CHAPTER 35: EASY FIGHT?

The roar of the aggressive Ducati engine tore through the darkness of night, carrying C far away from the chaos in front of Ivansia’s house.

He knew exactly what he had to do next. His gaze was locked on the phone mounted on his bike’s holder.

A small red dot blinked steadily on the screen, moving across the digital map. It was the GPS tracker Luna had slipped onto the corrupt policemen’s car earlier.

C followed that trail, his mission crystal clear: retrieve the briefcase that Ivansia’s father had handed over to the crooked cops.

He rode at a moderate speed, careful to keep his distance so as not to be spotted. His mind dissected every possibility like a machine.

Based on the loops he’d experienced before, he expected the police car to stop beneath a deserted overpass, a place they often used for shady deals or just to lay low.

But tonight, something was different. The red dot kept moving, past the overpass, further and further toward the outskirts of the city. If he had eyebrows, they’d be furrowed in surprise. Something had changed.

C pulled his bike off the road several dozen meters from the target location, hiding it deep behind a dense thicket to ensure it stayed invisible.

The forest would be the perfect battleground for him. The thick trees, high shrubs, and shifting shadows offered unparalleled cover.

He dismounted, moving with the silence of a phantom. Every step was deliberate, his boots pressing down on dry leaves without a sound.

He crept through the woods, searching for the perfect vantage point to watch unseen.

The cold forest air bit into him, but his concentration never wavered.

From behind a massive old tree, he drew his pitch-black custom handgun, complete with a silencer and a tactical flashlight.

His hands gripped the pistol firmly, knowing every ounce of its weight, every subtle shift of its balance.

Then he unclipped the makeshift flashbang necklace he’d crafted earlier, looping it around his neck as a last-resort weapon.

He raised his pistol slowly, aiming down the silencer’s barrel. The crosshairs lined up perfectly with the head of one of the policemen, who was busy barking orders into his phone, unaware of the danger lurking among the trees.

One target. His objective was simple, but precision was everything. One headshot. One kill.

The two policemen stood oblivious to C’s presence.

"We’ve already got the money. Hurry up and get to the location I sent you, i’ll split the cash once you arrive," said Officer B, his voice low and impatient as he spoke into his phone.

["Hold on, boss. I think I can squeeze a little more money out of the owner of this house. Might as well get a bigger payday."] the thug at Ivansia’s home replied.

These policemen weren’t just corrupt, they were the masterminds behind everything. They were the ones who had ordered the gangsters to stir up the mob outside Ivansia’s house, to make the crowd angrier and the situation spiral out of control.

Then these same policemen showed up, pretending to offer "protection" to Ivansia’s family. They claimed they could "handle" the mob and the gangsters outside, without ever revealing that they were the ones who orchestrated the entire siege.

They promised to split the take with the gangsters afterward.

"You idiot! Get over here now! The real police could show up any minute!" Officer B snapped, his voice rising. The irony of a corrupt cop fearing honest police would’ve been almost funny under different circumstances.

["Relax, boss."] the thug replied before ending the call.

Officer B clenched his phone so hard it creaked, then slammed his foot against the car tire in frustration.

"We should’ve just hired some small-time thugs. At least they’d be easier to control," he muttered angrily.

His partner, smoking a cigarette, exhaled a thin stream of smoke before replying flatly, "That was your idea. Remember?"

A tense silence fell over the forest, broken only by the gentle whirring of insects and the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by the night breeze.

C, hidden behind the wide trunk of a tree, kept his aim steady. He watched as the first cop finished his call, massaging his temple with a tense scowl on his face. The man stood still, clearly fuming.

It was the perfect moment.

C didn’t hesitate. There was no room for doubt.

His finger squeezed the trigger. A soft pfft whispered through the silencer.

The bullet traveled in a silent, deadly arc. In the blink of an eye, the officer’s head snapped back violently, and his body slumped to the damp forest floor with a dull thud.

He didn’t move again.

The second officer, still savoring his cigarette with his back turned, twitched at the faint sound. He turned around, casually calling out, "Hey, why’d you go so quiet all of a sudden?"

Then he saw it.

Blood.

A small, neat hole in his partner’s forehead, a thin stream of crimson trickling down his lifeless face.

The second cop’s eyes went wide. His cigarette slipped from his lips, falling into the dirt. His jaw dropped, paralyzed by horror.

It took two, maybe three seconds for his brain to fully comprehend what he was seeing.

And when it did, the realization crashed over him like a tidal wave.

Shit! A shooter?! Someone’s gunning for us! Is it the family?! Did they hire someone?!

The brief return of silence was shattered by a second pfft, closer than before.

But the second officer’s survival instincts flared. He hurled himself sideways, rolling across the forest floor until he landed behind the police car, staying low.

He knew exactly where the shot had come from: somewhere in the darkness to the left of the vehicle.

But he couldn’t see his attacker. The forest was too thick, the shadows too deep, a perfect hiding spot for his enemy.

