Chapter Thirty: The Crown Prince Replaced by a Cat

“Skrull Morphing Technique.” Zhong Shenxiu pressed his fingers into the pool of blood, and his entire appearance changed once more, transforming into the likeness of that thin man. He touched his sharply protruding cheekbones, feeling firsthand that this man was indeed far too skinny.

Oh right, what was this man’s name?

He put on the black-green combat uniform that, thanks to his quick reactions, was still free of any bloodstains. Then, Zhong Shenxiu took off the badge pinned to the chest and examined the text on it:

“C26—Grell Wilson.”

C26 was probably a special code, or perhaps a unique designation, while Grell Wilson must be the man’s actual name.

“Grell… Grell… Grell…” Zhong Shenxiu silently recited the name several times in his mind, committing it to memory until he could recall it effortlessly.

Next, he would need to assume Grell’s identity and infiltrate the base the team spoke of. If he couldn’t even remember the man’s name, he would easily give himself away, exposing himself as an impostor—a case of switching the prince for a cat…

Pah, to be accurate, it should be the prince replacing the cat.

While memorizing the name, Zhong Shenxiu had already stripped the corpse and donned all its equipment. A jet-black automatic rifle hung at his chest, a Colt M2000 pistol was hidden in a secret pocket by his right knee, and a knife was strapped to his waist. There were also various grenades—though whether they were hand grenades, tear gas, or incendiaries, he wasn’t sure. Inside the jacket, he wore a camouflaged hard-shell bulletproof vest.

Though not armed to the teeth, this gear was already quite standard-issue. Clearly, Grell didn’t belong to some ragtag group.

Grell also carried a black cloth bag identical to those held by the two people in the living room. Zhong Shenxiu opened it and looked inside:

It was filled with daily necessities for washing up and even a pack of tissues—most likely gathered from this small storeroom.

First food, now these daily necessities.

What was this organization planning? Did they know this anomaly would last a long time?

Zhong Shenxiu pondered, and it seemed the only explanation. This group must have known there was a risk of a prolonged lockdown. They had preemptively seized the other residents’ food and supplies to ensure their own survival.

It was a ruthless move. As mentioned earlier, without food, the residents wouldn’t last many days—their fate would be almost certain death.

Whether through starvation or by eating dirt and wall plaster, succumbing to various digestive diseases.

But how did this organization know that this bizarre world would persist for so long?

The answer was obvious.

Zhong Shenxiu was almost certain he was in the right place. This was either the group imprisoning Wanda, or at least closely connected to it.

After a moment’s thought, and having hidden the body and finished his preparations, Zhong Shenxiu left the storeroom by himself.

He calculated that the two in the living room would be finished soon, so he couldn’t wait for one of them to come and fetch him.

The walls of the little storeroom still bore drawings of those blood-red stars.

If anyone came in, he would surely be exposed. It was better to take the initiative and go out first to avoid suspicion.

Ah, I really am a genius.

Zhong Shenxiu picked up the black cloth bag and walked out of the storeroom.

Just as he stepped out, he saw the two people from the living room carrying armfuls of supplies to load into the car outside.

Good grief, they must have stripped this household of all its winter stores for the coming year.

Among the two, the one who often spoke of “missions” and looked every bit the leader, glanced at Zhong Shenxiu and rolled his eyes, ignoring him—or, more accurately, ignoring his current identity as Grell.

It seemed Grell and this captain didn’t get along.

Noting this, Zhong Shenxiu thought to himself.

Meanwhile, the chatty young man, upon seeing the bag in Zhong Shenxiu’s hand, ran over eagerly.

He asked, “Grell, what did you find? Was it a lot? Any good stuff?” while peering curiously into the bag.

“Nothing much.” Zhong Shenxiu didn’t intend to say more. From the apparent friction between Grell and the team leader, it was clear Grell wasn’t the talkative type.

Otherwise, their relationship wouldn’t be so strained.

If he suddenly started chattering, it might arouse suspicion.

Sure enough, the young chatterbox wasn’t fazed by Zhong Shenxiu’s cold response, and naturally rummaged through the bag, looking for anything interesting.

“Reynolds, get back here.” The captain opened the van’s sliding door and called to the chatty youth.

“Oh, coming, coming—” Reynolds replied, put away the bag, and hurried into the vehicle, clearly obedient to the captain.

The captain followed him inside without so much as a, “Grell, get in,” making their poor relationship even more obvious.

But that was just as well; a strained relationship meant Zhong Shenxiu didn’t have to talk much, reducing his risk of exposure.

Without dawdling, Zhong Shenxiu quickly got in as well—if he were left behind, his plans would crumble.

Inside, the van was cramped, with seats arranged along the sides like in a combat aircraft, everyone sitting with their backs to the windows. The center was piled high with black bags, presumably all the supplies they had gathered.

The middle-aged man who had been on lookout was now driving. The captain and talkative Reynolds sat together in the rear, so Zhong Shenxiu found himself a corner seat.

“Hey, that black guy’s gone.” The van hadn’t been moving for long when Reynolds looked out the window and blurted out.

“Which black guy?” the driver asked.

“The one we just saw on the road, the short one—the one the captain said looked familiar,” Reynolds replied, growing even more talkative now that someone responded.

He glanced at Zhong Shenxiu and asked, “Do you remember, Grell? The guy we passed just now.”

The black man they passed on the road?

Could it have been me, after I’d used the Skrull Morphing Technique to become a black man?

Zhong Shenxiu thought to himself. He clearly recalled the van slowing for a few seconds when it passed him.

Before Zhong Shenxiu could reply, the captain spoke up. “He just looked a bit familiar—he reminded me of an old friend, but I heard he got mixed up with a gang and had his leg chopped off, the severed limb thrown into a meat grinder. That guy’s legs looked fine, so it couldn’t be him—just a resemblance.”

“Maybe he got his leg fixed? Hahaha.” Reynolds laughed at his own joke.

After all, no hospital in the world could regrow a limb—such things only happened in fantasy novels.

“But I heard there’s a miracle doctor on Ingram Street who can really make limbs regrow. Who knows if it’s true?” the driver said.

“No way, that’s just a conman’s trick,” Reynolds scoffed, the first to express disbelief.

The captain also shook his head, having seen enough charlatans in his time.

Zhong Shenxiu, listening to their conversation, silently thought to himself, “Sorry, but the miracle doctor is sitting right beside you.”

He still remembered that black man with the severed leg.

Regrowing limbs might be an impossibility for others—a fairy tale—but for him… it couldn’t be easier!