The Weapon Genius: Anything I Hold Can Kill-Chapter 178: Before the Storm

By the time the group gathered at the front exit of the station, night had fallen like a curtain across the sky—sharp, fast, and final. Streetlamps flickered overhead, casting broken lines of orange light along the cracked pavement as two squads assembled.

Ryu stood at the front, arms crossed, head tilted as he scanned the people behind him. Jin’s team stood opposite, mostly unarmed but not unprepared—at least not in the way that mattered.

"You’re really heading out like that?" Ryu asked, nodding toward the mostly unarmored group. "No tactical gear? No reinforced suits?"

Jin shook his head. "We move better this way."

Ryu arched a brow. "What, you’re too cool for body armor now?"

Joon grinned, leaning lazily on his floating disc. "Nah. We just don’t like getting slowed down by things we don’t need."

"Plus," Echo added, adjusting one of his sonic disks at his hip, "have you seen my fashion sense? I’m not covering this up with your department-issued black."

Seul ignored them both, calmly checking over her gravity-tuned gloves. "Function matters. And none of us were built for formation combat."

"Except me," Hanuel chimed in, twirling his staff. "But I like to keep things flashy."

Jin stepped forward, gesturing slightly toward Ryu’s supply area. "You said you had spare weapons."

Ryu nodded. "Some high-grade system-registered ones. Still stored in the armory. You looking for something in particular?"

Jin shrugged. "Anything that’ll hit hard."

He followed Ryu toward a side access hall. The others waited at the gate, final checks underway. As they moved, Ryu keyed open a reinforced door with a handprint and voice-code.

Inside, the armory gleamed—rows of weapon racks lined in neat verticals. Most held standard energy blades, kinetic cannons, and condensed-charge batons, but a few stood out—odd in design, clearly forged by the system’s more creative whims.

"Take your pick," Ryu said. "Nothing bonded, so you’re free to equip and discard as needed."

Jin walked the rows slowly, fingers brushing over hilts and grips. His gaze caught on a dark green segmented weapon—something between a chained blade and a polearm, its length collapsible but surprisingly dense.

"This one," he said, pulling it down. The moment he held it, the weight told him what he needed. Balanced. Built for close quarters and wide sweeps alike.

"You know how to use that thing?" Ryu asked.

"I will."

By the time they returned, the squads were ready. Jin’s group had already organized—Echo checking disk-charges, Seul tying her gloves, Yujin stretching her arms as her circlet pulsed with faint heat. Hanuel spun his staff once over his shoulders, then pointed it skyward like it was a signal flare.

"Jin," Ryu said, voice firm, "you’re sure about these five?"

"They’re who I trust," Jin replied.

"Then let’s move."

The gates opened without fanfare. No ceremony. Just a low hiss of pressure as the outer locks disengaged. The squads stepped out into the cool night.

The city was mostly quiet. A few automated drones buzzed through the sky, scanning for flare-signatures or violent outbreaks, but this part of the district had long since emptied out. Only the faint sounds of wind and distant generators broke the silence.

They moved in sync—Ryu’s team a practiced unit, tight and alert, spacing deliberate. Jin’s team moved with more freedom—each person watching their own zone, weaving in fluid arcs rather than rigid lines. Seul and Yujin kept low flight paths, floating over the rooftops like wraiths. Hanuel occasionally vanished behind street signs and popped up ahead. Joon stayed mid-air, occasionally rotating in slow circles on his disc, watching all angles.

Echo muttered, "You ever notice how your people move like ghosts?"

Jin kept his eyes forward. "We try not to make noise unless it counts."

After about thirty minutes, Ryu raised a hand.

They stopped at the edge of a ruined overpass. Below them, the ground dipped into a wide basin—flattened terrain that had once been a small urban plaza. At the center of it stood a hulking structure.

The prison.

Or what used to be one.

Jin narrowed his eyes.

The building was larger than he remembered. Reinforced. New towers had been erected, fused metal and stone, shaped by the system’s remodeling points. Automated floodlights arced in lazy rotations across the area, and heat signatures were faintly visible behind shuttered windows.

"That definitely doesn’t look like a bunch of amateurs held it together," Joon muttered.

"They’re not," Ryu said grimly. "Last recon had the group calling themselves the ’Vultures.’ Criminals, mostly. Survivors of the collapse. But not just low-tier scavengers. Their leader? She’s strong and dangerous."

Seul hovered nearby, her eyes scanning the lights. "Looks like they used their system rewards well."

"They’ve fortified every key angle," Echo said. "Whoever planned this was thinking long-term."

Jin adjusted the grip on his borrowed polearm. "Then we hit them from the inside."

"We can’t go loud," Ryu reminded them. "Not yet. There might still be civilians trapped inside. We don’t know if they’re using hostages to control the structure."

"Then we go quiet," Jin said, stepping forward. "Seul?"

She moved instantly—gravity dampening the sound of their steps, pulling their outlines slightly lower to reduce visibility from above. Shadows curved around her like allies.

"Let’s split and sweep the outer perimeter," Ryu said. "Look for access points—rooftop, sewer, ventilation, whatever. We regroup in fifteen."

