At the top of a soaring skyscraper stood Ye Yu. The building was plunged in darkness, long since abandoned.
The howling wind battered his black trench coat like the frantic screams of a demon, while below him, the city's multicolored lights blinked in rhythmic succession. The urban nightscape, brilliantly illuminated, had chased away the stars; only the moon lingered, casting a faint, celestial glow across the firmament.
Whistling softly, Ye Yu glanced down at the black car parked far below, then expertly opened the black briefcase at his feet and assembled its various components.
The finished product was a sniper rifle. After testing its weight and balance, Ye Yu stepped to the edge of the floor.
Peering through the scope at the black car, he calibrated the precision of the optics while using his own body to gauge the wind's velocity and direction.
After what felt like a long while, as the wind began to die down, Ye Yu maintained his firing stance, his breathing perfectly steady, poised and ready for the assassination.
When a knot of men in tailored suits escorted a sharp-looking, thirty-something executive out of the building near the parked car, Ye Yu let out a long breath. Reconfirming the wind speed and direction, he realized the moment had come.
Without a moment's hesitation, he squeezed the trigger. A tongue of flame flashed from the rifle's silencer, and before the escorted man could react, his body pitched forward.
This was a notorious corporate magnate in Country M, a man who monopolized essential goods and drove the populace to despair with exorbitant prices they had no choice but to pay.
Worse still, he wore two entirely different faces in public and private. His hands were stained with countless lives, and no one knew how many families had been ruined or torn apart under the weight of his tyranny.
When Ye Yu had seen the bounty for this man on the assassin's market, he had accepted the contract without a second thought.
"Take a man's money, deliver him from disaster~"
Ye Yu murmured cheerfully, reaching for his walkie-talkie as he watched the panic erupting around the car. The bodyguards seemed to have already pinpointed his location.
By the time they rushed up here, however, Ye Yu figured he would be long gone.
With a profound sense of relief, he reported into the walkie-talkie: "Mission accomplished."
Then, lowering the radio, he smiled and said, "Once this job is wrapped up, I can kick back and relax for a few months. Mo Yao, handle the cleanup."
"Copy that."
Hiding in the shadows of a corner, Mo Yao expressionlessly attached a silencer to his pistol, then aimed the barrel at Ye Yu, who had his back turned as he packed up the sniper rifle.
His brief reply was followed by a gunshot. As if guided by a sixth sense, Ye Yu tried to sidestep the fatal blow, but the bullet still caught him in the shoulder.
Using the momentum of his fall, Ye Yu tumbled backward over the safety barrier meant to prevent people from plunging to their deaths. The sound of shattered glass made Mo Yao rush to the ledge, but Ye Yu was already gone.
Mo Yao pressed the button on his earpiece and spoke into the line: "Target One is hit and wounded, he must still be inside the building. Find him and execute him on sight." He lowered his hand, cast one final glance at the shattered window below, and turned to walk away.
Suppressing his pain, Ye Yu hid inside a utility room, his brow deeply furrowed. This abandoned high-rise had twenty-five floors, and he was currently on the twenty-third.
The perimeter outside was undoubtedly locked down for his escape. Eyeing the ropes, hammers, and other sundries in the utility room, he weighed his current predicament while wrestling with the reality of Mo Yao's betrayal.
Mo Yao had been the finest partner of his career, a collaborator of ten years with an unspoken synergy forged through countless operations.
Back when they used to spar together in hand-to-hand combat, there were countless times they had pressed the barrels of their guns against each other's heads. Though those bouts always ended in Ye Yu's victory, Mo Yao had never once stepped out of line.
Yet now, his own partner had tried to put a bullet in his brain. Mo Yao's marksmanship was exceptional; if not for the preternatural sixth sense honed by years of assassinations, which allowed Ye Yu to dodge that fatal shot, he would already be a cold corpse.
After briefly tending to his gunshot wound, Ye Yu checked the sole remaining pistol and military knife on his person, confirming nine rounds remained in the magazine.
Surveying his surroundings, he swung his arm and realized the injury wouldn't severely hamper his movement. He took a deep breath and slowly stepped out the door.
