1888: Memoirs of an Unconfirmed Creature Hunter

Chapter 312: The Scalpel

The moonlight was deathly pale.

The cemetery ground was covered in a thin layer of frost.

Lin Jie pushed the heavy corpse off himself with great effort, gasping for air.

Cold air rushed into his lungs, bringing a stinging pain laced with the taste of blood.

He had won.

But his current condition was absolutely terrible.

The excruciating pain from his fractured left arm was hitting him tenfold as the adrenaline wore off.

Every breath protested from his broken ribs.

The lingering toxins within his body, a result of prolonged exposure to the plague's green fire, were making him feel waves of nausea and dizziness.

He struggled to his feet, swaying slightly before barely steadying himself.The Iron Cross corpse lay at his feet.

Bloodshot eyes still stared fixedly at the night sky, a look of terror frozen on its face.

Lin Jie didn't spare it another glance; he had no interest in the expressions of the dead.

He bent down, enduring the sharp pain in his arm, and rummaged through the Iron Cross member's trench coat pockets.

Soon, he found what he was looking for.

That peculiarly designed Smith & Wesson pistol—[Discipline].

The gun was heavy, the barbed wire coiled around it prickling his hand.

This gun possessed a troublesome tracking ability, a highly valuable trophy.

"Mine now," Lin Jie muttered to himself.

He also searched the American cowboy's body, taking the two Colt revolvers and the remaining few alchemical grenades.

As for the Japanese samurai with the slit throat, the tachi named [Withered Cicada] was also casually tucked into Lin Jie's belt.

After finishing all this, he dragged his heavy steps towards the west side of the cemetery.

By the wall, two figures were waiting anxiously.

Seeing Lin Jie emerge from the shadows, Brewer's face, smeared with blood and soot, wore an expression as if he'd seen a ghost.

"God Almighty…" the former Texas Ranger murmured to himself, "You really slaughtered them all?"

Although he had heard the commotion from over there before fleeing, it wasn't until he saw Lin Jie walk out alive with his own eyes that he dared to believe it.

That was the Iron Cross captain.

A veteran hunter with dual Grotesque Armaments, whose physical prowess rivaled that of a monster.

"Got lucky, I guess," Lin Jie didn't want to explain the dangers involved, "He played himself to death."

White Ghost leaned against the wall.

His completely ruined brass prosthetic hung limply at his side, wisps of black smoke curling from it.

But his eyes, hidden behind the mask, were fixed intently on Lin Jie, as if trying to reassess this temporary captain.

"Let's go," Lin Jie pointed towards the shadows beneath the distant clock tower, "The carriage is over there."

The three men supported each other, staggering out of the cemetery.

The waiting coachman was an elderly black man.

He was clearly also an insider of the inner world. Seeing three men covered in blood, looking like they'd crawled out of hell, he remained utterly unfazed.

He silently jumped off the carriage and helped open the carriage door.

"Sit tight, gentlemen," the old man tipped his hat, "The Baroness has already prepared the best doctors and whiskey."

The carriage started moving.

The wheels rumbled over the gravel road.

Inside the carriage, a deathly silence reigned.

The post-survival exhaustion washed over them, threatening to drown their consciousness.

Brewer clutched the lead box containing the [Plague Heart] tightly, as if holding his own child.

His left arm was twisted at an unnatural angle, and his forehead was slick with cold sweat.

"We pulled off a big one," he grinned, revealing an ugly smile, "For real."

Lin Jie leaned against the carriage wall, eyes closed.

"Yeah," he said softly, "A really big one."

The carriage passed through the silent suburbs, heading towards the city of New Orleans.

A sliver of dawn was already coloring the distant horizon.

This night was finally over.

...

New Orleans.

French Quarter, St. Peter Street.

This was the private domain of the Baroness Isabella, and one of the safest strongholds in all of Louisiana.

By the time the carriage drove into the estate surrounded by high walls and lush vegetation, the sky was already bright.

Medical personnel waiting at the entrance immediately swarmed forward.

They weren't ordinary doctors, but experts who had long served the Association, with extensive experience in handling mystical trauma.

Leading them was none other than Dr. Iron, the one who had crafted [Silencer] for Lin Jie.

When this one-legged old black craftsman saw the sorry state of Lin Jie and the others, a glint flashed in his cloudy eyes.

"Seems the blade served you well," he said meaningfully, glancing at the folding knife at Lin Jie's waist, which hadn't left his hand even at the brink of unconsciousness.

The subsequent treatment process was filled with pain and torment.

The medical methods here were a peculiar blend.