Jin nodded once. "Pairs are too risky. We go solo. Less chance of being spotted."

The others silently agreed.

They moved without another word.

Joon hovered upward, rising silently on his floating disc and fading into the night air. His outline melted into the glow of a passing floodlight before vanishing completely.

Yujin shifted mid-step, body contracting in a fluid, silent motion as fur rippled over skin. In a blink, she was gone—replaced by a large black bird that launched upward into the air and spiraled toward a broken streetlight before darting higher.

Hanuel vaulted into the alley beside them, his staff folding as he slid into the shadows, movements low and silent.

Echo flicked his disks once. Two of them detached from his belt and spun lazily in the air before he leapt onto the nearest rooftop, moving light and soundless, hugging the cover of the outer parapets.

Seul gave Jin a brief look, nodding once before pressing her hand against the ground. Her feet lifted gently, body surrounded by a muted gravitational field. She drifted away along the edge of the building, vanishing without a trace.

Jin exhaled once.

Then he moved.

He didn’t run, didn’t leap. He simply walked, staying close to the line between darkness and the weaker-lit edges of the plaza. The ground was cracked, but not enough to betray his steps. His polearm was strapped behind him now, both hands free.

Every instinct told him the place was wrong.

Not just fortified—inhabited. Patrolled.

And whoever led this place hadn’t just built walls. They’d created layers of surveillance: field watchers, system posts, and likely someone with a detection skill stationed just out of sight.

Jin crept behind a toppled van, peeking through the cracked windshield toward the main courtyard.

There. Between two inner guard towers, a sealed drainage hatch.

That could be a way in.

But it was close to the floodlight path. Too close.

He marked it mentally, kept moving.

Further around the building’s western edge, the ground sloped downward into a broken stairwell—likely once used as a delivery dock. Now it had been barricaded, metal sheets pressed together and fused by system welds.

No way through without noise.

He shifted directions, scaling up the side of a half-toppled building nearby. His boots gripped the concrete, fingers moving over cracks and footholds. When he reached the upper level, he ducked low and crawled to the corner.

From here, the entire southern wing of the prison was visible.

Barbed coils. Defensive lighting. Sensor strips tucked into corners.

But behind it all—on the far end—was what looked like a maintenance access. Narrow. Tucked between an outer stairwell and one of the backup generators.

Unmarked.

Unlit.

But just then—

Footsteps.

Close.

Jin froze.

Below him, maybe a level and a half down, a figure walked into view. Broad-shouldered, armored in leather. A baton was strapped to their back, and something in their gait made it clear they weren’t just a grunt.

He dropped flat.

The guard paused.

Looked up.

Jin held his breath. No movement. No sound.

The wind shifted slightly, and the guard’s eyes scanned upward, squinting.

Jin reached slowly for a piece of broken concrete beside him. Light. Enough to toss, not too heavy.

He waited.

The guard stepped closer.

Jin tossed the piece gently off the edge—toward a different part of the rubble pile behind the van from earlier.

Clink.

The sound echoed just enough.

The guard snapped to attention and started toward the sound, baton halfway drawn.

Jin didn’t wait.

He rolled back, pushed into a low crawl, and moved toward the upper stair access again. Quiet. Fast.

By the time the guard turned around and glanced back up, the rooftop was empty.

Jin slid into the side of a ventilation shaft and ducked low behind a loose wall panel. He crouched there, breathing slow, barely audible.

Close.

Too close.

But now he had three confirmed options: the floodlight-exposed drainage hatch, the barricaded delivery dock, and the tight maintenance corridor near the generator.

Fifteen minutes was almost up.

Jin doubled back carefully, making sure the guard had moved on, and slipped into the side corridor where they’d split.

When he regrouped at the designated point near the alley they’d entered from, Ryu’s squad was already there. Uniform, in formation, almost military in posture.

Jin arrived next.

Seul drifted in from above, landing gently.

Then Hanuel stepped out of a shadow near the broken lamp post, wiping dust from his sleeves.

Echo flipped down from a roof ledge, landing silently with a grin. "South and west are layered. No blind angles except maybe near the southwest scaffolding, but even that’s sketchy."

Yujin swooped down next, bird form dispersing as she shifted mid-air and landed barefoot, boots slung in her arms before she slipped them back on.

Joon was the last—descending on his disk like a silent satellite, gaze sharp.

Ryu looked to Jin. "Find anything promising?"

"Three spots," Jin said. "One might be viable. Maintenance corridor on the south end, next to a generator shack. No lights. Narrow. No visible sensors."

"Could be a decoy," Chul muttered.

"Could be," Jin agreed. "But it’s the best shot at a clean entry."

Ryu turned toward the prison, the glow of the building casting long shadows across his face.

"They’re preparing for something. I can feel it."

"They won’t be ready for us," Jin said, eyes narrowing.

"We go in quiet," Ryu confirmed. "We leave no trace."

"What do we do if things go wrong?" Hanuel asked, his voice low.

Ryu’s smile was tight.

"Then we send em to hell."

The teams exchanged glances.

No more words.

They knew what came next.

War didn’t start with explosions.

It started with shadows.

And the first blow?

Was silence.