SWDnovel Chapter 81 River God Sacrifice
Chapter 81 River God Sacrifice
Chapter 81 River God Sacrifice
The gun barrel was still warm, and the cabin reeked of blood.
Zhou Xing met Renault's gaze, flicked his wrist, and tucked the gun back into his waistband. He gestured with his chin toward the headless corpse on the ground: "His right hand was always in his pocket. I was close by and saw his wrist twitch, as if he was about to take something out. It's always better to strike first than to wait for them to make the first move."
Zhong Ding snapped out of his daze and scrambled over, shoving the corpses aside. Then, he frantically rummaged through the inner pocket of the headless corpse's suit, pulled out a small hardcover notebook, flipped it open, and exclaimed, "Captain! This guy has a legitimate identity! Director of the Nanyang Trading Company!"
He glanced at Zhou Xing, then turned back, muttering, "We didn't have to do anything."
Zhou Xing simply shrugged: "Maybe I was too nervous; this place is too oppressive."
The words sounded like an apology, but there was little remorse in the tone.
He then looked at Renault and asked, "Captain, do you need someone to write reports? I'm very good at it."
Renault didn't press further, stopping Zhong Ding's words with a look, and simply said, "A few Southeast Asians, killed them, killed them. Investigate the scene. Leave some survivors."
After a thorough cleanup, interspersed with the muffled thuds of finishing shots, most of the Taoist priests were dead, leaving only two young sorcerers, deliberately left behind, huddled in a corner with unfocused eyes.
The man at the charity event who rang the bell had an inconspicuous bloody hole in his chest and was already dead. In the chaos of battle, some stray bullet, or something else, ended his life.
The group found a slightly cleaner cabin, and the miscellaneous items were emptied and dragged aside by the Southeast Asians.
Renault pointed to the two survivors and asked Zhou Xing, "Will you use torture?"
Zhou Xing shook his head: "I can't do that. It's too difficult, I can't get the balance right."
"You can learn from it."
Renault waved to the others, "Get out. Hans, guard the door, don't let anyone come near."
Chen Qi felt as if he had been granted a pardon and quickly withdrew. Zhong Ding was somewhat reluctant, but had no choice but to follow, muttering something under his breath.
The heavy hatch slammed shut, leaving only Renault, Zhou Xing, and two pale-faced prisoners inside.
Once the door was closed, it blocked out the wind from the hole and most of the light. Only a kerosene lamp flickered, and a vent let in a hazy glimmer of light, illuminating the bloodstains on the ground and the huddled figures.
Then, those outside could only hear the sounds coming from inside.
At first, there were suppressed groans and struggles, which then turned into painful and intermittent screams.
The sound was unlike anything a human could make; it was sharp and hoarse, each note scraping against the eardrums and sending chills down one's spine.
Occasionally, there were interspersed desperate pleas and curses that were incomprehensible.
There was also a kind of wet, subtle sound, as if skin and flesh were being slowly peeled away and then sewn back together.
Outside the door, Chen Qi covered his ears and squatted down. This academically trained police officer had experienced too much real combat tonight.
Zhong Ding, his face pale, leaned against the bulkhead in the distance, smoking one cigarette after another, his hands trembling so much that ash fell down in a flurry.
Only Hans, holding a shotgun, stood with his back to the door, motionless, like a stone.
After about half an hour, the screaming stopped.
Renault held a brand-new white handkerchief in his hand and slowly wiped his hands, from the fingertips to between the fingers, not even missing the curved surface of his fingernails.
His face remained expressionless, only his vertical pupils appeared exceptionally deep in the dim light.
Zhou Xing's expression remained unchanged. He casually twirled a silver ring in his hand, which he had taken from a corpse. The ring face was an abstract snake head.
He glanced at the snow-white lump in Renault's hand and muttered to himself:
Just how many handkerchiefs did this person bring?
He then looked at the two figures on the ground that were barely breathing but twisted beyond recognition, and thought to himself:
The method is quick and effective, but it's too messy, all bloody and dirty. It's not as good as my cooking.
Based on the fragmented and disjointed confessions of the two individuals, the structure of the Daoist practice gradually became clear:
The top floor houses several "Taoist Masters," who are very mysterious and are said to cultivate evil spells deep in the rainforest or on islands year-round.
