The Centipedes didn't knock. They kicked down the neighbor's wall to widen the street for their arrival.
Thirty men filled the alley. They wore matching gray armbands and carried lengths of rusted pipe, chains, and jagged scrap metal. They didn't look like cultivators. They looked like a demolition crew.
Iron Hand Zhang stood at the front. His right hand—the one Yang Yi had broken—was encased in a crude, bulky gauntlet made of riveted iron plates. His face was a map of purple bruising from the mission board incident.
He spat a tooth onto the cobblestones.
"You're still here. I thought you'd be halfway to the border."
Yang Yi remained seated in the doorway of Hut 402. He picked a speck of dirt from his fingernail. "I told you. I'm buying."
Zhang raised his iron-clad fist. The metal creaked. "The price went up. Now it's your head."
He signaled.
The mob surged forward. A wave of screaming, desperate violence.
Lin stepped out from the shadows of the hut, a jar of Explosive Blood Pills in her hand. Her knuckles were white.
Yang Yi stood up. He didn't rush. He moved with the heavy, hydraulic precision of a machine. The bone-hardening paste had set, turning his limbs into dense, unyielding weights.
"Save the pills."
He stepped into the street.
The first thug reached him—a skinny youth swinging a lead pipe.
Yang Yi didn't dodge. He raised his left forearm.
CLACK.
The lead pipe hit Yang Yi's arm. It didn't sound like metal hitting flesh. It sounded like metal hitting a tombstone.
The pipe bent. The thug's hands vibrated from the shock. He stared at Yang Yi's arm, where the gray skin hadn't even bruised.
Yang Yi punched.
His fist, heavy with calcified knuckles, struck the thug's chest. The impact caved in the ribcage. The youth flew backward, knocking down two men behind him.
"Next."
Zhang roared. He charged through his own men, sweeping them aside. He wound up a massive haymaker with his iron gauntlet.
"Iron Bone Shatter!"
It was a clumsy technique, but it had weight behind it. Enough to crack a boulder.
Yang Yi planted his feet. He felt the weight of his treated shins anchor him to the earth. He didn't block. He kicked.
He caught Zhang's charging knee with the flat of his boot.
CRUNCH.
It was a sickening, wet sound. The sound of a tree snapping in a storm.
Zhang's leg bent the wrong way. The momentum of his charge sent him face-planting into the dirt. His iron gauntlet dug a furrow in the ground, inches from Yang Yi's toes.
Yang Yi didn't let up. He stomped.
His heavy, stone-hard heel came down on the back of the iron gauntlet.
The metal flattened. The hand inside pulped.
Zhang screamed. A high, keen wail that silenced the mob instantly.
The Centipedes froze. They looked at their leader—the man who had terrorized Block 9 for years—writhing in the mud, broken by two strikes.
Yang Yi stood over him. He looked at the thirty men. His vertical pupils dilated, the wolf essence projecting a wave of primal, predatory fear.
"The Centipede is dead."
He looked at the thug nearest him.
"Drop the pipe."
The thug dropped it. It clattered loudly.
"Kneel."
The thug fell to his knees, pressing his forehead to the dirty cobblestones.
One by one, the rest followed. Chains dropped. Knives fell. Thirty men knelt in the filth, bowing to the new predator.
Yang Yi looked down at Zhang. The man was passing out from the pain.
"Lin."
Lin stepped forward, eyeing the kneeling crowd warily.
"Patch him up. Don't heal him. Just stop the bleeding. He can't work if he's dead."
"Work?" Lin frowned.
"He has iron skin. He makes a good shield."
Yang Yi turned to the crowd.
"Get up."
They rose, terrified, eyes glued to the ground.
"Block 9 is under new management. No more taxes. No more random beatings."
A murmur of disbelief went through the group.
"Instead," Yang Yi continued, his voice hard as the stone in his bones, "we have shifts. You. What's your name?"
He pointed to the lanky man with the scar he had met by the fire barrel.
"Wu... Wu. Sir."
"Wu. Take ten men. Go to the ravine. I want a perimeter. Traps. Alarms. Anything that moves comes through a choke point."
Wu nodded frantically. "Yes, boss."
"You five." Yang Yi pointed to the burliest thugs. "Go to the mines. Double shifts. Bring back every ounce of ore you find. We need metal."
"And the rest?" A brave soul asked from the back.
Yang Yi smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.
"The rest of you are going to help me expand."
He turned and walked back into the hut. The adrenaline of the fight faded, leaving his legs throbbing with a dull, heavy ache. The paste demanded a price for the power it gave.
Lin followed him in. She looked at him with a mix of horror and awe.
"You just enslaved a gang."
"I gave them a purpose. Men like that die without a leash."
Yang Yi sat on his mat, massaging his gray, stony shins.
"Prepare the salves, Lin. We need to get Zhang walking again. Tonight, we pay a visit to Block 8."
"Block 8? That's the Viper Clan's territory. They use poison."
Yang Yi tapped the Myriad Beast Assimilation Record next to him.
"Good. My rat blood is getting hungry."