214: Art is

On the Arena, duels followed one after another—the fierce grappling of the hand-to-hand combat group and the glint of weapons from the weapons group—pushing the atmosphere to a continuous climax.

Cheers, gasps of surprise, the impassioned tone of the commentator, and the background music all blended together. The air was thick with the heat of sweat, dust, and excitement.

Shen Mingyuan sat in the back row, binoculars resting on his lap. His gaze calmly swept over the Arena and the boiling stands, like a cool observer recording this human competitive spectacle filled with raw power and skill.

Just as a hand-to-hand duel reached its climax—with one side thrown out of the Arena boundary, the referee loudly counting down, and the audience erupting in a massive wave of sound—

First came an extremely brief yet sharp, high-frequency hum that pierced the eardrums, as if it could tear through the air. It emanated simultaneously from multiple load-bearing pillars of the stadium. The sound was sharp but fleeting, instantly drowned out by the roaring cheers, yet enough to make someone as perceptive as Shen Mingyuan tense up.

Then came the wind.

Violent gusts of air, carrying dust and a faint, indescribable burnt-metal odor, rushed in simultaneously from several ventilation ducts and emergency exits of the venue.

The wind arrived abruptly, even rustling some flags and papers in the hands of the audience.

Shen Mingyuan's pupils contracted sharply. His body reacted before his mind—he abruptly stood up from his seat, his gaze scanning like lightning toward the source of the airflow.

Then, the tyrant of light and sound descended.

"BOOM!!!!" "KABOOM—!!!"

Not just one, but a series of muffled yet devastatingly powerful explosions erupted simultaneously near the lower tiers of the spectator stands, the main passageways, and areas with concentrated lighting equipment!

Blinding flames and thick smoke instantly replaced the bright lights. Shattered seats, chunks of concrete, twisted metal railings, and unidentified debris were hurled in all directions by the shockwaves!

"Ah—!!"

"Help!"

"Explosion! There's a bomb!"

The massive sound wave was instantly drowned out by screams and cries of terror amplified countless times over. Those near the blast points bore the brunt—knocked over by the shockwaves, struck by debris—blood and dust instantly painting a scene of chaos and carnage.

People farther away were stunned for a moment by the sudden disaster, then survival instinct took over. Like a disturbed swarm of bees, they began pushing, running, and crying out desperately, trying to escape the stands that had instantly turned into a Hell.

Passageways clogged instantly. Those who fell were trampled. Desperate cries for help and chaotic roars filled every corner.

"Awoo—!"

"Hiss!"

Snarls filled with bloodlust came from the blasted or smoke-filled passageways.

Immediately after, short yet incredibly swift black figures surged out like a flood from an opened sluice gate! They were the mass-produced cannon fodder of "Prometheus"—the "Sentry Dogs"!

They weren't aimless; they organizedly pounced on the nearest crowds, biting, clawing, and beating with weapons, creating more bloodshed and panic, intentionally herding people to cause greater chaos and block passageways.

Some brave staff or martial arts competitors tried to resist, but facing numerous Sentry Dogs that felt no fear or pain, they were instantly in peril.

Amid this Hellish scene, the huge circular main screen at the center of the venue flickered with static a few times, then the image changed.

A man's upper body appeared on the screen.

He appeared to be around forty, with an extremely ordinary face—the type you might see in any office or subway station but struggle to recall distinctly. He wore plain frameless glasses, even carrying a hint of a clerk-like scholarly air.

However, his eyes behind the lenses were calm to the point of being stripped of human emotion, and a faint, almost measured smile hung at the corner of his mouth.

He cleared his throat lightly. His voice, transmitted through the venue's remaining sound System, was clear, steady, and even carried an unsettling politeness, forming a horrifying contrast with the carnage on-site:

"Allow me to interrupt you all for a moment. My name is Lin Mo," he began as if starting an ordinary meeting. "An ordinary person with a deep interest in the 'possibilities' of life's evolution."

His gaze calmly swept across the screen, as if he could see the chaos on-site.

"I regret the fear and pain you are experiencing now. But perhaps this is a necessary 'wake-up call.' The old order and peace are as fragile as paper in the face of true evolutionary tides. These," he gestured toward the rampaging Sentry Dogs, "are merely insignificant opening actors of the new world."

"And I believe a friend who once called himself a 'passing Detective' in that small bank must be watching now."

He paused slightly, enunciating clearly:

"Mr. 'shadow.'"