C moved instantly; he never stayed in one place after firing. Staying still was a death sentence.

He darted between the trees, repositioning himself to find a new line of sight.

Meanwhile, the surviving officer emerged from behind the car, his own pistol drawn. He fired twice at where C had been moments before.

Bullets ripped through leaves, smashing into a tree trunk just behind C’s previous location.

A brief flash of movement caught the officer’s eye. He spotted a blur, C’s silhouette weaving through the shadows.

"OVER THERE!" he roared, unleashing a rapid volley of bullets.

The shots hissed dangerously close to C, some skimming his sleeves.

But C had seen this scenario play out countless times across his 1,203 loops.

He dove low, rolled, and sprang into a new hiding spot behind a dense thicket, evading the barrage by inches.

C returned fire. He lifted his silenced pistol, firing three quick shots at the police car.

The bullets hammered the metal body, punching neat dents and sending shards of paint flying.

The soft, lethal whispers of C’s gun contrasted eerily with the stillness of the forest.

It became a deadly duel under the moonlit canopy, each man trying to outmaneuver the other.

The officer snarled in frustration. His shots were wild, hitting only trees and empty air, while C’s shots threatened him with every burst.

He felt panic clawing at his chest. He knew he couldn’t win this firefight. Not here. Not in this forest.

This was C’s world now.

With a snap decision, he changed tactics. He holstered his pistol.

This cop wasn’t just some street thug—he was a trained soldier with years of combat experience. He knew how to close distance, how to take down a target in close quarters.

"If I can’t shoot you, I’ll tear you apart with my own hands!" he shouted, his voice echoing slightly among the trees.

He charged forward.

He sprinted between the trees, ducking and weaving, using the forest as cover, trying to flank C.

C immediately recognized the shift in strategy. He bolted deeper into the woods, knowing the officer was right on his tail.

He could hear every heavy step, every snapped twig as the cop drew closer.

Suddenly, from the shadows of a thick bush, the officer exploded forward.

He lunged at C with a gleaming combat knife designed for brutal, up-close kills.

But C was ready.

In a flash, he drew his own slim, sharp knife, its blade catching a sliver of moonlight.

The officer’s lips curled into a tight, frustrated sneer. He hadn’t expected his surprise attack to be so effortlessly blocked.

They clashed.

The sound of steel colliding rang out, followed by grunts of exertion and the hiss of heavy breaths.

Strike after strike, slash after slash, dodge after dodge.

The officer was an elite. He didn’t underestimate C for a second. His moves were fast, precise, honed by countless battles.

He targeted vital points, every attack meant to end the fight in a heartbeat.

But what he didn’t know was that his opponent wasn’t just skilled—he was someone who had lived through 1,203 time loops.

C might not match the officer’s raw physical power or natural reflexes, but he had something even deadlier:

Limitless, accumulated experience.

C read every motion the officer made. The shifting of his feet, the flex of his muscles, the subtlest telegraph of his intent.

He saw the patterns, the hidden gaps, the weaknesses invisible to normal eyes.

C turned the forest into his weapon. He didn’t just dodge; he maneuvered around trees and shrubs, using the uneven terrain to throw off the officer’s rhythm.

When the officer lunged with a quick thrust, C spun around a thick trunk, the wood absorbing the momentum and leaving his enemy off-balance.

Then, in a blur, C trapped the officer’s arm between his own body and the tree. He twisted sharply, driving the cop’s elbow in the wrong direction with a sickening pop.

"ARGHH!" the officer howled.

C controlled the flow of the fight, turning the officer’s strength against him. He never traded blows head-on; he used minimal, precise movements to create maximum chaos.

He made the officer stumble, overextend, drain his stamina with every desperate move.

The officer’s eyes widened in horror. He had never encountered an enemy like this. This wasn’t a normal fight, it was a terrifying blend of combat and psychological warfare.

"WHY?! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?!" he screamed, whipping his head left and right, desperately trying to find C in the shadows.

He tried to adapt, shifting his attack patterns to read C’s moves, but C was always a step ahead, exploiting openings before the officer even recognized them.

The cop grew increasingly ragged. Small cuts began to appear on his arms and legs, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He was close to defeat.

In a last, panicked gamble, he drew his pistol again, swinging it up for a point-blank shot.

But C was faster.

C’s silenced pistol snapped up first. He squeezed the trigger. Another soft pfft echoed.

The bullet punched a neat hole dead center in the officer’s forehead.

A small red spot bloomed. The man’s body froze, his eyes blank.

"...Why?" he croaked, his voice weak, fading.

C stood over him, his gun still trained on the collapsing figure.

"No reason."

The officer’s body slumped to the ground among the forest’s damp, fallen leaves. This time, there was no movement. Only silence.

The fight was over.

C had won.

Now he just needs to grab the briefcase of money in the corrupt cop’s car and fight the third corrupt cop who is coming.