The IOA Alliance had monitoring stations all over the world. The invisible monitoring base stations, developed by the tech department genius Duan Yang, were disguised as buildings, each with a different exterior. Inside, they were equipped with numerous functions—intercepting surveillance footage within range, detecting abnormal life forms, deploying drones, and more.
Each region’s base station was managed by the local IOA branch. The Port M station fell under the jurisdiction of the Paris branch, directly overseen by its president, an A3-level paradise bird omega. However, headquarters would still send personnel annually for maintenance.
Bai Chunian applied for the Port M maintenance mission precisely to gain access to the Paris branch’s monitoring authority and gather further intelligence.
The tech department granted him operational access to the monitoring base.
According to the crawler, after the international conference, President Yan Yi’s return flight would stop at Port M before he attended a charity banquet at the Danli Palace. The Red-Throated Bird planned to launch a terrorist attack during his brief stay.
The crawler wasn’t an official informant, so headquarters wouldn’t easily accept his intel as reliable. Bai Chunian needed to provide concrete evidence that terrorists had entered Port M before he could obtain authorization for further action and access to weapons from the Paris branch.
From the outside, the Port M monitoring station looked like a small warehouse, blending in among numerous rented storage units near the mining docks. Inside, it appeared no different from a normal warehouse. Only after entering an hourly-updated authorization code at the login port could the control panel be activated.
Inside the dim, cramped warehouse, shelves were lined up, filled with old goods as camouflage. Lan Bo sat on the top shelf, his fish tail dangling and swaying lightly, casually rummaging for something interesting.
He found an old Barbie doll in a box of junk and began playing with it, showing no particular enthusiasm for the mission.
Han Xingqian, dressed in a worn gray porter’s uniform, sat on the steps outside, holding a pair of torn rubber gloves. His long legs stretched down the steps as he pretended to rest while keeping an eye on passersby.
Bai Chunian crouched on the ground, entering the authorization code on a floating laser keyboard. Once activated, the control panel lit up, and all four walls of the warehouse illuminated, splitting into tens of thousands of surveillance screens, each one running.
For them, this mission was just another routine task.
But for the three behind them, it was entirely different.
Not just Lu Yan and Xiao Xun—even Bi Lanxing, the most outstanding among them, was on his first field assignment. No matter how many exams they had passed at school, those were still just tests. Before leaving, Bai Chunian had casually told them only one thing: “Be prepared to see blood.” Naturally, the three teenagers were tense, unsure even where to put their hands.
Lu Yan widened his eyes, staring at the screens. He realized Bai Chunian was reviewing surveillance footage from every corner of Port M over the past week. The footage was playing at one hundred times speed, racing across thousands of screens. After watching for just a moment, Lu Yan felt dizzy.
Bi Lanxing focused intently. Though he couldn’t clearly see anything either, he paid attention to where Bai Chunian’s gaze lingered and tried to analyze his reasoning.
Xiao Xun lowered his head silently, staring at the tips of his shoes.
Bai Chunian’s pupils darted rapidly along with the overwhelming visuals. Without taking his eyes off the screens, he casually said, “Xiao Xun, what are you looking at? Zoning out?”
Xiao Xun paused, then lifted his head, his voice cool. “Avoiding suspicion.”
“No need. Help me watch. Don’t waste time talking,” Bai Chunian said, still not turning around. “Lan Bo, stop chewing that doll—you’ve already eaten one leg.”
Xiao Xun hesitated, his lashes trembling slightly, then looked toward the screens.
Outside, Han Xingqian tipped up the brim of his old cap and smiled lazily. “Did you think getting into the special training base meant you could leave easily? Even if you lost your mind and returned to the Lingti family with our intel, you’d disappear from this world within three days. Smart kids know who they should be loyal to. I think you understand that.”
Xiao Xun didn’t respond, but the faint wagging of his tail betrayed his growing ease.
At one hundred times speed, the footage was impossible to follow with the naked eye—unless one had a specialized ability. Clearly, neither Bi Lanxing nor Lu Yan possessed observational-type abilities.
“I’ll take the rear and left side. I can see clearly,” Xiao Xun said calmly.