In the middle are the "sorcerers," each with their own specialties, such as flying heads, fish heads, and ghost children. Below them are the thugs, drug users, and henchmen who collect materials.
Recently, quite a few of them have indeed infiltrated Tianjin with a clear purpose: to find something at the bottom of the Haihe River, which they call the River God.
They didn't know exactly what it looked like, only saying, "Once you find it, you'll recognize it."
Another key word is "River God Festival".
Upon hearing the words "River God," Zhou Xing felt a slight warmth from the River-Suppressing Coin in his pocket, as if a sleeping insect had been startled awake and was shaking its wings.
River God?
A thought struck him, and he seemed to be deep in thought.
This "Shunfeng" was just one of their many temporary strongholds. Under torture, several other possible hideouts were also revealed.
As for the "Judge of Tianjin", they had no idea.
The reason for going to that attic was that the companion who died there was carrying a spirit child that they had been feeding with secret methods.
The original intention was to make a deal with a high-ranking official in Tianjin in exchange for their people being able to infiltrate the upcoming "River God Festival".
They discovered that the spirit child had suddenly died. The sorcerers had a connection with the spirit child, and they followed the connection, only to find that their accomplice had also died.
At the scene, they only found the charity's identification plaque.
Thinking it was a warning from the local evil spirits, they had no choice but to take the child spirit away and leave in a hurry.
Upon returning, they contacted the charity through an intermediary to demand an explanation. Today, the charity sent someone to meet with them, but before they could reach an agreement, the search team arrived.
"In other words,"
Renault wiped the wound for the tenth time, then casually tossed the towel into the pool of blood. The only person who could possibly identify the Judge had died in a hail of bullets.
"Unfortunately, this person is indeed cunning."
Zhou Xing nodded and echoed his sentiment.
Renault smirked, didn't reply, turned around and walked to a small, undamaged liquor cabinet in the corner of the cabin, opened it, looked inside, and took out two bottles of liquor.
The bottle is beautifully shaped, with a yellowed label printed with intricate French text and grape patterns. It's a Bordeaux dry red wine, quite old, probably a private collection of a ship owner or some distinguished guest.
He then found two relatively clean glasses, rinsed them with wine, carefully wiped them with a new handkerchief, and poured two glasses of deep ruby-red wine.
Then, he took out a silver box from his inner pocket, opened it, and inside were two cigars wrapped in gold foil.
He skillfully cut open the cap of the eggplant with small scissors and handed one to Zhou Xing.
Zhou Xing took it, but didn't light it; he just brought it to his nose and smelled it. A rich, heavy tobacco scent mixed with the mellow aroma of some kind of wood.
Renault then moved over a relatively intact chair, sat down, and pointed to a wooden crate opposite him, indicating it was for Zhou Xing.
Blood, broken chairs, flickering lamplight, groaning human bodies.
The two sat facing each other across a messy area.
"laugh."
Renault lit a long-handled match and slowly heated the end of his cigar with practiced ease.
After a moment, he took a sip of wine, let the liquid linger on his tongue for a moment, and then slowly swallowed it.
Then he took a puff of his cigar.
Instead of exhaling the smoke, he inhaled the pungent smoke deeply into his lungs, closed his eyes for a moment, and then slowly exhaled a very faint bluish tinge from his nose.
"A little privilege of being a Witcher,"
He opened his eyes, his vertical pupils appearing even more eerie in the glow of the cigar. "After those medicinal liquids and trials, our bodies are very resilient. Alcohol, tobacco, and even opium have negligible effects on us."
Cancer? That's for ordinary people. We've already experienced far more devastating devastation.
Zhou Xing toyed with the cigar, looking at the smoke-filled profile opposite him: "The Witcher Trial—I've heard that only one in ten survives."
"My batch consisted of 127 children."
Renault flicked his cigarette ash. "In the end, I was the only one standing in front of the instructor."
He looked at Zhou Xing, his tone suddenly shifting, like a feline abandoning its languidness to reveal the claws hidden beneath its soft paw pads: "Zhou, you know what? Although there's no evidence, not a single direct piece of evidence, my intuition, from the first moment I saw you in the archives, has been telling me—"
"You are the judge of Tianjin."
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