Chapter 121 Ambush!

Chapter 121: 121 Ambush!

"What the fuck happened?"

John’s voice cracked under the weight of the sight before him.

"How is Gerard dead? Did a secret powerhouse—" He stopped, and looked around.

"Gerald actually set up an ambush and blocked the way. I didn’t think he would actually be so smart to await us here. How did you escape? Who killed him?"

No one answered.

John looked at Jasmine. She shook her head. He turned to Lucy, but Lucy’s eyes slid away, fixed on the ground. Finally, his gaze landed on Michael.

"Yes," Michael sighed and replied.

"A secret powerhouse helped us."

"Who? Someone from the academy? The government? Whoever killed him —" He shook his head. "They’d have to be at least level 40—"

"You wouldn’t believe who actually killed him," Michael cut in.

"Who?"

Michael looked at Andrew.

John followed the glance. Andrew stood a few feet away, leaning on his blade with a blank look on his face.

John’s brow furrowed, then darkened.

"This isn’t a joke. Someone killed Gerald. You don’t joke about that. We have to thank the person."

Andrew shrugged. "I’m the powerhouse."

John’s hands clenched. His mouth opened, ready to unleash a tirade about seriousness and respect and the sheer insanity of the claim. Then he felt it.

A pressure landed on him and he felt his heart pound heavily.

He, a level 35 Ultra actually felt fear and submission?

John’s anger evaporated. His eyes widened. "What the? You’re actually serious!"

Andrew shrugged again, casual, almost dismissive. "I’m an S-rank. An Ultra with S-rank potential, fifteen years old. Of course I have treasures on me. Temporary strength when I need to kill my enemies."

It was a half-truth. The treasures were real enough, but they weren’t the source of his power. They were a convenient explanation that fit the world his teammates understood.

And they believed him, because the alternative—that a fifteen-year-old could kill an Ultra through sheer, natural ability—was unthinkable. Expensive, single-use artifacts that granted brief surges of power. That made sense. That was possible.

John forced himself to straighten, wincing at the pain in his ribs. His voice steadied. "Alright. Let’s clean up this scene and leave. Now. Before anyone finds out what happened here." He looked at Andrew with new eyes.

"And we destroy every trace that Andrew was the one who killed Gerard. If word gets out, it will cause more trouble than it’s worth."

Everyone nodded, and they went to work.

---

The cleanup was thorough.

They shattered the terrain further, collapsing craters, leveling broken trees, grinding the already pulverized earth into rubble. Scorch marks, lightning scars, bloodstains—all of it vanished under a fresh layer of destruction.

Then they dealt with Gerard’s corpse.

Michael produced fire and a concentrated blast of heat that reduced the body to ash in minutes.

They crushed the ash, scattered it, ground it into the dirt. The head received the same treatment. Nothing remained that could confirm the identity of the dead man.

But before the body was destroyed, John lifted Gerard’s blade from the ground. The moment his fingers closed around the hilt, his eyes went wide.

Diamond-grade.

The metal was flawless, liquid-smooth, balanced with a precision that made it feel alive.

Diamond-grade, the highest tier, capable of elevating a family’s standing, deciding wars, selling for an astronomical fortune. Every eye in the group lit with the same hungry gleam.

John stored it in his spatial ring without hesitation. "We sell it once we get to the real world. Split the proceeds equally."

No one objected.

Then Jasmine spoke, her voice cutting through the brief euphoria like cold water. "What about Gerard’s squad?"

John frowned. "What about them?"

"They’re still out there. They separated you from us. They’re probably looking for Gerard, or for us. If they find this place and figure out what happened..."

"They’ll report back," Michael said grimly. "And if they report that Gerard is dead and we’re responsible..."

"The Crimson family comes looking," Lucy finished. "And they don’t send one Ultra this time."

The Crimson family did not forgive. If they learned that their assassin had been killed by them, the retaliation would be absolute. Self-defense wouldn’t matter. The insult would demand blood.

Andrew spoke before anyone else. "Ambush."

The group exchanged glances. The same cold calculation passed through every pair of eyes.

Gerard’s squad had come to hunt them, to kill them, to leave their bodies for the wildlife.

Ambushing the ambushers was the law of the jungle of course.

"Since I can see far," Andrew said, "I’ll know when they’re coming. We set up and wait."

Their expressions hardened. Not with coldness.

"How do you want to do it?" John asked. It was as though Andrew was the leader and he was the second in command.

Andrew scanned the terrain with his eyes. "There. The natural depression between those two tree clusters. We dig a pit, sharpen stakes, cover it with brush. Place one of Gerard’s garments at the center as bait. They’ll see it, approach, and fall in."

"And when they’re in the pit?" Jasmine asked.

"We finish them from above. Quick and clean. No chances."

No one argued.

The fear and rage of the past day needed an outlet, and this was it. They moved deeper into the forest, choosing their ground with care.

Andrew directed them, using his omniscient perception to check for positions, angles of attack, sight lines, escape routes—and none of them questioned it.

They dug. Michael and John tore up the earth, carving a pit three meters deep and four across. ℴ

Jasmine and Lucy sharpened branches into stakes, dozens of them, driving them into the bottom point-up, dense as teeth.

Andrew supervised, adjusting, checking. They covered the pit with branches, leaves, and a thin layer of soil, blending it seamlessly into the forest floor.

Even to trained eyes, it looked like another patch of ground and to those who stepped on it, it was a grave.

Then they placed the bait: Gerard’s torn jacket, carrying the faint scent of blood and residual energy. Positioned to look dropped in haste, not planted. And they waited.

---

Twenty minutes.

The forest was unnaturally quiet. The wildlife had fled hours ago. Andrew had positioned himself in a tree, his perception scanning the approach

. Jasmine crouched behind a fallen log, blade drawn. Michael hid in a cluster of bushes, a heavy stone in his hands. Lucy waited on a branch opposite Andrew, daggers ready. John was behind the pit.

Then, footsteps. Four sets, moving in formation from the east. Andrew’s eyes narrowed.

There they were: four large, armored figures, Gerard’s squad.

They emerged into the clearing, scanning their surroundings as they moved.

One spotted the jacket. "Boss’s clothes. He must be nearby."

They stepped forward, moving toward the bait, and the ground gave way.

It happened instantly.

"Ahhhh!!!!"

The camouflage collapsed, and all four plummeted into the pit with shouts of alarm. The sharpened stakes were waiting.

They punched through armor and muscle, drawing howls of agony as the men writhed among the wooden teeth.

Before they could do more than scream, the blades came from above.

Jasmine dropped like a falling star, her axe opening the first man’s skull before he knew she was there.

Lucy followed a half-second later, her daggers slicing the second man’s neck in a crossed arc. Michael landed on the third with the stone, a crunch that echoed through the clearing, and the man went limp.

John took the fourth, a single stroke that separated head from shoulders.