National Guardian's Gone and We're Done

His hair began to fall out in large clumps,

as if torn away by the invisible hands of a Demon,

revealing the raw, bloody scalp that had been corroded underneath.

In just a few moments,

this once strong, valiant, and imposing Samurai had been reduced to a crimson "meat man."

His body was covered in grotesque wounds and blisters,

his muscles contorted by extreme agony into a bizarre and horrifying posture.

Finally, he lay motionless on the ground, his eyes wide and vacant, staring blankly at the night sky. There was not even a hint of a breath left in him.

The gruesome sight was as if a cruel Demon had flayed him, stripping away all of his skin,

leaving behind only a nauseating pile of bloody flesh

that exuded a thick, metallic stench of blood, making it unbearable to look at directly.

And with the fading of his life, his shrill screams came to an abrupt halt, leaving only a deathly silence.

It was as if the entire world, stunned by the horrifying scene, had plunged into an endless silence and darkness.

The surrounding workers witnessed this inhumanly cruel scene and were scared out of their wits.

Their faces turned pale as paper, and their legs grew so weak they could barely stand.

At that moment, they had only one thought—’We have to get away from this awful place.’

Without needing any prompting, the crowd, as if they had lost their souls,

frantically dropped their tools and turned to flee for their lives.

They had left their homes and traveled far to this strange and dangerous foreign land,

all to earn money and support their families thousands of miles away.

They never imagined they would be dragged into such a terrible nightmare.

They weren’t willing to risk their lives here for such meager wages.

In their eyes, this construction site wasn’t their problem to begin with.

Besides, since the people from the White-Red Empire claimed to have experts,

a dangerous situation like this should naturally be handled by them.

It was hardly the responsibility of unarmed workers who just wanted to go home safely.

In just a few short minutes, the workers scattered like startled birds and beasts, vanishing completely,

disappearing into the vast darkness of the night,

leaving behind nothing but an empty construction site and the lingering stench of fear.

Goto Taiji and Zheng Qifeng did not try to stop them.

They knew in their hearts that the workers would be of no real use if they stayed.

On the contrary, they might become a burden and disrupt their plans.

Letting them leave actually made the situation simpler and easier to control.

Goto Taiji stood at the edge of the pit with a grave expression,

his eyes fixed on the Samurai below who had been turned into a man of bloody flesh.

His brow was furrowed, his gaze revealing a complex mix of emotions—shock, anger,

and a faint, almost imperceptible trace of fear.

After a moment of silence, he turned his head to look at an agile, cold-eyed Ninja beside him.

"Iwata Masao," he said in a low, raspy voice, "go down and check on him.

See if there are any signs of life."

Iwata Masao was a mysterious Ninja clad in a tight-fitting, black night suit.

He stood there silently, his posture straight and agile, like a panther hidden in the night sky,

exuding a cold and vigilant aura.

His eyes were like cold stars, deep and sharp,

constantly alert to every movement around him—an instinct honed by years of rigorous training.

Goto Taiji’s gaze swept over the crowd of Samurai and Ninja,

finally landing on Iwata Masao with an air of unquestionable authority.

The reason he had singled out Iwata Masao,

ordering him into the depths of the pit filled with unknown dangers,

was precisely because of the most praised trait of the Ninja clan: their lightning-fast speed.

In this perilous situation where life and death hung in the balance,

if he were to truly encounter some unimaginably fatal crisis,

Iwata Masao, with his ghost-like agility and lightning-fast reflexes,

had a better chance than the Samurai, who specialized in close-quarters combat,

of finding a slim path to survival and escaping from the danger that was like the gaping maw of a Demon.

Suddenly having his name called, Iwata Masao

showed a flicker of imperceptible hesitation.

His brow furrowed slightly,

his eyes betraying a fear of the unknown darkness and an instinctive resistance to this dangerous mission.

After all, the memory of that Samurai—going from full of life to a gruesome death as he was corroded by the blood-red soil—

was seared into everyone’s mind like a deep scar,

sending an involuntary, bone-deep chill through his heart.

However, the strict Ninja discipline of many years and the absolute obedience to a superior’s command

bound him like two invisible ropes.

After a brief internal struggle, he gritted his teeth,

a flash of determination in his eyes as he resolved to obey the order.

He took a deep breath, his chest swelling slightly as if gathering all his strength.

Then, his legs bent slightly, like a fully drawn bow.

The next second, he leaped from the edge of the pit like a black bolt of lightning.

During the brief descent,

his gaze was locked on the horrifying corpse at the bottom of the pit, which had been turned into a man of blood-red flesh,

his eyes filled with vigilance and tension.

In the blink of an eye, Iwata Masao landed lightly at the bottom of the pit.