Weapon System 17: The Humble Daoist Arrives (2)

Under his Taoist robe, Zhang Mingjing wore a tight-fitting running suit, and on his feet were a pair of striking red or green running shoes. This combination—he thought—looked absolutely dazzling.

When it came to his attire, he often found himself savoring the memory. It was the third day after Zhang Yidao and Xiao Nüxia had left. The city was utterly deserted, and he missed the two of them terribly. Suddenly, he caught sight of the yellow Taoist robe Zhang Yidao had left behind. For some inexplicable reason, he felt an instant affinity for it. The moment he put it on and looked in the mirror, it seemed as if the reflection itself was transformed by its radiance.

Unconsciously, he grew fond of wearing the Taoist robe and even came to like being addressed with the title “this humble priest.” From that day on, every morning and evening, he would kowtow three times to the ancestral master, as if his home had gained an unseen inhabitant—never mind whether such an ancestral master had ever existed.

That day, after donning the robe, he added a Taoist hat and a black mask, thinking he looked both trendy and cool. In that instant, he resolved to make this Taoist ensemble his battle attire.

From that day forward, in the lonely little city, a figure clad in yellow Taoist robes could often be seen weaving through the streets.

At this moment, Yuhua and Chengxian had made their way to the outskirts, stopping beside an abandoned factory. Yuhua’s sense of smell had been enhanced, while Chengxian’s hearing was sharper than ever. Even from outside, they could tell that several mutant animals lurked within—the energy they sensed was extraordinarily strong.

Zhang Mingjing had already received their report. But with the factory more than forty kilometers away, rushing there himself would risk detection by the military. Nor was it practical to have Yuhua and Chengxian lure the mutant creatures toward him. So he instructed them to investigate inside and report back.

Receiving their orders, Yuhua and Chengxian slipped quietly into the factory, only to be swallowed by darkness.

At this moment, the pet assistant’s miniature infrared monitoring system activated, and Zhang Mingjing received a real-time feed. He was astounded.

“Damn! Six of them—all mutant dogs! They look absolutely famished,” Zhang Mingjing muttered. “This doesn’t bode well!”

No sooner had he finished complaining than the six mutant dogs began to close in on Yuhua and Chengxian.

“Damn! Are they really going to hunt you two? Run—now!” Zhang Mingjing ordered at once. Chengxian leapt onto Yuhua’s back, and Yuhua immediately bolted for the exit, the six mutant dogs in hot pursuit.

Each of these mutant dogs was larger than Yuhua, their bodies rippling with powerful muscle as if they spent every day at the gym. Driven by ravenous hunger, they pursued Yuhua and Chengxian relentlessly.

Yuhua, carrying Chengxian, sprinted for dear life; the gap between them and their pursuers never grew beyond a dozen meters. The odds appeared evenly matched—if Yuhua faltered for even a moment, they would be overtaken, and the result would be far from wonderful.

Chengxian, a British Shorthair, was never one for idle chatter. Now, his wide eyes and petrified expression made him look like a character from a horror comic.

Zhang Mingjing had already powered up two motorcycles, racing to meet Yuhua and Chengxian as fast as he could.

He knew their situation was dire. For a pack of starving mutant dogs, chasing prey for twenty or thirty kilometers was hardly a stretch. Yuhua and Chengxian could never outrun them for long.

“Next time, I’ll definitely enhance your legs so you can run faster. You two have to survive this time, or you’ll never get to enjoy those upgrades!” Zhang Mingjing prayed silently.

He pushed the bike to ninety kilometers per hour. The streets were strewn with debris, obstacles everywhere. Even though his reflexes were ten times faster than a normal person’s, riding at this speed was nerve-wracking.

At last, Yuhua—carrying a thoroughly terrified Chengxian—reached the two-kilometer mark, tongue lolling, panting for breath, and slowing down fast.

The mutant dogs had also slowed, but soon caught up and surrounded them.

With the ravenous pack closing in, ready to devour them alive, Zhang Mingjing’s anxiety soared. He was still eighteen kilometers away; even at top speed, he’d need eight minutes to reach them.

