turn with a mixture of disgust and profound pity. Jack's soul was not a radiant, independent spark of human potential. It was a withered, gray thing, wrapped in heavy, burning golden chains. Those chains dug deep into the spiritual core of the man, draining his natural vitality and replacing it with a cheap, borrowed divine energy. Looking upward, Ruan could see the chains stretching infinitely into the sky, tethered to a bloated, parasitic consciousness hovering in the higher dimensions—the God of Iron. Jack was not a master. He was not a warrior. He was a puppet, dancing on strings of divine mana, utterly oblivious to the fact that his very life force was being slowly digested by his patron. "You sold your soul for a spark of stolen fire," Ruan said softly, his voice carrying a cold, ancient weight that seemed to cut through the hum of the city's generators. Jack's smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. "What did you say, trash?" Jack growled. "You stand there, proud of your chains," Ruan continued, his eyes locked onto the glowing golden links wrapping around Jack's neck. "You call yourself a hunter, yet you are nothing but a hound kept on a short leash, fed with scraps from a master who views you as disposable meat." A collective gasp went up from the elite hunters standing behind Jack. No one spoke to an S-rank Hunter this way. No one dared insult the Constellations. "You suicidal bastard," Jack snarled, his face twisting into a mask of pure rage. Golden aura around his body flared violently, the smell of molten iron and burnt ozone filling the corridor. "I was going to hand you over to the authorities," Jack growled, his hand reaching over his shoulder. "But now, I'm going to paint this wall with your blood." Ruan shook his head, his expression deadpan. "You are not a warrior," Ruan said. "You do not even know how to hold your own spirit. If your god severed your connection right now, you would collapse into a helpless cripple." "Shut up!" Jack roared. Jack, humiliated by Ruan's lack of respect, draws a massive broadsword that glows with divine flame, swearing to execute the 'unregistered rat' in the name of the Iron Sovereign.

Chapter 4: The False Slayers of Sector 9