There was modern medicine—surgery, suturing, and disinfection—mixed with Voodoo herbs, incense, and incantations.

Dr. Iron personally handled White Ghost's injuries.

The ruined prosthetic was dismantled, revealing the severed stump.

To prevent necrosis caused by the energy backlash from the [Plague Heart], Dr. Iron had to perform a second amputation surgery on him, removing a portion of the contaminated flesh.

Brewer's left arm fracture was extremely severe, requiring steel pins for fixation.

Lin Jie's situation was the most complex.

While he had many external injuries, none were life-threatening.

The most troublesome issues were the corruption toxins within his body and the damage to his nervous system from mental energy overexertion.

He soaked in a bathtub filled with the scent of herbs for a full day and night.

That dark green medicinal liquid was said to be a mixture of alligator bile and some rare fungi, capable of neutralizing the plague toxins.

It wasn't until the evening of the third day that Lin Jie finally felt his soul had returned to his body.

He changed into a clean shirt and walked out of the room.

The fading glow of the sunset bathed the estate's exquisite courtyard, gilding the edges of the tropical plants.

In the pavilion at the center of the courtyard, the Baroness Isabella was elegantly holding a cup of black tea, seemingly waiting for him.

"Recovering well."

Seeing Lin Jie approach, this queen who controlled the inner world of New Orleans set down her teacup, her face wearing that same lazy yet mysterious smile, "Faster than I imagined."

Lin Jie sat down opposite her at the stone table.

"What about the others?"

"The Ranger is sleeping; his bones need time to heal. As for that ghost…" Isabella pointed to a workshop on the other side of the estate, "He's discussing the design for a new prosthetic with Dr. Iron. This lesson made him realize pure physical penetration sometimes isn't enough."

Lin Jie nodded, saying nothing.

Isabella took the lead box from a black velvet case beside her.

She gently opened the lid.

A faint green glow emanated from the box, the residual radiance emitted by the [Plague Heart].

Even though it had been separated from its host, this heart was still beating extremely slowly, as if possessing a life of its own.

"A perfect trophy," Isabella praised, "The Association's evaluation department gave it an 'A' grade rating. Not just because of the energy it contains, but because it represents the demise of a Kingdom-class entity."

She pushed the box towards Lin Jie.

"According to the rules, this belongs to your team. You are free to distribute it as you wish."

Lin Jie looked at the heart; he knew its value very well.

"I want this," Lin Jie didn't stand on ceremony, "I need it."

Isabella wasn't surprised.

"I know. Your friend… William, his injuries require life essence of this level as a medicinal catalyst, or as the core of some device," she had already done her research, "But the value of this thing is too high. Brewer and White Ghost's shares…"

"I'll compensate them," Lin Jie pulled out a stack of bank drafts from his coat, money he had advanced from the Redgrave family account via Ethan before departing, "This is twenty thousand dollars. Enough for Brewer to buy a large farm in Texas and retire. As for White Ghost… I can have Arthur Conan design a set of new armament blueprints tailored for him. I believe he'd be interested."

In this era, twenty thousand dollars was a fortune.

And Arthur Conan's design blueprints were hard currency in the inner world, priceless and impossible to buy on the open market.

Isabella raised an eyebrow.

"Very generous," she collected the drafts, "I'll relay that to them. In that case, it's yours."

Lin Jie closed the lead box and put it away.

Transaction complete.

But he knew the Baroness hadn't summoned him just to divide the spoils.

Sure enough, Isabella pulled out a thick report from a document folder.

"This is the final report on the 'Delacroix Estuary Cleanup Operation'," her fingers lightly tapped the table, "I've already sent it directly to Geneva Headquarters and Morgan in New York via encrypted channels."

Lin Jie glanced at the report; the cover bore the I.A.R.C.'s top-secret seal.

"Your battle in the cemetery…" Isabella's tone became somewhat playful, "…caused quite a stir."

Lin Jie frowned slightly, "Were there others there besides us?"

"Of course," Isabella smiled, "Did you think the Swamp Spawn would truly turn a blind eye? They didn't intervene, but they were observing from the shadows the whole time."

"That Iron Cross captain was a fool. He thought he was the hunter, but in others' eyes, he was also prey. If you hadn't dealt with him, those guys in the swamp wearing alligator skull masks would have moved in."

"So, someone witnessed the entire process."

"Saw it crystal clear," Isabella nodded, "Including how, under the siege of those three elite hunters, you dissected them one by one like a ghost."

She paused, leaning forward slightly, her gaze meeting Lin Jie's eyes directly.