This was a trap laid by the person who knew him best, and he braced himself for the hardest fight of his career as an assassin.
Five squads equipped with elite gear marched into the building in an orderly fashion, while a cordon of uniformed police officers stretched yellow tape across the entrance, forbidding anyone from entering.
"Squad One secures the ground floor. Squads Two and Three search room by room. Squad Four covers the rear, and Squad Five patrols. Report any suspicious individuals and eliminate them on sight." Following the team leader's orders, the five-man squads began clearing the building level by level in pursuit of Ye Yu.
Inside, the building was dead silent. The teams swept the interior through military-grade night-vision goggles; even the friction of their specialized silent boots against the concrete was entirely audible to them.
Amidst this quiet, the team sweeping the twenty-first floor all froze as footsteps suddenly echoed from inside a room.
Squad Two snapped to attention, pivoting their barrels toward the source of the noise and advancing cautiously on the room, while Squad Three closely followed behind to cover their flanks.
These were first-tier special operatives; against the legendary name of the world's top assassin, no one dared lower their guard. They reached the closed door.
The leader of Squad Two pressed his back against the wall. The footsteps had already vanished, but playing it safe, he flashed a hand signal behind his back. A subordinate instantly understood and produced a flashbang.
Pulling the pin, the operative tossed it through the doorway the second the leader shoved the door open. The moment the blinding glare subsided, two men rushed into the room—only to find it completely deserted, devoid of even a ghost.
Refusing to let down their guard, the operatives checked the perimeter, flashed a secure signal to their comrades outside the door, and began to back out.
Just as the second operative stepped through the threshold, a gunshot cracked abruptly from the corner of the room. Instantly followed by the sound of breaking glass, the shooter vanished into thin air.
"Number 22, status?" the team leader asked through the communications link in his helmet.
Each member of the five entering squads corresponded to a designated number. As the overall commander, his squad was Squad One, and his own call sign was 11. On missions, they addressed each other strictly by their numbers.
Methodically, the team leader issued his next orders: "Ye Yu has vanished on the twenty-first floor. Squad One, follow me in pursuit. Squad Three, tighten security and wait until Squad Two verifies Number 22's condition before advancing."
"Reporting to Number 11, I'm fine! He only hit my ballistic helmet, but my infrared optics are fried," Number 22 reported, his voice still trembling with lingering fear.
Inwardly, he began to breathe a sigh of relief. It seemed the legendary top assassin wasn't all that formidable after all; otherwise, he'd already be on his way to the underworld.
Leader Number 11 paused slightly, filled with lingering doubt. This was a prime opportunity to thin out his team; how could an assassin of Ye Yu's caliber miss?
With no time to dwell on it, he responded immediately: "Squad Two, take a breather and recalibrate your helmet systems. Squad Three, move up to the twenty-second floor to secure the perimeter. Squad Four, head to the twenty-first floor to stand by and back up Squad Three. The target is the world's current top assassin—nobody lets their guard down. A marksman of his caliber does not make missing-shot errors."
Just as he reached the twentieth floor, Leader Number 11 added in a harsh, ringing tone, "Squad Five, move to the twenty-first floor with Squad Two and prepare to provide support at a moment's notice."
The top assassin's apparent blunder only served to tighten his nerves. Licking his lips beneath his helmet, he knew his real clash with Ye Yu was only just beginning.
If Ye Yu hadn't descended to the twentieth floor, Squads Four, Two, and Five could handle him. But if he had dropped down to twenty, Number 11 was determined to make the legendary assassin experience his true prowess.
As for Squad Three on the twenty-second floor, there was no way Ye Yu could have gone back up after jumping out the window.
Even if he had somehow managed it, Squad Three, equipped with the heaviest tactical gear, could certainly hold out until reinforcements arrived.
Using a blackened rope he had hung outside the window earlier, Ye Yu quickly hauled himself back up to the twenty-third floor. Being unable to track Mo Yao's position gave him a brief moment of hesitation.
Yet time was a luxury he lacked. Footsteps outside the door forced him to scramble for cover; moving with the absolute silence of a master assassin, he dissolved into the dark shadows of the room.
