One could tell that this fellow was considerably dissatisfied with having to make a special trip to the slums. His angry emotions could be guessed even without looking at his expression. It was as if during this trip to the slums, he had seen something that made him feel a deep, visceral loathing.
"Why so much anger, Gvass? This isn't your motherland; is a mere trip to the slums enough to make you this disgruntled? They are rare treasures, after all!"
A scholar wearing a white lab coat walked up to him. As if he had encountered a precious gem, he took the half-bottle of mineral water into his hands and scrutinized it carefully, looking for all the world as if he had found a supreme treasure.
Watching the intoxicated expression on the scholar's face as he held that bottle of used mineral water, the man responsible for the theft felt a wave of revulsion wash over his entire body. Although he knew this guy was a freak, seeing this scene still triggered a deep-seated, instinctive disgust.
Thinking about how the owner of that bottle of used water was an Infected, the man felt as though his own hands were filthy just from touching it. He hurriedly walked to the side to perform a tedious disinfection ritual. Before that, however, he threw his clothes and the bag—anything that had come into contact with the bottle—into an incinerator to be burned. His expression made it look as if he were staring at the source of a malignant disease.
"Cut that out! You clearly know how much I loathe those Infected, yet you still asked me to go to the slums to steal something! And it's water that was drunk by an Infected thief, no less!"
This fellow was on the verge of an explosion. It was entirely possible he might pull out a dagger the next second and slit the scholar's throat, but for some reason, he merely vented his dissatisfaction.
The researchers nearby saw this scene and had long since grown accustomed to it. They knew this guy had a foul temper, but they also knew his abilities were strong enough to justify it. Were it not for that, given the way this guy dared to bark in front of them, he would have been strapped to an experimental table months ago to contribute to their scientific research. As for now, seeing as he had completed the mission perfectly, they would generously let him speak without restraint for a while. Consider it a rare act of mercy.
"You need to understand—since this stuff can alleviate the illness of the white mice in that area, it means this is the breakthrough for our research! Don't you also hope my experiment finishes quickly so you can go to your master and claim credit?"
As he spoke, he cautiously poured out the water from the bottle. He merged a drop of the water with the blood of an Infected and then observed the reaction between the two.
The moment the thief saw this guy start his research, he sensibly shut his mouth, showing none of the fury from moments ago. He wasn't a fool; he knew when he could do things and when he couldn't. Interfering with this guy's research would come at a terrifyingly painful price.
There used to be a guy here whose skills were much better than his, but because he had gotten carried away and run his mouth—even interrupting this freak while he was focused on his research—well, the ending? That guy was currently floating in several jars behind him! Various organs had left his body to serve as samples and experimental materials for the cause of science. With the predecessor's example as a warning, how could he ever provoke this guy's "reverse scales" again? Then again, aside from when he was researching, this guy was actually quite easy to talk to; no one had ever seen him truly lose his temper.
"Miraculous... truly miraculous! When the Infected blood comes into contact with this liquid, the activity of the Originium within the body drops! It seems I was right—this stuff is the key to our research!"
The scholar muttered words the thief couldn't understand. The thief didn't want to know what those things were either; he only knew they were related to the disgusting Infected. He hated the Infected—truly hated them! He hated them to the point where even if they had nothing to do with him, he wanted to kill them just for being Infected. Doctors said he had a mental illness, but then again, who on Terra isn't a little sick?
His childhood dream was to personally kill the man who was the shame of Ursus: the combat hero turned Infected, Patriot, Buldrokashtee. He felt that since that hero had become an Infected, he should have committed suicide for his country to prove his loyalty to Ursus!
But that dream ended years ago during a battle with the Infected Guerillas. Out of a unit of over a hundred and fifty people, including the regular army, only a few survivors managed to escape with their lives. Later, he was recruited by a high-ranking noble. His name would be listed as "deceased," and he came to Lungmen to perform special missions, fighting for the glory of Great Ursus once more.
Since then, he had been doing this until now. His boss was the manager of this company, and he served as this researcher's assistant, helping him obtain all the necessary resources. He perhaps didn't know that his record on the roster was destined to become "deceased." Even if he hadn't agreed, he would have been made dead, giving that noble a reason to take the vast majority of his pension.
Suddenly, a song he didn't understand played from a phone on the desk. It was a Columbia pop song, the researcher's favorite.
"Hello! Why are you looking for me? If you have something to say, say it quickly. If not, hang up. I'm busy!"
The researcher wedged the phone against his shoulder while talking, the impatient expression on his face very obvious. He hated it when others interrupted his train of thought during research. However, considering the other party was the one providing the funds for the research he wanted to do, he tentatively gave the guy some face. Otherwise, he wouldn't have even bothered picking up the phone.
"Dr. Donald, I'm relieved to hear you're in such high spirits. While research is important, your health is even more vital than your work!"
From the other end of the phone came a very deep, powerful voice. Based on the sound, the speaker was likely the type of massive, burly man capable of uprooting a willow tree with his bare hands. Hearing this voice, Gvass—who had been acting sloppily—instinctively stood at attention, not daring to be disrespectful in the slightest.
"Cut the crap. What is it this time?"
Donald was impatient. He only hoped this useless small talk would end quickly so he could return to being intoxicated by his genius-level research.
"Tomorrow, the LGD will be coming to our company for a thorough investigation. I'll have to ask the Doctor to look after my subordinates."
When the man said these words, his mood was clearly not as good as before. It seemed he was extremely repulsed by the LGD's audit, but being in a foreign land, he had no choice but to comply.
"I know. Same as usual. I'm hanging up!"
Donald impatiently hung up and dove back into his research.
On the other side, a robust Ursus man strolled through his luxurious villa, looking at the stars in the sky, his thoughts unknown. He felt that this LGD operation wasn't as simple as it appeared on the surface. This sudden inspection made him anxious as well. But for now, he could only wait for tomorrow and react as things unfolded.
At the same time, in the pitch-black outskirts of Lungmen at night, a person appeared. A person with long white hair. His white hair drifted in the wind, and his eyes were as sharp as blades. Those eyes seemed to conquer the surroundings like swords. In this dark night, he stared forward without blinking. He looked as if he were waiting for someone's arrival, yet also as if he were confronting something hidden in the darkness.
"The Ursus KGB... a special figure from the intelligence reconnaissance department. Truly extraordinary."
As the words were spoken, a faint light appeared at the mouth of a sewer drain. The light shone upon a massive rat; if one looked closely, human characteristics could still be seen. In Lungmen, there was only one Zalalak who had been "ancient-ized" to this extent: the King of the Shadows in the slums, the Rat King.
"The Rat King is indeed a great figure that one can never forget after a single meeting, just as the data we collected said!"
The white-haired man looked at the Rat King. There wasn't a trace of fear or retreat in those sharp eyes; instead, he looked straight into the Rat King's eyes. The two stared at each other for a while until the white-haired man spoke first, ending the meaningless staring contest.
"Gin, a member of the Ursus Special Department. I have come to assist Lungmen in dealing with the members of the Ursus criminal organization lurking within."
With that, the man took off his hat and gave the Rat King an Ursus military salute. Now, looking at the top of his head, it was clear he was a Liberi.
This "Gin" likely belonged to the hawk species among the many Liberi races. Those sharp eyes were like a falcon searching for the giant rats gnawing at Ursus, determined to hunt these traitors to the very end.