“No matter what scheme he has, the target must be retrieved. Anyone who stands in my way will be killed without mercy.” Hammer’s strange iron fist clenched with a grinding sound.

At that moment, the strolling Grace Miller walked into a white, cylindrical, transparent glass-enclosed holographic phone booth by the roadside. At every intersection nearby, squads of Overlord Guard Corps soldiers surged toward the phone booth, like a black tide about to engulf Grace Miller.

But Grace Miller remained calm and unhurried, pulling a slip of paper from her pocket with a string of clear numbers written on it. Grace Miller pressed the note against the transparent glass cover in front of her.

Almost without pause, a video call request automatically popped up in front of Grace Miller.

Grace Miller answered, and what appeared on the screen was a pair of seductive red lips, swirling a galaxy lollipop with the tip of her tongue—a scene so suggestive that anyone unaware might think they’d accidentally clicked on some adult website.

“Are you looking for me, clever girl?” Joan of Arc’s magnetic voice asked.

“That’s right. I have only one request: before I return, keep Grace Miller safe.”

There was also a small camera on the pen-shaped communicator always hanging in Grace Miller’s shirt pocket, aimed at those alluring lips. Sarah Bolton was speaking entirely by remote control.

“Why should I help you?” Joan of Arc replied haughtily.

“Because if you don’t, Grace Miller will definitely fall into the hands of the Overlord. Am I confident I can rescue her from them again?” Sarah Bolton’s analysis was sharp and to the point, leaving Joan of Arc with no way to argue—and no time to do so.

“One last question: how did you know I existed?” Joan of Arc was simply curious.

“The Overlord never loses anything—not even a bone is left for a dog that doesn’t belong to them. Grace Miller is a fragment of the core, an essential resource the Overlord would destroy the earth to obtain. Wouldn’t the one who managed to snatch her from them keep a close eye on her? You’re out of time—move!”

Sarah Bolton was getting anxious, because the leading Overlord guard had already reached the phone booth, his heavily armored arm grabbing the door handle.

“Whoosh!”

A streak of blue light cut across the dark sky, severing the guard’s wrist just as he grabbed the handle. The guard collapsed to the ground, watching blood spurt from his severed arm like a fountain.

But his screams didn’t last long. A second flash of light, and his head was gone.

“A sniper?!” All the advancing guards immediately halted, forming squads of five. The heavy shield soldiers drew their expanding armored shields from their backs, constructing semicircular cover in front of their teammates—like giant black mushrooms sprouting instantly on the street.

This reactive armor could even withstand direct hits from anti-armor missiles—twice in a row.

But in the face of Joan of Arc’s heavy electromagnetic sniper cannon, a tungsten-core round accelerated to Mach 13 punched through, blasting a head-sized hole. The directional thermobaric charge inside the tungsten core ignited, instantly turning one of the black mushrooms into a blazing fireball.

The guards writhed in agony on the ground, their combat suits the most expensive protective gear available, but against this white phosphorus-like chemical incendiary, all it did was let them live a few seconds longer—to experience the agony of hell on earth.

The surrounding soldiers, far from sympathetic, finished off the screaming fireballs with a hail of bullets—because if the burning men crawled around, the incendiary could stick to others, burning them alive as well!

Some soldiers circled the edge of the shields, firing all kinds of weapons toward the direction of the sniper. In an instant, gunfire erupted everywhere, turning the area around the phone booth into a battlefield.

Unfortunately for them, Joan of Arc was on the rooftop of a building three kilometers away—far beyond the range of the guards’ weapons. Draped in optical camouflage, she was impossible to spot even from across the street, making counterattacks futile.

“Clever girl, listen up. I’m not working for you—she’s my mission, and I must retrieve her. By some twist of fate, you’ve had your fun; now it’s time to give her back.” Joan of Arc blasted a group in one shot, but still looked thoroughly displeased.

“You’re no saint either. Let me correct you: in this world, is there anyone good left? You want Grace Miller? Survive until I get there first!” Sarah Bolton warned.

“Who do you think I am?”

Joan of Arc sneered, swapping in a new magazine. In front of her appeared a massive armed hover combat aircraft, bristling with enough weaponry under its belly and wings to destroy a small town in thirty seconds. But because of Joan of Arc’s camouflage, it had to close within two kilometers to attack.

The armed hovercraft opened fire first. Its twelve-barrel Vulcan cannon shredded one side of the building where Joan of Arc was hiding.

Joan of Arc flung off her camouflage, stood up, and raised her three-meter-long heavy electromagnetic cannon amid the hail of bullets, like a fearsome humanoid gun emplacement.

“When you decided to become the enemy of the world today… I’d already been fighting this world for many years.”

Boom! A dazzling beam tore through the sky. The armed hovercraft exploded into a massive fireball, crashing onto the street and erupting into a small mushroom cloud.

Chapter 10: Carjacking