"Holy shit… this is way too ridiculous…"
Li Pan carefully peeled off the formal suit, then tugged away the sloughed skin of his own body and held it up.
The husk was wrinkled, oddly textured, like dumpling skin. It had split open from the crown of the head, and he had slipped out whole.
Not just flesh—his cybernetic implants had been shed as well. The third transformation of Nine Yin Body Refinement seemed to work like a reset: not only restoring his body, but ejecting all foreign matter along with it.
Well, that was fine. At least the implants were intact. He could re-install them after regrowing the skin with a system reset. Saved him some cash.
As for the Hairband and the Red-Robed Woman—they were gone. Likely obliterated by that unseen palm and pressed into his body along with everything else.
"Agh… hiss… damn, that hurts…"
Bloodied and raw, even he couldn't bear to look at himself. Grimacing, he pulled the suit back on, bundled the shed skin, pocketed the implants, and staggered out of the forest.
Without a neural jack he couldn't contact Eighteen and the others, but he remembered Kotaro's coordinates and moved in that direction.
Emerging from the woods, he came across a grand estate—clearly the mansion of some zaibatsu magnate, the owner of this forest. But with the security network down and ECM interference blanketing the area, all turrets and drones were offline.
Inside, he found the family dead around the dining table, skulls blasted open mid-meal, brains splattered across soup bowls. Likely betrayed by their guests or trusted guards.
This family must have been one of the prime targets of Akaten Tengu's purge. Judging from the luxurious villa, fleets of cars, and household machines, the patriarch had to be at least a board-level executive.
As a good citizen of the City of Night, Li Pan of course couldn't just ignore this. So he sat down and ate their leftovers. He left behind the brain-jack chips of the soldiers he'd harvested as "payment" and clues for the Security Bureau. Let Moth-Butterfly Society deal with the heat.
After raiding the kitchen and freezer, he devoured all the frozen steaks. His gut felt better—though still far from satisfied.
Hunger. Few modern people truly understood it anymore. Even in this fucked-up world, productivity was high enough that filling your belly wasn't hard. In the slums, a buck bought dozens of kilos of nutrient paste. You could even suck it straight from the tank until you burst.
But in Kiyosu's wealthy districts, there were no charity food stations.
His stomach felt like it was grinding itself, so he ransacked the place until he found large bags of pet food. For cats. Pure meat, no additives—healthier than synthetic carb paste. He tore them open and ate without hesitation.
Chewing kibble, he pulled out the Nine Yin True Scripture.
He had once thought being a level-4 lifeform was impressive. But after being pinned helplessly under the Bride, and then watching her crushed to pulp by an even greater terror, he finally saw his place: a disposable pawn, a blood bag, a husk of medicine.
General Manager? Bullshit. He was just a temp worker.
Power wasn't borrowed titles or corporate perks. Without strength of his own, even his life wasn't safe.
He'd learned this truth in military academy. But the sudden promotion had gone to his head. Now reality had slapped him sober.
Forge iron, strengthen yourself. Level up, boy.
So while eating, he read diligently.
The scripture had one General Outline (Body Refinement), and four volumes: Skill (功), Method (法), Classic (经), and Book (书).
According to the Outline, after the third transformation of Refinement, one could begin cultivating the first volume: Nine Yin Divine Skill. At the sixth and ninth transformations, one would unlock the Great Method and the True Classic. Master all, and one might dare glimpse the Heavenly Book.
No rushing ahead—he opened Skill.
This was martial art. Inner boxing, a system to channel Nine Yin qi through form and motion. Illustrated with animated diagrams: figures practicing stances while qi routes glowed through their meridians. Clear, vivid, easy to follow.
With the foundation of Refinement and a few tricks he'd picked up from the Green-Robed Freak, Li Pan could understand.
If Refinement was seated breathing and cultivation, then Divine Skill was its kinetic counterpart: breathing with movement, channeling qi into muscles and bones, unleashing real martial force.