Squad Three pushed the door open, but rather than rushing in blindly, they swept the perimeter before slowly advancing. Suddenly, a burst of static cut across their helmet communicators.
"Squad Two has finished regrouping. Squads Four and Five have cleared all rooms on the twenty-first floor."
"Squad Two, move up to the twenty-second floor to reinforce Squad Three. Squads Four and Five, hold your positions on the twenty-first floor, maintain perimeter security, and exercise extreme caution."
"Copy that." (x4)
No sooner had the leader of Squad Three acknowledged the order than three gunshots erupted inside the room. Before Squad Three could react, Ye Yu sprinted toward the doorway from the shadows.
Two seconds later, the spot where he had just been standing was riddled with holes. Meanwhile, reversing his grip on his combat knife, Ye Yu expressionlessly slashed the throats of the two rearguard operatives stationed outside the door. The remaining members of Squad Three stared wide-eyed in disbelief as Ye Yu executed the maneuver.
It was as if they and Ye Yu existed on entirely different timelines! In less than five seconds—by the time the two operatives collapsed and the remaining three inside the room suffered misfired shots after taking hits to their arms—Ye Yu had already escaped!
"Ye Yu is on the twenty-second floor! We need backup!"
The Squad Three leader roared into his comm-headset, but just as he prepared to bolt through the door, a flashbang materialized inside the room. Before the detonation died away, a blinding strobe flashed in the corridor.
When the glare cleared, the room contained nothing but debris, blood, and the mutilated bodies of the other two Squad Three members in the hallway—one of whom was missing his helmet entirely, blown away by forces unknown.
The Squad Three leader and his three remaining men rendezvoused with Squad Two in the stairwell between the twenty-first and twenty-second floors. Commander Number 11 queried Squad Three over the comms: "Casualties?"
"Brothers 32 and 33... It's my fault, I didn't search the area thoroughly enough, and it cost them their lives," the Squad Three leader rasped. "I'm currently leading the three remaining men—damn it, Ye Yu has already infiltrated my—"
Hearing the burst of electromagnetic static over the comms channel, Number 11's face darkened instantly. He screamed into his headset: "Squads Five and Four, intercept Squads Two and Three immediately!"
No response came back.
Number 11 felt a chill grip his limbs. Leading Squad One, he charged back toward the twenty-first floor.
Down on the twenty-first floor, Squads Four and Five heard the static over their comms. Squad Five's leader, Number 51, felt a surge of dread. Throwing off his helmet, he shouted to Squad Four: "It's an electromagnetic pulse device! He's jamming our signal lines! We have to move and back up Squad Three and Two!"
Nodding in grim agreement, the Squad Four leader followed Number 51 as they sprinted toward the stairwell where Squad Two had gone up.
In the corridor, Ye Yu—now wearing a Squad Three uniform—was busy arranging the corpses. Hearing the rapid approach of footsteps, he glanced at the unconscious Number 22, pinned the man's arm beneath a body, gathered up the remaining helmets, and vanished into the upper reaches of the twenty-second floor trailing a length of thin wire.
Three minutes later, Squads Four and Five cautiously reached the twenty-first-floor stairwell. Taking in the carnage, Number 51 instantly spotted the EMP device rigged amid the casualties and flashed two hand signals to his men.
An operative stepped forward, while the others kept their weapons trained cautiously on the bodies of the Squad Two and Three members to ensure Ye Yu wasn't hiding among them.
Number 51 finally reached the EMP device and carefully deactivated it. He had barely let out a breath when he caught sight of an inconspicuous wire stretched across the corner.
Number 11 had just made it up from the twentieth-floor stairwell. Number 22 propped himself up, staring in horror as Number 51 saw the pin of a grenade tied directly to the tripwire. The men behind Number 51 instantly raised their rifles.
Number 22, still dazed, suddenly understood what he was looking at and screamed at Number 51: "Run!"
Because Number 22's comms had been wrecked, and the rest of the squads were only just rebooting and troubleshooting their systems, no one else had noticed the grenade—save for Number 51.
"Run!" Realizing the purpose of those thin wires in a flash, Number 51 screamed into his comms.
