My Superpower Is Piloting Magical Girl Corpses?

Lin Guang’s calm expression didn’t change at all. Under the weight of their oppressive gazes, he stepped across the rusty iron door as if walking into his own backyard.

The interior of the factory was extremely spacious. Several broken iron chains hung down from the high vaulted ceiling, clinking softly as drafts of wind passed through.

This place had clearly been carefully renovated.

In the middle of what had been an empty factory floor, discarded shipping containers and wooden crates were stacked up, forming semi-enclosed functional zones. A few high-power portable floodlights lit the area brightly, chasing away the shadows in the corners.

Dozens of men dressed in uniform black T-shirts were scattered around. Some gathered by wooden crates playing cards, others silently wiping down the machetes in their hands.

In one corner, Lin Guang even spotted a setup resembling a simple shooting range.

The air was thick with a murky mixture of tobacco and some other indescribable odor.

As Lin Guang moved deeper, many eyes turned toward him, carrying all kinds of emotions. He could even hear their whispers.

Their voices were very soft, barely more than murmurs, but Lin Guang’s hearing easily captured every word.

“No way. Doesn’t look like it at all.”

“Isn’t he just some green kid?”

“Probably someone sent as a test. Boring.”

“Ha, putting on quite the act.”

Lin Guang continued forward without any reaction.

Suddenly.

A man in a short-sleeved floral shirt, with a face sharp as a knife, looking like some kind of lower-level boss, blocked the way.

He looked Lin Guang up and down, his eyes rolling as they lingered on the excessively young face. He didn’t bother hiding his suspicion and surprise.

“You… just you?”

Coming alone, not even bringing a single lackey?

The boss of the western suburbs, the legendary “bounty hunter” who had scared the west district underworld shitless—how was he a milk-fed student who hadn’t even been weaned?

But in the end, he didn’t say anything harsh. He just pointed at a metal chair nearby and said coldly, “Wait here for a while.”

“The boss is handling things inside. He’ll be out soon.”

Lin Guang ignored his look and stood there relaxed.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

The steady, powerful sound of shoes striking the concrete floor echoed suddenly from the shadows deep within the factory.

The factory, which had been somewhat noisy a moment ago, fell instantly silent. Everyone unconsciously straightened their backs.

Soon, a figure slowly emerged from the darkness.

It was a man who looked to be in his early thirties.

He was a few centimeters taller than Lin Guang, with extremely broad shoulders and an excessively burly build.

Even in this abandoned factory, he wore a well-tailored dark suit. His hair was combed in a side part, and a pair of sunglasses sat on his face.

Above the edge of those sunglasses, a vicious scar slanted like a centipede into his sideburns, ruining what would have otherwise been a refined appearance. Tattoo marks could be seen on the back of his hands, spreading up into his sleeves.

A suit-clad thug.

Lin Guang’s eyebrows raised slightly. His gaze pierced through the expensive suit fabric and landed on the man’s gait.

Every step was incredibly steady. His shoulders rose and fell slightly with a rhythmic motion, and his limbs were abnormally relaxed and stable—a sign of a powerful core.

Beneath the taut suit fabric lurked terrifying strength that could explode at any moment.

Without a doubt, this was a trained fighter, and one with no small skill.

But this scrutiny only lasted a moment. Lin Guang’s gaze locked onto the left breast pocket of his suit, and a flicker of genuine surprise passed through his eyes.

That was—

At that very moment, the man was walking while slowly and deliberately wiping his hands with a white towel.

Under the bright lights, it was easy to see that his hands were stained with a thick, bright red liquid.

It was blood.

Fresh blood that hadn’t yet coagulated.

Lin Guang hadn’t heard any screams since entering. Clearly, whoever was being “handled” was either already unconscious or unable to make a sound.

As if sensing Lin Guang’s stare, the suited man stopped walking. He casually tossed the blood-stained towel to a lackey waiting nearby with a bowed head, then lifted his head and looked at Lin Guang through his sunglasses.

The staring contest lasted a full five seconds.

After those five seconds, the eyes hidden behind the sunglasses narrowed slightly. The cold, hard lines on the suit-clad thug’s face suddenly broke into a smile.

“Hahahahahahaha——”

“I’ve heard so much about you!”

He strode over, not intending to overpower Lin Guang with his presence. Instead, he turned sideways and made a “please” gesture.

“Brother Lin Guang, right? Come, let’s sit over there.”

It was a private space built from a few huge wooden crates and discarded sofas.

Though crude, there was actually a decent-looking bar counter in the middle, backed by a whole wall of various foreign liquors—a very jarring sight in this factory.

“Just arrived in Wind Capital, haven’t had time to set up a proper establishment. The place is rough, don’t mind it.”

The suited man walked to the sofa first and sat down. He leaned back, naturally exuding the oppressive aura of someone in a position of power.

“My name is Zhao Chen.”

He took off his sunglasses and tossed them casually onto the table, revealing a pair of sharp, eagle-like eyes with slightly upturned corners. He looked at Lin Guang.

“Want a drink? I’ve got some good stuff here.”

Lin Guang sat just as casually, settling onto the sofa across the drink table as if it were his own home.

“Milk.”

The few lackeys nearby froze for a moment.

Zhao Chen was also taken aback for a second, but then he burst out laughing again, his laughter booming.

“Interesting! I like a man who’s straightforward!”

He snapped his fingers and shouted to the lackey acting as a bartender, “Did you hear that? Get Brother Lin some milk! Hot!”

Soon, a glass of whiskey on the rocks and a steaming glass of plain milk were brought over.

Zhao Chen picked up the glass of amber liquid. Without any intention of savoring it, he tilted his head back and downed it in one gulp.

The ice clinked against the glass as he let out a long breath of alcohol fumes. He reached up and roughly tore open his tight shirt collar, revealing the outline of his solid chest.

“Ah, satisfying.”

Zhao Chen put down the glass, leaned forward, and crossed his hands on his knees. That oppressive aura hadn’t disappeared, but it had subtly transformed into the shrewdness of a businessman.

The smile on his face didn’t change.

“Brother Lin Guang, I’ve asked you here today because there are some important matters to discuss.”

“I won’t beat around the bush.”

Zhao Chen pulled two small, clear plastic bags out of his suit pants and casually tossed them onto the table.

Thump.

The bags held a few grams of white powder, glittering with an enticing yet deadly sheen under the light.

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