"Last time, our brief encounter left no opportunity for deeper conversation, which I regret. Your performance added quite a valuable entry to our observation records." Lin Mo's voice held no praise or blame, only pure statement. "Now, we offer a more direct... platform for exchange. This venue, these lives not yet eliminated, constitute a simple experimental field."

"If you still intend to fulfill your 'Detective' duties, or if that faint impulse in your heart to stem the tide hasn't yet been extinguished..."

"I await you at the main Arena."

"You may choose to remain hidden among the crowd, witnessing the experiment proceed to its predetermined conclusion. Of course, time—and these Sentry Dogs' instinctual demand for biomass—will not pause."

"The choice is yours, 'shadow.'"

After the explosion, when the crowd completely lost control, Shen Mingyuan didn't go with the flow. Relying on exceptional calm and observational skills, he moved against the crowd and slipped into a small door marked "Equipment Storage Room" to the side.

Inside, the space was narrow, cluttered with cleaning tools and miscellaneous items, but sufficiently hidden. He locked the door, quickly opened his shoulder bag—the "twin stars" lay quietly in a specially designed compartment. He took them out and holstered them at his waist.

Then, he touched the armband on his left wrist.

"Transform!"

With a low shout, the shadow armor rapidly covered his entire body, the familiar lightness and sense of strength returning. He took a deep breath and yanked open the storage room door.

Outside, several Sentry Dogs patrolling nearby to clear "stragglers" were immediately alerted, snarling as they pounced. Shen Mingyuan's eyes turned icy. Without even fully stepping out of the doorway, his hands shot up like lightning.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The low hum of the twin stars pistols echoed in the narrow space. Energy bullets precisely struck the heads or chests of the three nearest Sentry Dogs, which collapsed without a sound.

Shen Mingyuan didn't pause. Like a black gust of wind, he charged out. Relying on the speed and reflexes provided by the armor, before more Sentry Dogs could encircle him, he tore open a gap at the edge of the pack with precise shots and swift dodges, rushing toward the open main Arena below.

His target was clear—the man calling himself "Lin Mo," who was now provoking him on the screen.

His appearance and efficient killing immediately drew attention.

Beside the main Arena, at a small, temporarily raised control console, Lin Mo leaned elegantly against it, holding a glass of amber liquid from who-knows-where, gently swirling it.

He watched with keen interest as 'shadow' cut through the pack of dogs like a black blade, rapidly approaching the Arena. There was no surprise on his face, only a knowing look that said 'as expected,' and a deeper, icy amusement.

He picked up a simple Microphone at hand, his voice amplified by the device, easily drowning out the surrounding roars and distant cries, clearly directed toward Shen Mingyuan's direction:

"Truly impressive efficiency, Mr. shadow. It seems my judgment was correct—you didn't follow the crowd and leave, but... chose to 'go against the flow.'"

Lin Mo adjusted his glasses, his gaze sweeping over the distant, densely packed crowd under concentrated guard, his tone tinged with a feigned, hypocritical concern.

"Let me guess where you were hiding just now? Unfortunately, the earlier chaos, plus the necessary 'Clearing Work' by these children, seems to have thinned out some of the irrelevant spectators. Were you one of them? Hmm... hard to find, after all,"

he curled his lips into a cruel arc, "counting the living is much more troublesome than counting the dead. But none of that matters now. With you here, the Male Lead of this show is finally in place."

As he spoke, more Sentry Dogs, originally scattered on guard or herding people, began to consciously converge toward the area where Shen Mingyuan was, trying to block his advance. Shen Mingyuan had to slow down, relying on obstacles like Arena seats and pillars to maneuver around the pack, steadily pushing forward.

Lin Mo wasn't in a hurry. He even turned slightly, casting his gaze toward a large group of terrified hostages surrounded by Sentry Dogs not far away.

His gaze was like an icy probe, sweeping over faces that were crying, numb, or huddled together trying to draw warmth.

When he saw a family of three tightly embracing, the parents futilely trying to shield their child with their bodies; when he saw a young couple still tightly holding each other's hands in fear; especially, when his gaze swept past a corner of the crowd—

there, Old Man Wei Qingyuan, because his legs hadn't fully recovered, was sitting on the ground with some difficulty, while Wei Ziqing stood in front of him, holding a Metal Pipe torn from a nearby broken Billboard. Though pale-faced, his eyes were fixed on the surrounding Sentry Dogs, ready to fight to the death at any moment.

The old man occasionally tugged at the youth's sleeve, whispering something, as if trying to calm him down.