Though the others had no idea what was happening and only began to pull back when the order was barked, the wire suddenly went taut.
Number 51 lunged forward to grab the wire, but it was already too late. A chain reaction of explosions tore the corridor apart. Aside from the members of Squads Four and Five who hadn't fully entered the hallway and sustained lighter injuries, everyone else was caught in the blast, their survival hanging by a thread.
"Captain! Captain!" Though spared the worst of the blast, the members of Squads Four and Five were severely battered, their thoughts fixed entirely on their commander's safety.
A grenade quietly rolled into their midst.
Before shock could even register, the grenade detonated, plunging them into utter despair.
As the echoes of the blast faded, Ye Yu emerged from the twenty-first-floor corridor. He put a methodical bullet into anyone showing signs of life, draining another six rounds from his magazine.
Just as he confirmed no other living soul remained on the twenty-first floor and started to let out a breath, a gunshot rang out behind him. He threw himself headlong into a nearby room.
As the gunfire ceased, Number 11—who had discarded his helmet back at the distant stairwell—roared at him in a raspy voice: "Ye Yu! As the world's top assassin, do you really have to resort to such gutter tactics?"
Ye Yu couldn't help mentally mocking him: *As an assassin, what do you want me to do, charge you with a bayonet in a fair fight?*
Before he could finish his silent scoff, heavy footsteps advanced toward him down the corridor, accompanied by the sound of gear being discarded. "Word has it that apart from assassination, the world's top assassin possesses hand-to-hand combat skills second to none. I've been wanting to experience them for a long time."
After a brief moment of thought, Ye Yu stepped slowly out of the room and back into the corridor. Looking at Number 11, who had stripped away his remaining heavy armor, Ye Yu couldn't help sneering. "You threw away your gear just like that? What stops me from putting a bullet in you right now?"
Before the words fully left his mouth, Number 11's fist was already driving toward his face. Ye Yu felt a brief flash of surprise—he hadn't seen a punch this fast in a very long time.
Still, it wasn't fast enough for him. Ducking his head to dodge the blow, Ye Yu instantly launched a counterattack. Trapped in the narrow confines of the hallway with limited room to maneuver, the two men grappled fiercely until a heavy blow from Ye Yu to the side of Number 11's head brought the exchange to a close.
Number 11 hit the floor, shook his head, and started to push himself back up—only to find the muzzle of a pistol pressed directly against his temple. Ye Yu spat a mouthful of blood onto the concrete.
The squad leader's skills were legit; he had taken quite a beating himself. "If I'd known you were this tough, I should've just put a bullet through your skull from the start."
Engaging in a straight-up fistfight wasn't how an assassin was supposed to operate.
Feeling the icy chill of the barrel against his skin, Number 11 replied with calm detachment, "If you'd done that, you wouldn't have held the title of world's number one for so long, and you wouldn't have wiped out my entire squad."
"So confident? What kind of rumors are they spreading about me these days, anyway?" Ye Yu shook his head, holstered his weapon, and turned toward the stairs.
"You're not going to kill me?" Number 11 froze. He had already made peace with death—or rather, dying at the hands of the world's premier assassin was preferable to perishing at the whim of some nameless nobody. Men who danced on the edge of a blade lost their lives at any moment.
Without a word, Ye Yu tossed a slip of paper onto Number 11's lap, gave a casual wave of his hand, and stepped straight into the stairwell. Number 11 sat frozen on the spot, staring down at the paper, lost in thought.
***
On the eighteenth-floor landing, Mo Yao had somehow scrounged up a stool. Sitting at the mouth of the stairwell, he was quietly polishing a combat knife—a gift Ye Yu had given him the first time he brought him into the underworld.
Ye Yu watched him polish the blade. Though a myriad of questions churned within him, he asked none of them. The moment Mo Yao had made his move, it was preordained that only one of them would walk out of this building alive.
Finally, Mo Yao stopped his movements. He stood up, looked straight at Ye Yu, and called out, "Afraid to come over?"
Ye Yu weighed his options for a moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he scanned the surroundings, then walked slowly toward Mo Yao, his hands drifting instinctively closer to the weapons on his body.