Just then, fifty meters away, a military jeep burst from a ruined alley and screeched to a halt. Three rookie soldiers leapt out, rifles raised, aiming at the mutant dogs.

These mutant dogs, each twice the size of a full-grown German Shepherd, were unfazed by the threat. Driven by hunger and displaying a hint of cunning, three of them immediately split off and lunged in a curved path toward the soldiers.

The new recruits, tense and inexperienced, fired several shots but missed completely. The dogs, half-mad with hunger and even harboring thoughts of eating humans, charged in zigzagging patterns. Panic rose among the soldiers.

Within five seconds, the mutant dogs closed to within twenty meters. The recruits dove back into the jeep, locked the doors, rolled up the windows, and tried frantically to start the engine. But the dogs slammed into the vehicle just as they did, one smashing a paw against the windshield and blinding the driver. In the chaos, he floored the accelerator, crashing straight into a ruined wall. The wall collapsed, and the jeep became wedged in the rubble.

The three mutant dogs began hurling themselves at the glass, while the trapped recruits, unsure what to do, dared not fire for fear of shattering the bulletproof windows—giving the terrifying creatures even more opportunity.

Meanwhile, Yuhua and Chengxian had already engaged the other three mutant dogs. The upgrades had paid off: Yuhua, a Husky, fought two dogs and held his own; Chengxian, the British Shorthair, faced off against one and refused to yield ground.

The three mutant brutes, unable to take down a single Husky and a British Shorthair, wore expressions that seemed to question the very meaning of being a dog.

Through the window, the three recruits watched the cat-and-dog battle outside, their worldview shaken to its core.

Their AI assistants had already sent out a distress signal; within five minutes, a drone would arrive.

Sure enough, two minutes later, a small armed attack drone appeared.

The drone first circled low, then issued warning shots at the mutant dogs besieging the soldiers.

But the dogs, crazed and heedless, continued darting around and battering the jeep. Their movements were far faster than those of ordinary dogs, rarely pausing in one spot for more than a second. With the soldiers so close, a stray bullet could easily spell disaster, so the drone had yet to find a safe shot.

After two minutes and dozens of warning rounds, the mutant dogs remained undeterred, their assault as fierce as ever.

Then, after another ten seconds, the drone finally caught an opportunity and fired at a mutant dog. But the creature darted aside, the bullet only grazing its hide before shattering the jeep’s window. The three recruits broke into a cold sweat.

“What kind of nightmare is this?” one recruit gasped.

“Forget the nightmare—get ready to shoot! Are we three grown men really going to be scared of a few rabid dogs?” shouted another, and with that, all three braced themselves for a desperate defense, their resolve forged in the fires of pre-battle indoctrination.

At that moment, one mutant dog crashed against the already-cracked window. This time, the drone managed a direct hit, wounding the beast severely—but another dog struck soon after, the fracture spreading to the size of a basketball.

The soldiers gripped their rifles tightly, waiting for the first dog’s head to break through.

“Go, sword!” Zhang Mingjing had arrived. As he unleashed his lightsaber, he shouted, “This humble priest is here!”

His powerful neural waves scrambled the drone’s communications and sensors, disrupting its feed.

In a single second, the lightsaber cut through the two mutant dogs besieging the soldiers, then swiftly dispatched the wounded one as well. The trio of fallen mutants began to revert to their original forms.

“This humble priest is here!” Zhang Mingjing called again, as the lightsaber streaked toward the three mutant dogs fighting Yuhua and Chengxian. In the blink of an eye, it felled all three, and they too began reverting on the spot.

“What just happened?” the recruits muttered in disbelief, while Zhang Mingjing turned his motorcycle and sped toward the city.

Yuhua and Chengxian perched behind him—Yuhua, on the rear seat, clung desperately to Zhang Mingjing's neck, chin pressed tight against his head, tongue lolling out like a damp, wind-whipped necktie.

In front of Zhang Mingjing rested the wounded dog from before—his mission now, to heal and save those in need.