Lu Yan leaned over in surprise. “Seriously? I can’t see anything at all.”
Lan Bo reclined elegantly on the shelf, propping up his head. A half-eaten Barbie leg hung from his mouth. He dipped it into an open bucket of paint nearby, then sucked on it.
Anything involving technology was generally beyond Lan Bo’s capabilities, and Bai Chunian didn’t expect much from him. As long as he didn’t eat any rare equipment, that alone counted as a major contribution.
The branch’s secrecy isn’t entirely reliable. Instead of letting the “crawler” dig everything up on its own, it’s better to go with the flow and hand over some intel as a favor.
The information surprised the crawler. “I… I’ll look into it again. I’ll let you know if there’s anything new.”
“Exactly. We’re on the same side.” Bai Chunian smiled faintly. “At least our overall goals align.”
“We’re all experimental subjects.” He curved his eyes slightly. “Destroying Institute 109 should be a shared wish among us. As for what methods you plan to use against humanity afterward—I don’t really care.”
Being exposed so directly actually made the crawler feel more at ease. Talking to a “divine envoy” like Bai Chunian made it pointless to craft elaborate rhetoric—he simply didn’t bother with roundabout tactics.
After the explosion at Institute 109, countless experimental subjects escaped. To cover up its crimes and minimize the fallout, the institute publicly claimed that only a small number had gone missing and that most had already been recaptured. That was far from the truth. In reality, a large number of experimental subjects were now scattered throughout society. On the surface, things seemed peaceful, but the situation was already completely out of control.
Ordinary people couldn’t distinguish experimental subjects from humans. Only rare instruments could detect them—but such devices were scarce, limited in range, and largely ineffective.
“Fine,” the crawler said, showing sincerity. “The Formless Infiltrator and Samael are both our members. The Infiltrator’s triangular cabin was funded by us. Samael was also sent by us to rescue Professor Lin Deng. But his ability was too unusual—wherever he went, people got infected. It made us too easy to expose. He knew he would die. He volunteered to trade his life for Professor Lin Deng.”
“At the beginning, I spread a large amount of the institute’s data during the ATWL exams, hoping to stir up chaos. But there’s a powerful hacker inside the institute. I altered things on the front end, and he repaired them on the back end. In the end, at least half of the important data never made it out.”
“Professor Lin Deng is our hope. I can’t say more for now—unless you agree to join us. If you and Lan Bo both join, destroying Institute 109 would be much easier.”
Bai Chunian spread his hands. “I’m a member of IOA. Joining you would be betrayal. You know our chairman—someone at that level isn’t something any experimental subject can contend with. I suggest you keep your goals simple. Don’t set your sights on IOA.”
“Chairman Yan Yi…” the crawler muttered softly. “He’s a good man. I hacked into an international conference feed—he actually proposed banning the breeding of living special-combat weapons, recognizing experimental subjects as independent individuals, advocating rehabilitation over extermination. Even a rare A3-level high-tier omega wouldn’t dare take such a risk. He’ll eventually be crushed by all sides… but Yan Yi is powerful enough, and he’s decisive.”
The chairman had been in Westminster these past few days. Bai Chunian had been quietly following the developments. Just from the chairman’s stance alone, Bai Chunian was willing to follow him—no matter the outcome.
“Alright.” The crawler shook his head. “Then promise me this—don’t oppose us anymore. You sending the Formless Infiltrator to an international prison was a major loss for us.”
Bai Chunian didn’t answer immediately. “I don’t know how many members you have, but you’d better exercise some restraint. Experimental subjects can survive just fine on inorganic materials—so don’t eat people. And don’t take your hatred of the institute out on civilians. The chairman is already under enough pressure. Anyone who causes him trouble—I’ll deal with them. He just proposed those policies at the conference, and then you turn around and create a string of murders? That’s basically slapping him in the face.”
The crawler thought for a moment. “I can agree to that.”
Bai Chunian extended his hand. “Good. You’re getting the idea.”
They shook hands.
