Cyberpunk: 2075.

Chapter 737, Section 151: What happened?

Karl and the gray-clad men who fell only glanced at the sliding men running from a distance before paying no attention.

The two men chose to infiltrate for the same reason: they didn't want to cause too much of a commotion, not because they were afraid of Slippery and his group of former voodoo gang members.

Or rather, for Karl and the gray-clad man, if they wanted to, Slipper and his men were just people they could easily eliminate in a short time. Even if their initial plan to infiltrate without causing too much trouble had failed, it didn't matter. As long as they dealt with the people in front of them, everything was still under their control.

Throughout the long history of warfare, there have indeed been many cases where two tigers fought each other, and bystanders ultimately reaped the benefits. However, all of this is predicated on the fact that those bystanders must possess the strength to threaten both sides in the conflict.

At this moment, in the suffocating battle between Karl and the gray-clad man, the fierce clash that had been going on since the first collision had already excluded everything around them from their perception.

Every nerve in their bodies was taut like a bowstring, every muscle poised to spring into action, leaving them no time to pay attention to the slightest distractions.

When the six subordinates rushed into the battlefield in a panic, the two top experts displayed amazing teamwork without even exchanging glances.

With a flick of his wrist, the gray-clad man sent three shurikens flying in graceful arcs, as if imbued with life. These deadly weapons grazed the wrists of his three subordinates with deadly precision, severing the nerve endings controlling their fingers in a fraction of a second of contact.

At the same time, Karl deftly flipped his body in mid-air, grabbing three shards of galvanized steel sheet that had been scattered by the collapsed pipe. These sharp metal pieces transformed into deadliest weapons in his hands, severing the nerve conduction of his three subordinates who were holding guns with a precision no less than that of a shuriken.

At this moment, the two mortal enemies reached a subtle consensus: neither wanted the duel to be disturbed in any way, but neither wanted to waste pointless killings on these small fry.

This almost telepathic understanding led the two to make completely identical choices in the blink of an eye.

'He needs to get something from the slider.'
The thought flashed through their minds like lightning, but this fleeting understanding was far from enough to quell the already boiling battle.

Perhaps it was because they had finally met an evenly matched opponent, perhaps it was because they felt an unprecedented threat from their opponent, or perhaps they were simply drawn in by the allure of the battle itself—at this moment, they were like two unsheathed blades, and neither of them could stop this deadly dance before a victor was decided.

After finishing their mid-air maneuvers, Karl landed steadily on a control panel using the recoil from the collision, while the gray-clad man lightly stepped onto a monitor. The two coincidentally chose relatively close positions, once again creating a bizarre standoff.

Carl could hear the screams of his men, and after escaping the narrow opening of the pipe, he drew his pistol again.

"Looks like we're pretty in sync, aren't we?"

The gray-clad man didn't answer Karl's slightly teasing voice, but Karl noticed that the man had slightly adjusted his position—blocking all the exits. This detail made Karl narrow his eyes: the man was determined that only one person could leave.

The man in gray suddenly moved.

With a sudden flick of his right hand, he skillfully reattached his dislocated hand. Before Karl could react, three rhomboid shurikens were thrown out. Then, he drew a matte tactical dagger from his back waist with his left hand and charged straight at Karl.

Karl pulled the trigger almost simultaneously, and the bullets of the Freedom, manufactured by the Constitutional Military Industry, traced scorching trajectories through the air.

"Ding! Ding! Ding!"

Three bullets precisely intercepted three shurikens, and the exploding sparks resembled a miniature fireworks show.

But the fourth shuriken was thrown by Karl without him even seeing when it was launched. Perhaps it was thrown from a blind spot, concealed by the three shuriken. It was already spinning and slashing toward his wrist.

Carl was forced to let go of his gun, and before the pistol even hit the ground, he kicked the gray-clad man straight in the face.

The moment the gray-clad man turned his head to dodge during his charge, Karl had already pounced on him.

