Joan of Arc’s forehead, rising from the ground, slammed straight into Hammer’s head. The impact sent both of them tumbling several meters backward. Looking at Hammer again, his forehead had split open, but what flowed out was not blood—instead, it revealed a metallic skull, just like his arms.

“You call this cultivation—just draping a layer of human skin over a mechanical shell?” Joan of Arc scanned Hammer’s body again. He didn’t have any so-called human structure left; even his brain was gone.

That’s right! Hammer wasn’t even a true cyborg; at most, he had extracted the memory and emotional reflex neural data from his human side and transplanted it into this mechanical body as a program.

He could only be called a machine… with human memories.

Medically speaking, an existence in this state was already dead.

“So what? As long as I can kill you, whether I’m human or machine doesn’t matter!” Hammer twisted his neck from side to side, producing a series of metallic cracking sounds.

“You’re really pitiful… At least I can still taste sweetness, but you’re left with nothing but anger, making you think you’re still alive, right?” Joan of Arc didn’t want to fight anymore. She pulled out a Galaxy lollipop and popped it into her mouth. “That’s enough for today. We’ll settle our score next time.”

“Trying to run? Not so easy!” Hammer said, attempting to move forward.

“It’s not that I want to run—it’s that he’s already won. You gave him too much time, idiots.” As Joan of Arc sighed, a crimson sports car shrouded in a cobalt-blue energy shield drifted out from the street corner—the driver was none other than the missing Sarah Bolton!

“A Warhorse supercar?!” Hammer had no time to dodge and was struck head-on by the supercar. The cobalt-blue energy shield, like an electromagnetic field, bounced Hammer’s massive body away, sending him crashing straight through a nearby building.

Who would have thought that Sarah Bolton, the guy wanted across the entire city, would abandon Grace Miller and somehow get his hands on a board-level executive vehicle…

The Warhorse supercar was a globally limited-edition executive vehicle, each one costing more than a space cruiser. Over 80% of its technology was classified S-level, and there were only 99 units worldwide, all divided among the board members of the world’s major conglomerates.

Emily, president of the Bawang Group’s branch in the Third Federal City of Gert, perhaps was never destined to become a board member, but he was always obsessed with the high-end tech only the board could enjoy. He secretly raised all kinds of taxes in the Federal City, squeezing the citizens’ savings for years, and finally managed to acquire this peerless Warhorse supercar.

But usually, he only kept it on display, never daring to drive it, afraid that the board would take offense and deal with him.

Now, ironically, he hadn’t driven it himself, but had handed it over to Sarah Bolton…

The drifting Warhorse screeched to a halt beside the phone booth. As the door opened, Grace Miller was moved to tears.

“Get in!” Sarah Bolton said calmly, as naturally as if he were picking up his girlfriend after work.

“Mm!”

Grace Miller pushed open the battered phone booth door and slid straight into the passenger seat. The moment she closed the door, Sarah Bolton finally let out a sigh of relief, because now they were inside the sturdiest fortress beneath these black clouds.

Sarah Bolton reactivated the energy shield, isolating them from the hostile world outside.

“It’s all right now. I’ll take you away.” Sarah Bolton buckled Grace Miller’s seatbelt and started up the Warhorse again.

“Mm.” Grace Miller gently closed her eyes and leaned against Sarah Bolton’s shoulder. In truth, whether they could escape didn’t matter to her; as long as she could stay by Sarah Bolton’s side, that was enough.

“Alert! Alert! Target has entered the Warhorse supercar! Requesting backup!” Just one car had thrown the entire Bawang Guard Corps into chaos. All the warriors rushed into the street, unleashing every weapon they had at the supercar.

Magnetic storm missiles, plasma sniper rifles, electromagnetic railguns, twelve-barrel Vulcan cannons—as if in an instant, every insane weapon ever invented by humanity was unleashed in the direction of the Warhorse.

Explosions erupted all around the Warhorse supercar. Firepower sufficient to destroy a space battleship caused only the slightest tremor to the car’s body.

Physical ammunition struck the energy shield and was instantly incinerated to fragments, while energy-based projectiles were simply deflected, unable to penetrate the shield at all.

All they could do was pray that their barrage would quickly drain the Warhorse’s energy and bring down its shield. But that was pure fantasy, because its power system ran on divine stone dust—even just one gram was enough to power the entire Third Federal City of Gert for a month.

Sarah Bolton ignored all the pursuing soldiers and smoothly drove the Warhorse onto the fortress train tracks, charging toward the city’s exit gate. According to his calculations, as long as they left the Third Federal City, their survival probability would reach 86.6%.

But what he couldn’t calculate was… right on the tracks at the city’s edge, William Parker was standing in the center.

Chapter 13: William Parker’s Gravity World

The Demigod race—a term mentioned earlier in the story, but never truly described.