“In that case, I’ll give you another piece of intel as an apology for leaking your whereabouts earlier,” the crawler said. “The Red-Throated Birds have always been hostile toward IOA. At first, it was because they profited from trafficking high-grade glands. After IOA was established, omega safety improved drastically—gland harvesting and forced marriages nearly disappeared. That cut off their supply. Now that Chairman Yan Yi is pushing protections for experimental subjects, it’s hurting their weapons trade as well. He’s become a thorn in their side.”
“I intercepted internal communications—they’re planning a terrorist attack at M Port when Chairman Yan Yi’s plane makes a stopover. The goal is to stir up chaos and undermine his authority.”
“They’d love to kill him, but no one can actually beat him. Assassination won’t work, so they’re going the indirect route—creating panic, weakening his influence.”
Bai Chunian’s smile faded slightly. “But without headquarters’ authorization, I can’t leave the country.”
“That’s not my concern,” the crawler replied. “I admire him, but I’m not sacrificing my people for him. Besides, you and I both know—he’ll be fine.”
—
After chatting a while longer, Bai Chunian stood to leave. As he walked past the black panther alpha sitting rigidly on a single-seat sofa, he leaned down with his hands in his pockets and said, “You’ve been sitting there without moving. I suggest you hang yourself on the wall—then you’d be a seal.”
The black panther alpha shot him a glare.
Once Bai Chunian left, the alpha spoke coldly, “Troublesome guy.”
The crawler sat back, chewing on a candy stick, legs swinging. “No help for it. If I were a divine envoy, I’d be just as arrogant.”
“Do you think he’ll go to M Port?”
The crawler countered, “Why wouldn’t he? I didn’t lie. You can tell—his feelings toward humans are different from ours. A lot of that comes from that chairman. Honestly… an experimental subject who’s loved and trusted by humans… I don’t know whether to envy that or despise it.”
“For now, we’re partners. In the short term, our goals don’t conflict. As long as we share a common enemy, we’re allies.”
He tilted his head toward the other. “Hei Zhou, go pass it along—tell everyone not to attack humans for a while. Eat something normal. He’s right. That chairman… he really is decent.”
The security personnel carefully verified the chip inside the invitation. After confirming everything was in order, they returned it to Bai Chunian, opened the gate, and invited the distinguished guests inside.
Lan Bo said disdainfully, “What a damn hassle… can you take this garbage off my head already?”
Bai Chunian smiled politely. “His Highness wishes you good luck.”
Then he pushed the wheelchair forward, entering the venue with a composed and elegant stride.
Chairman Yan Yi should be arriving soon. Bai Chunian knew him well—he was never late. First, he needed to make sure the chairman was safe.
At that moment, Lu Yan and Bi Lanxing sent signals that they were in position. Lu Yan’s J1 ability, Burrow of the Clever Hare, functioned like a portal, making him especially adept at indoor infiltration. He blended in among the waitstaff, moving flexibly throughout the venue.
Bi Lanxing, meanwhile, silently climbed into the courtyard using his poisonous vine abilities.
Xiao Xun quickly located the best vantage point—the top of a signal tower in the distance—and set up his high-precision sniper rifle, waiting patiently.
“The bulletproofing at Danli Palace is excellent,” Xiao Xun said quietly over the comms. “I can’t guarantee a shot on indoor targets.”
“Understood. Wait for my command,” Bai Chunian replied.
Han Xingqian added, “I’m in position.”
Bai Chunian issued the order to begin the operation.
Lu Yan had already changed into a waiter’s uniform—a fitted black vest over a white shirt, with a black bow tie at the collar. Since the jewelry exhibition hadn’t started yet, he needed to reach his position early. Carrying two glasses of cocktails, he briskly passed by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the VIP lounge, heading toward the main hall.
Inside the VIP lounge, Lu Shangjin sat on a sofa, sipping coffee with his head lowered. Given his status, attending such an event wasn’t necessary—but since Yan Yi said he would be there, Lu Shangjin had taken an interest as well.
He called Yan Yi to ask if he needed a pickup. Mid-call, he thought he saw a small figure dart past outside the window.
Lu Shangjin rubbed his eyes lightly.
“What’s wrong?” Yan Yi asked over the phone.
“Nothing. I must just miss my precious son too much—starting to hallucinate.”