"Sigh, I don't really want to ask you why, but if I don't, it's going to drive me crazy," Ye Yu rolled his neck. Satisfied that the immediate area was temporarily secure, he stared at Mo Yao and demanded, each word clipped and heavy: "Why?"
Mo Yao spread his arms wide and said flatly, "You've sat in the number one spot for too long. I couldn't wait anymore."
In a flash, Mo Yao jerked a nearly invisible wire taut. Without missing a beat, Ye Yu thrust out his left hand—already clutching his combat knife—and deflected the volley of flying micro-needles.
At the same time, he surged forward, accelerating directly toward Mo Yao. Since he didn't control the home turf here, he had to close the distance and force Mo Yao to hold back, slowly wrestling the initiative back into his own hands.
Mo Yao anticipated the tactic instantly, triggering other pre-set traps to block his advance, but Ye Yu swept past them with effortless precision.
Moments later, Ye Yu was right in front of him, his combat knife flashing through the air.
Mo Yao didn't panic in the least. He brought his forearm up to intercept the path of Ye Yu's blade, instantly launching a counterattack with his own knife.
Ye Yu clamped his other hand around Mo Yao's wrist. The two men locked into a brutal close-quarters exchange, trading blow for counter-blow, neither able to secure an opening. After dozens of lightning-fast collisions, both men's knives were knocked from their grips.
Taking advantage of a spinning side-kick, Ye Yu snatched the pistol from his waist and jammed the barrel straight between Mo Yao's eyes.
Yet even as Mo Yao blocked the side-kick with one arm, he whipped out his own pistol with his free hand and pressed it directly against the center of Ye Yu's chest.
Neither man moved an inch. At this range, pulling the trigger meant mutual destruction.
They locked eyes, each desperately trying to second-guess the other's intent.
The stalemate lasted only a heartbeat before both men moved simultaneously. Mo Yao jerked his head aside while swatting Ye Yu's gun-hand violently off-target.
At the same instant, Ye Yu released the trigger he had been feathering, whipped his body sideways, and jammed his fingers into the guard of Mo Yao's weapon, cupping his palm over the action to physically jam the slide and prevent it from firing.
Just as Ye Yu started to wrench the barrel back toward him, Mo Yao lashed out with a kick to the joint of Ye Yu's gun-arm. Ye Yu hissed in pain, but his grip on the weapon remained ironclad.
A flash of light crossed Mo Yao's eyes—an unrepeatable window of opportunity. He surged inward, throwing his body directly into Ye Yu's guard.
His free hand unleashed a flurry of strikes. A heavy blow caught Ye Yu in the ribs, making his eyelids twitch with sudden agony.
With an enraged roar, Ye Yu poured every ounce of his remaining strength into clamping down on Mo Yao's arm. Taken aback, Mo Yao relinquished his weapon, letting the gun slide straight into Ye Yu's grasp.
Ye Yu hadn't expected him to give up the firearm.
Seizing the moment of distraction, Mo Yao lunged, hooked his arms around Ye Yu's gun-arm, and threw him into a tight grappling lock, forcibly wrenching the pistol back out of his hands.
Once again, Ye Yu's gun was trained on Mo Yao's head, while Mo Yao's gun pressed against Ye Yu's heart. At that exact moment, a chilling smile crept onto Mo Yao's face.
"Looks like I win this time," Mo Yao whispered.
Ye Yu stared back at him with icy composure. "And how is this any different from the last setup?"
Sensing Mo Yao's finger slowly beginning to curl around the trigger, Ye Yu instantly squeezed his own.
*Click.*
No round chambered. The gun was empty.
Incredulity flashed across Ye Yu's face as he stared at Mo Yao.
Mo Yao struggled to keep his expression in check; he had waited far too long for this moment, and the sheer euphoria threatened to crack his composure entirely.
Finally, the corners of Mo Yao's mouth curled upward as his finger fully compressed the trigger. A deafening gunshot echoed through the stairwell. Ye Yu reeled backward, tumbling away from Mo Yao before hitting the floor and lying still.