The tactical knife and tactical short sword, which were part of Akechi's equipment, collided, sparking a string of dazzling sparks.

The two were so close they could see their reflections in each other's pupils—Karl noticed that the gray-clad man's irises had an unnatural pale gold hue, clearly a characteristic of some advanced optical implant, and his appearance was obviously disguised to some extent.

Karl suddenly changed his move, switching from a thrust to a jab. The tip of the knife grazed the equipment belt on the man's chest, causing him to take a half-step back. But this was exactly what Karl wanted—a galvanized steel plate he had concealed in his sleeve when retrieving the shrapnel flew out, aimed straight for the man's throat. "Sizzle—"

He raised his hand and used his tactical dagger to deflect the small piece of galvanized steel sheet. Then, as Karl tried to close the distance, the gray-clad man suddenly turned around and delivered a powerful roundhouse kick. Karl raised his hand to block, and heard an ominous, crisp sound, like metal clashing, as his arm collided with the man's leg.

The other party had obviously also installed some kind of auxiliary prosthetic on his legs, and its hardness and lightness were probably not much different from Karl's arms.

The two distanced themselves again.

Due to the impact, Karl took a few steps back, pressing his left hand against his right arm, which was somewhat injured by the kick. The gray-clad man leaned against the control panel, his equipment strap on his chest broken in half, with various close-fitting tactical accessories scattered all over the floor.

"Ha, looks like I destroyed quite a few things just now."

Carl looked at the mess of objects scattered on the ground, his gaze sweeping over something that looked like a life detector.

So, this thing is hidden in his left chest? Well, if someone were to injure his heart, unless he had a prosthetic heart, it would be practically a death sentence. And all those things on the ground—blowguns, kusarigama, slingshots—are all things traditionally used by ninjas, only they look like modified versions. They're really something else.
"call"

The pressure from the other side is immense, and Karl is now considering whether he should simply expose himself.

He still has the 'KK' manufactured by the Tsunami Design Bureau that he hasn't used yet, and he hasn't even used the monomolecular line yet, nor has he reached its limit. But now it seems he has no choice but to use it.

The enemy before us is no pushover—we have no chance of winning without risking our lives.

Just as Karl was about to eject the monomolecular wire and pull out KK to begin assembling and transforming, his gaze fell on the pile of messy objects on the ground and he saw something that looked somewhat familiar.

It was a small knife.

It was a silver knife without a handguard, about ten centimeters long and three centimeters wide. It looked somewhat thin, and judging from the reflective, shiny blade, it was extremely sharp.
Wait a minute, this knife!

Karl's eyes widened.

He also had a knife that looked all too familiar.

Could it be that the gray-clad man in front of us is...?
The gray-clad man had already charged forward again with his knife, but halfway there, he saw the panic on Karl's face. Just as he was wondering why this opponent, who had never shown the slightest fear and even made him feel the pressure of death, was now so shaken, he saw that Karl had a small knife in his hand.

His pupils suddenly contracted to the size of pinpoints.

That little knife!

There are only three such knives in the world: one is in the hands of the girl he treats like his own daughter, and the other is a replica he received from her a few days ago.

And the last one will only be held in that person's palm.

"You are!"

To Kenichi Shiro's surprise as he abruptly stopped, Karl suddenly received a communication from an emergency channel—a channel that was supposed to be used only once, in the most critical moments.

On the communication channel came the sorrowful voice of Kenichi and the man he knew.

“Mr. Carl. Emergency.” Kenichi Kazuya’s voice was hoarse, and his shock and pain were clearly heard in his voice. “Uncle Kenichi Shiro may have met with misfortune. Before he died, he strictly instructed that if anything happened to him, I must personally convey his last words to you.”

Last words, or something unexpected?
Karl blinked, looked at Kenichi Shiro who had revealed his true face in front of him, and listened to the voice on the communicator. For a moment, he was a little confused about what was going on.

(End of this chapter)