The stances resembled snake boxing, though with traces of other beasts. Li Pan, having seen the god of Mount Zhong and the visage of Candle Nine Yin, recognized the style—mimicking the skeletal and muscular motion of the primordial serpent, fused with breath techniques.
He finished the cat food, then began to imitate the forms: swaying spine, twisting waist, weaving like a drunken man.
And immediately, he felt it. More natural than ape-style boxing. His whole body heated, sweat pouring, qi at his dantian rapidly refined into endless power rushing through his meridians.
Each serpentine step washed Nine Yin qi up and down his spine, sparking his nervous system, slowing time itself. It echoed the very purpose of neural augmentation.
Joints cracked, muscles stretched, the sensation sharp and sweet—almost like a massage.
He muttered the mantra:
"Snake coils and glides, striking from below; body light as a swallow, ever-changing; bend to extend, stop yet move. Curved like crouching tiger, straight like soaring dragon."
Thus he swayed onward toward Kotaro and Rama's coordinates—until he heard singing.
Singing. In the middle of chaos. The city roared with gunfire and explosions as Akaten Tengu purged the zaibatsu, yet voices sang, clear even over artillery.
What kind of lunatic sang karaoke now? The tune was familiar… oh no.
Li Pan crept closer. Another Japanese-style fortress manor burned. Guards lay dead. Around it, a battalion of mutineers stood in formation, singing as the tower blazed.
He recognized the lyrics immediately:
"The nobles flaunt their birthright, but care not for the nation. The lords hoard wealth, but never think of the state…"
Moth-Butterfly Society. Those insane cultists, bellowing their funeral hymn. He'd heard it too many times. Always ended with them drunk, crying, or ganging up to beat him senseless.
His hackles rose. No survivors.
They were lined up like a ceremonial guard, rifles raised in salute toward the burning keep. Drunk on easy victory, their guard down.
Li Pan dropped prone and crawled forward—fast as a reptile, spine twisting, hands and feet clawing. He latched onto a sentry's back like a gecko, wrenched his body, bones cracking, neck twisted like a rag. Dead.
He ripped grenades from the corpse's belt and hurled them into the ranks.
"Boom!"
"Enemy attack!"
"Suppressing fire!"
Gunfire lit the night. The SBS armor saved some, but legs were blown off, ranks disrupted.
Li Pan surged through the chaos, weaving like a snake, tearing through helmets and faces. One soldier's eyes and nose ripped out in his palm. Screams. Misfires. Friendly fire cut comrades down.
And he darted away, rolling like a ferret, pulling grenade pins on belts as he passed.
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
The battlefield erupted.
The mercenaries panicked, shouting "Ninja!" and deploying EMP pulses and M-particles. Old-school anti-cyberwarfare tactics: frying implants, neutralizing beam weapons.
But Li Pan only laughed.
Joke's on you. No implants. No beam sword. Just bare hands.
He pounced again. Bullets sprayed, ricochets pattering against his suit—but the fabric did not tear. A faint gray mist shrouded him, seeping from his bones and skin, merging with his clothes.
The protective qi of Nine Yin Divine Skill.
He grinned.
Third transformation plus Divine Skill. Bullets can't touch me. I'm invincible now!
Roaring with manic joy, he waded into their ranks. One-ton armored soldiers tossed aside like dolls, limbs ripped, bodies hurled, helmets crushed, heads stomped. He swung corpses like flails, smashed squads apart.
"Cyborg! He's a cyborg!"
"Concentrated fire!"
It didn't matter. Their mass-produced armor was nothing but tin cans before him.
Li Pan slaughtered the entire company.
.
.
.
⚠️ 30 CHAPTERS AHEAD — I'm Not a Cyberpsycho ⚠️
The system says: Kill.
Mercs obey. Corporates obey. Monsters obey.
One man didn't.
🧠💀 "I'm not a cyberpsycho. I just think... differently."
💥 High-voltage cyberpunk. Urban warfare. AI paranoia.
Read 30 chapters ahead, only on Patreon.
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