"Hahahaha, didn't see that coming, did you, Ye Yu? My gun didn't have a single round in it either. But you don't need to play dead on the floor—you definitely scavenged a ballistic vest off one of those special ops guys, didn't you? Too bad your own magazine only had one bullet left." Laughing triumphantly, Mo Yao walked slowly over to Ye Yu's head and pressed the muzzle against his temple.
"But this time, you're done for. The world's top assassin ultimately dies by my hand." By the end, Mo Yao's voice had turned razor-cold.
He pulled the trigger once more.
Hearing the dry *click* of the hammer falling on an empty chamber, Mo Yao's pupils contracted violently.
The muzzle of a gun was pressed firmly against his own forehead.
Ye Yu slowly pushed himself up, looking into Mo Yao's eyes with a mocking glint, and casually threw the question back at him.
"Wanna guess if *my* gun had a bullet in it?"
Putting on a mask of forced calm, Mo Yao choked out, "When?"
He had calculated every single variable for so long—wounding Ye Yu, using the special forces to drain his stamina, stepping in to disarm him, and finally executing him to claim the crown of the world's number one.
Yet his entire design had been thoroughly unraveled by Ye Yu. Though he tried desperately to mask it, the gnawing resentment and humiliation made his voice tremble.
"When? I dumped a round the moment I got over here. Damn, that hit to the ribs still hurts," Ye Yu muttered, rubbing his bruised chest. "The second I took that gun from your hand, I knew yours was empty. I pulled my trigger just to bait you into pulling yours."
As Ye Yu finished rubbing his chest, he caught Mo Yao completely off guard with a sudden, devastating punch that sent him crashing to the floor.
Staring down at Mo Yao with deadpan detachment, Ye Yu said, "If you want this title of world's top assassin so badly, take it. I'm sick to death of all this backstabbing."
Spitting out a mouthful of blood, Mo Yao glared up at him with unmitigated fury, yet didn't dare make a sudden move. He knew Ye Yu's marksmanship too well; the moment he twitch-fired, he'd be a corpse.
"Of course... you didn't win this title on your own. I handed it to you." Ye Yu offered a crooked grin, and under Mo Yao's stunned gaze, he unzipped his trench coat.
There, beneath a ballistic vest riddled with bullet holes, was a ring of live grenades strapped tightly around his torso.
"And you'll never truly beat me with your own hands—which means you'll never be the world's top assassin in your own heart."
Mo Yao's true goal had never been the title. It had always been to defeat Ye Yu.
"Ye Yu, don't you dare!" No longer caring about anything else as he watched Ye Yu already standing on the windowsill, Mo Yao leaped to his feet and rushed toward him.
"Now, the world's number one assassin will offer his final masterpiece to the world—killing the world's number one assassin."
Using a wire to pull the safety pins on the grenades in his hands, Ye Yu activated all of them, then turned to look at Mo Yao rushing toward him, his gaze growing increasingly melancholy.
He pressed the gun against his own head and fell backward. Just at that moment, Number 11 and the surviving team members emerged from the building.
Watching Mo Yao leap straight off the windowsill and reach out toward him, Ye Yu couldn't help starting in surprise. Then he pulled the trigger. Along with the gunshot, the grenades on Ye Yu's body detonated simultaneously as if by prior agreement, while explosions echoed from inside the building at the same time.
Number 11 held a slip of paper detailing the locations and tonages of the planted explosives. Putting the paper into his mouth, he gazed at the flash in the sky and swallowed it down.
He had lost some of his brothers, and he had lost his target for revenge. He had lost everything, yet he was forced to work for the very person he should have been seeking vengeance against—this was the condition for sparing his life, and the chance to save his surviving brothers.
The next day, following the collapse of the building, no one found the bodies of Ye Yu and Mo Yao, nor even a single fragment of their remains.
After recovering the bodies of all his fallen comrades, Number 11 returned to headquarters to accept his punishment.
Following this battle, the reputation of the world's number one assassin echoed even more loudly throughout the underworld.
Some people believed Ye Yu was dead, but the vast majority believed that Ye Yu had escaped, eliminated Mo Yao, and was merely recuperating somewhere. Everyone was filled with suspicion.
In the near future, the name of Ye Yu would once again resound through this dark world of assassination.