Seeing this, the formulaic smile on Lin Mo's face faded, replaced by a more genuine, yet even colder emotion—a twisted expression mixed with disgust, jealousy, and cruel delight.

He took a light sip of wine, muttering to himself in a voice just loud enough for a few subordinates near the control console to hear:

"Look... false warmth, fragile dependence. In the face of absolute fear and power, how laughable this posture is, and how... nauseating."

He seemed immersed in some emotion, watching Wei Ziqing's vigilant protective stance, watching the old man still trying to protect his Disciple even when he could barely protect himself, a cold glint flashing in his eyes.

At that moment, Wei Ziqing moved!

Perhaps stimulated by Lin Mo's undisguised malicious gaze, perhaps seeing 'shadow' struggling to break through gave him a sliver of courage, or perhaps, the instinct to protect his Master overwhelmed his fear of the overwhelming numbers.

Seizing the moment when Lin Mo seemed distracted and wasn't too far from the edge of the hostage encirclement, he suddenly hurled the Metal Pipe in his hand at the nearest Sentry Dog as a distraction, then burst out from the crowd like a leopard!

His target wasn't the Sentry Dogs, but Lin Mo himself!

The youth's martial arts training was on full display at this moment—extremely fast, closing the distance in a few steps. Though he had no sword in hand, his fingers were pointed like a blade, stabbing straight at Lin Mo's neck! This sudden attack caught most people off guard.

However, Lin Mo merely tilted his head slightly.

The movement was casual, yet chillingly precise. Wei Ziqing's surefire strike missed. Before he could change tactics, Lin Mo's free left hand shot out like a venomous snake, grabbing Wei Ziqing by the throat, fingers tightening, easily lifting the youth until his feet slightly left the ground!

"Ziqing!" Old Man Wei Qingyuan's eyes widened in fury, struggling to his feet regardless of the consequences, lunging to pry open Lin Mo's hand, but Lin Mo casually swung an elbow, hitting him squarely in the chest. The old man grunted, staggering backward and falling to the ground, clutching his chest as he coughed violently, his old injury seemingly aggravated.

"Master!" Wei Ziqing, choked by the throat, struggled to breathe, his face rapidly turning red. His hands futilely tried to pry open Lin Mo's iron-clamp-like fingers, his feet kicking weakly, but he couldn't budge the other at all.

Lin Mo subduing Wei Ziqing seemed as effortless as swatting a fly. He leaned in slightly toward the youth, whose face was contorted with suffocation and rage, his gaze shifting between Wei Ziqing's young face and the anxious, pained Wei Qingyuan on the ground, his voice terrifyingly calm:

"Oh? Stepping forward? Admirable courage." He paused, his tone taking on a deliberately curious note, even more chilling, "But, I've noticed an interesting phenomenon—you don't look alike at all. He's not your biological father, is he?"

Wei Qingyuan, enduring the pain, looked up, glaring at Lin Mo, his voice hoarse: "What if he is? What if he isn't? Ziqing is my son! Let him go!"

"Son?" Lin Mo savored the word, that genuine, icy disgust resurfacing on his face, even more intense,

"Picked up from an Orphanage? No blood relation, yet performing so-called 'father-son affection'? Still protecting each other at a time like this?"

He shook his head, as if seeing the most ridiculous and repulsive thing in the world, tightening his grip on Wei Ziqing's throat a bit more, watching the youth's pained expression, a flicker of delight in his eyes.

"Truly... a nauseatingly touching act." Lin Mo's voice turned cold, "What I hate most is people like you... clearly stuck in the mud of misfortune, yet insist on licking each other's wounds, conjuring up illusions of warmth. Why?"

The last three words were almost whispered, yet laden with bone-chilling coldness.

He no longer looked at the furious and desperate Wei Qingyuan on the ground, but dragged the nearly suffocating Wei Ziqing, retreating to the other side of the Arena, away from Shen Mingyuan's Breakthrough direction.

His gaze passed over the black figure still tangling with more and more Sentry Dogs, yet resolutely advancing toward the center of the Arena, a cold smile curling his lips again.

"It seems, Mr. shadow, our game needs a little variable added."

He raised his voice, ensuring Shen Mingyuan could hear, "This brave youth who tried to ambush me is now my new guest. You want to save those hostages? Fine. Get past my 'children' first. As for this young friend's fate... perhaps it depends on your speed, and perhaps on my mood."

He stood at ease, positioning Wei Ziqing slightly in front of him like an interesting human shield or bargaining chip, quietly waiting for Shen Mingyuan to break through the dense pack of dogs and come before him.