Chapter Ninety-Four: First Come, First Served

Erland never dreamed he would receive such good news.

As an intelligence officer, Erland’s status within the Federation was far from high. To be honest, when he was ordered to gather intelligence, he initially refused. He didn’t want to be taken out by the elusive and legendary figure known only as “the Doctor.” However, the Federation was a military regime where disobedience was not tolerated, so Erland reluctantly accepted the mission.

Fortunately, the decadence of Vegas soothed the wounded soul of this plump intelligence officer. The well-trained, captivating women of the city enchanted him so thoroughly that he was tempted to abandon all duties and stay permanently—if only he weren’t on an official “business trip.” But sadly, after checking his nearly empty wallet, Erland knew this was just a pipe dream.

Then, when the news came from the Fuyuan Society, Erland could hardly contain himself.

The target the Federation sought was right here!

If Erland understood Chinese, he might have wept and shouted, "After endless searching, the prize was found with no effort at all!"

Whether those tears were of joy or excitement was another matter entirely.

Calm down! Calm down! Calm down!

Summoning every ounce of willpower, Erland forced himself not to leap about naked in his room. Still, his face flushed red as he paced back and forth in his bathrobe, wrestling with a flood of conflicting thoughts.

Should he eliminate the Doctor outright? No—first, violence was forbidden in Vegas. Even if it weren’t, he only had twenty or so guards—far too few against someone who had wiped out three bases. They wouldn’t even be a nuisance to him.

What about informing his superiors? Erland hesitated. This was his golden opportunity. Capturing the Doctor alive or securing his corpse could rocket his career within the Federation. He might rise from a mere intelligence officer to deputy commander. But realistically, with his current strength, that was unlikely.

Frustrated, Erland tugged at the few hairs left on his head. At this critical juncture, he had to make a choice. Just as despair nearly overwhelmed him, an idea illuminated his mind.

According to Vegas rumors, the Doctor would attend an appraisal event three days from now. That meant he would remain in Vegas for at least that long. Even if Erland alerted the Federation, they couldn’t assemble sufficient forces in time. He could prepare two plans: with so many factions gathered in Vegas, a little interference might spark conflict between the Doctor and others. If they fought, Erland could reap the benefits. Even if he failed to capture the Doctor, causing him to fall into danger or suffer serious injury would be a triumph. And if he did manage to eliminate the Doctor…

Decision made.

Erland immediately activated long-range communication and sent the intelligence to Federation Legion Headquarters. Then he quickly changed clothes, summoned his guards, and sternly issued orders.

“Find the Doctor immediately. Report as soon as you locate him. Do not alert him—understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

After dispersing his men, Erland sat restlessly. On one hand, he hoped everything would go according to plan; on the other, he feared the Doctor’s own moves might be discovered and retaliated against—perhaps even death at his doorstep.

He shuddered, recalling the gruesome corpses and the long list of victims. Was he destined to become another name on that list?

Several times, he nearly scrapped his plan and called in the Federation to handle it—after all, he’d secured the intelligence and could consider his mission complete, avoiding unnecessary risk. But whenever he opened the comm channel, thoughts of generous rewards and promotion tempted him back.

Soon, Erland was relieved to receive a report.

“Sir, we have located the target!”

His heart nearly leapt from his chest. He paused in shock, then instinctively asked, “What’s the situation? Were you detected?”

“No. The target is normal—in fact, he’s dining now.”

Dining?

Everyone eats, and so did Ferren. He sat by the restaurant window, enjoying the night view while savoring his meal. The Fuyuan Society provided authentic Chinese cuisine—one of the few things Ferren appreciated about Vegas. In other gathering places, even in the Ninth District, Western cuisine dominated. Finding a spot serving primarily Eastern fare was a rare luxury in this wasteland.

“This beggar’s chicken is quite good—fairly authentic,” Ferren said, lowering his chopsticks to chew thoughtfully. He nodded in satisfaction, then reached for the tea nearby and sipped the fragrant brew—priceless luxuries before the disaster, now treasures worth a fortune. But to Ferren, such trivial expenses meant nothing.

“What do you think, Delin?”

“Your recommendation is naturally excellent,” responded the cat-eared maid sitting quietly opposite him, her ears twitching slightly as she smiled. Ferren smiled in turn but was interrupted before he could speak further.

Suddenly, a crude voice shattered the quiet.

“This is awesome! Vegas really lives up to its reputation! The City of Desire, indeed!”

The patrons, including Ferren, turned toward the entrance. A flushed-faced young man, dressed in fine clothes, swaggered in. He looked around the lavishly decorated restaurant with a satisfied nod, snapped his fingers, and soon a servant appeared.

“May I assist you, sir?”

“I’ve heard your food is great. Bring me all your best dishes! If it’s not good, I’ll smash this place!”

He strode further inside, scanning the room. Upon spotting Delin, his eyes brightened.

“Hey, Darryl, look—she’s got ears on her head!”

“That’s a familiar spirit, young master,” a middle-aged man at his side whispered in warning.

“Remember the Legion Commander’s orders—avoid trouble. Familiar spirits rarely appear before humans. We shouldn’t…”

The man’s words were cut off.

“Of course I know they’re rare. I’ve never seen one before! Let’s see what’s so interesting about this thing!”

The young master strode toward them boldly. The older man frowned but reluctantly followed. The young man glanced at Ferren, then at Delin, extending his hand in a strange gesture with a smile.

“Hello, beautiful lady. I’m Clavin of the Caesar Legion. May I ask your name?”

Delin simply smiled and looked at Ferren without answering. Ferren casually glanced at the young man and whispered:

“You have no right to know her name. Now, I suggest you keep your distance. Your foul stench nearly ruins the fine food here.”

“Who are you?” the young man snapped, his face darkening with hostility—the typical reaction most men had upon seeing Ferren’s striking, almost otherworldly appearance.

Ferren said nothing, instead setting down his chopsticks and sighing.

“Looks like you’re not planning to leave. What a pity—I had hoped to enjoy my meal in peace. But as a doctor, I cannot ignore a patient before me…”

“Young master, watch out!”

Suddenly, the middle-aged man’s face changed dramatically. He stepped forward to shield the young man and raised his hand. Instantly, a thick layer of ice erupted from his fingertips, forming an octagonal crystalline barrier that spread swiftly—a solid wall of ice.

In the next moment, a pitch-black blade of light sliced down from above, cleaving the ice wall. Invisible yet razor-sharp, it cut through the ice barrier, the man’s arm, and the young man behind him in one clean stroke.

“Bang!”

The ice shattered violently. The middle-aged man turned pale, staggering back two steps, clutching his severed right arm, his face twisted in agony. Behind him, the young man’s body was severed perfectly in two—brains, bones, and entrails scattered neatly on the floor, releasing a foul stench.

“You—you actually…”

The older man stared at Ferren, who smiled calmly, as if looking at a madman.

“You killed him! Do you know what you’ve done? That was the Caesar Legion Commander’s son! You’ve declared war on the entire Caesar Legion!”

“So what?”

Brushing dust off his wide-brimmed hat, Ferren stood and adjusted it. Smiling faintly, he gazed at the man.

“I believe I have the freedom to kill whoever, wherever I wish, don’t I?”

(To be continued.)