Henry Clark spun the God-Slaying Sword with a flourish, his head slightly lowered, long bangs hanging down to cover even his sunglasses, striking a brooding, deep swordsman pose. “Well? Do I look cool or not?”

Before Grace Hill could reply, Henry Clark added, “Be honest—don’t just praise me because we’re friends. Give an objective, fair, and truthful evaluation.”

“Cool.”

Grace Hill thought for a moment and said, “If you could keep your mouth shut, I’d think you’re even cooler.”

“Actually, my heart is aloof, my mind is wise, but damn it, my mouth just won’t listen to my heart or my brain. I’m helpless too…”

Henry Clark truly felt helpless—this was all the fault of the Six-Winged Celestial Cicada.

The problem was, he couldn’t explain it too clearly.

Grace Hill actually somewhat believed Henry Clark’s explanation.

Henry Clark had been a chatterbox since he was six. Everyone in the base knew he was a talkative person.

Maybe because this talkative persona was so convincing, everyone unconsciously overlooked Henry Clark.

What threat could a chatterbox pose? That’s what everyone instinctively thought.

Grace Hill had always thought so too—until Henry Clark saved her life.

From then on, Grace Hill realized how formidable Henry Clark really was.

Henry Clark’s cunning, craftiness, and ruthlessness were all hidden beneath the surface of his talkativeness.

A six-year-old who could scheme and build a persona—now that was terrifying.

So, when Henry Clark displayed his incredible swordsmanship, Grace Hill calmly accepted it all.

“The Vulture is dying…”

Grace Hill asked Henry Clark, “What’s the next step?”

Just a moment ago, Henry Clark had said to hold back and not act rashly. Yet he’d gone ahead and killed everyone. Grace Hill was a bit speechless about this.

The Vulture clutched his throat tightly with his good left hand, but no matter how hard he pressed, he couldn’t stop the blood spurting from his neck.

But his vitality was strong; even after losing so much blood, he remained conscious.

Yet the agony of suffocation had turned his face a dark purple, his small eyes bulging out. He was clearly on the verge of death.

As for the other guards, they were already dead.

Henry Clark tapped the Vulture’s forehead with the end of his sword scabbard and said, “Remember his face. Use the Crimson Heart to mimic him—no problem, right?”

Grace Hill frowned slightly. Honestly, this wasn’t easy.

The Crimson Heart could morph at will, but the specifics depended on the user’s skill.

Fortunately, Grace Hill had studied disguise and was quite adept. She could quickly capture a person’s facial features and body shape for imitation.

With the Crimson Heart’s shapeshifting ability, this kind of mimicry became much easier.

Grace Hill faced the Vulture and used the Crimson Heart to continuously adjust her external appearance.

The dying Vulture watched in horror as Grace Hill’s face slowly transformed into his own.

“I told you to cover it, but the blood is still spurting out…”

Henry Clark squatted beside the Vulture, asking with feigned concern, “Are you short of oxygen? Look at your ugly face, all purple and swollen, those jaundiced little eyes bulging out.

Isn’t it uncomfortable? I wanted to let you live a few more minutes, but you just had to seek death. I’m helpless too!”

The Vulture couldn’t speak, but he heard everything clearly. The agony of suffocation made him wish for instant death, and Henry Clark’s words only fueled his hatred.

“Suffocation is one of the greatest pains a human can experience. This is a rare opportunity—you only get to feel it once, so don’t waste it.”

Henry Clark kept chattering, but the Vulture couldn’t hold on any longer.

In less than a minute, the Vulture’s legs twitched, and he breathed his last.

Henry Clark sighed with a hint of regret. “After all these years of your ‘care,’ I haven’t even repaid you yet. And now you just die so quickly—how am I supposed to feel about that?”

As he spoke, he kept poking the Vulture’s head with the scabbard. “Look at you, even dead you look so unwilling. And damn, you’re still so ugly—even in death you’re an eyesore, you know that…”

“Stop moving.”

Grace Hill’s head was almost fully transformed, but Henry Clark’s fidgeting was making her dizzy.

“I’m just showing you from different angles.”

Henry Clark pointed at the Vulture’s thick neck. “See, there’s a string of little warts here—you didn’t copy those. And his shoulders—he’s left-handed, so his left shoulder is thicker…”

Henry Clark nitpicked Grace Hill for quite a while, and Grace Hill accepted the feedback with humility.

The two of them studied the Vulture’s corpse for over ten minutes, and finally, Grace Hill looked just like him.

Grace Hill, however, still felt dissatisfied—there were many details that didn’t quite match.

Henry Clark didn’t care. “Zhou Lang only comes to the base once every few years—he barely knows the Vulture. He won’t notice all those details. As long as you fool the surveillance’s gait and facial recognition, that’s enough.”

As he spoke, Henry Clark removed all of the Vulture’s weapons and gear and helped Grace Hill put them on one by one.

Grace Hill was a bit worried. “I’ve never been to the core office area. I’m afraid it’ll be hard to get in.”

“Don’t worry. For secrecy, the base only uses low-level optical brains—the AI is very basic. All access is controlled by chip and password authentication.”

Henry Clark pointed to the watch on Grace Hill’s wrist. “There’s an access chip in here. It’ll be recognized automatically. No problem.”