"Headquarters thinks very highly of you, exceptionally highly. They believe your combat style is not only efficient but possesses an extremely rare… deterrence. It's an art of inducing psychological breakdown through precise calculation and manipulation of human nature."

Lin Jie's expression remained impassive, "I just wanted to survive."

"Regardless of motivation, the result is you won," Isabella shrugged, "At the end of the report, as the commander of this operation, I applied for an unofficial personal codename for you."

Codename.

Within I.A.R.C., only those elite hunters whose strength is recognized and who possess a unique style get their own codenames.

Like "Skullcrusher," "The Butcher," "Cartographer." It's a symbol of status, an honor.

"What codename?" Lin Jie asked.

Isabella picked up a pen and wrote a single word at the end of the report.

Scalpel.

"Scalpel."

She looked up at Lin Jie, "Precise, cold, cutting through flesh, striking directly at the vital point."

"Is there anything more fitting for you? Especially that final slash you made across the captain's artery; it was practically a perfect surgical procedure."

Lin Jie looked at the word, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Sounds awful," he couldn't help but complain, "Sounds like some deranged serial killer who only dissects corpses."

"That means it's intimidating," Isabella said dismissively, "Besides, this wasn't my decision alone. The higher-ups who heard the eyewitness descriptions unanimously agreed this codename was very fitting. Even Mr. Morgan thought it was good."

Lin Jie sighed.

He knew once something like this went into the files, changing it would be difficult.

"Fine, Scalpel it is," he reluctantly accepted this reality, "Still slightly better than 'Boning Knife' or 'Pig Butcher.'"

"That's the spirit," Isabella closed the folder with satisfaction, "Congratulations, 'Scalpel.' From today, your reputation in the inner world is officially established."

...

Two days later.

Lin Jie's injuries were mostly healed.

It had to be said, the spiritual balance training he received in Egypt, coupled with the physical enhancement from the [White Vulture's Mark], made his recovery speed far exceed that of ordinary people.

Before leaving New Orleans, he met Brewer and White Ghost again in the estate's lounge.

Brewer's arm was in a cast, a sling around his neck.

But he looked in good spirits, holding a bottle of fine bourbon whiskey.

Seeing Lin Jie enter, he struggled to his feet and raised the bottle.

"To our… Captain," the old ranger's tone held none of the initial doubt, only pure respect.

That cemetery battle had completely won over this proud Texas tough guy.

He knew very well that without Lin Jie's insane rearguard plan, both of them would be dead by now.

White Ghost still wore his mask, sitting in the shadows of a corner.

But when he saw Lin Jie, he gave a slight nod.

For this taciturn assassin, this was the highest level of acknowledgment.

Lin Jie handed the twenty-thousand-dollar drafts and Arthur Conan's contact information to the two men respectively.

Brewer looked at the huge sum in his hand, his eyes slightly red.

He didn't refuse; this wasn't just money, it was the bond of comrades-in-arms.

"If you ever have any trouble in the future, or need someone to take a bullet…" Brewer patted his chest, "…send a letter to Texas. No matter how far, old Brewer will ride over."

"Me too," White Ghost suddenly spoke, his voice hoarse and brief.

The three men clinked their glasses.

It was a simple farewell, and a testament to a bond forged through life and death.

In the carriage heading to the train station, Isabella revealed more about the inside story of this plague incident to Lin Jie.

"You think it's over?" She looked at the gradually receding swampland outside the window, her expression somewhat grave, "No, Lin. That Butcher was actually just the beginning."

Lin Jie was slightly taken aback, "What do you mean?"

"Our follow-up investigation found that old Delacroix, that madman, didn't put all his bets in one place to ensure the success of the summoning ritual," Isabella explained, "He simultaneously conducted multiple different forms of sacrificial rituals in different areas of Louisiana."

"The one at the slaughterhouse was the 'flesh and blood' sacrifice. At Alice Farm, it was the 'toxin' sacrifice. At the abandoned fortress in the west, it was the 'debris and hoarding' sacrifice. At an estate by the estuary, it was the 'shadow' sacrifice."

Lin Jie's pupils contracted slightly.

That meant… besides the Plague Butcher, other creatures had been summoned?

"Yes," Isabella confirmed his suspicion, "On the same night you killed the Butcher, a Voodoo hunter from Africa single-handedly killed a giant arthropod UMA resembling a spider in the basement of Alice Farm. That guy is a master of poison, and a real hardcase."

"What about the other two?"

"Still at large," Isabella shrugged, "The one that occupied the abandoned fortress, codename 'Broken Beak,' is a monster with a bird's beak, carrying a huge basket on its back, fond of collecting all sorts of trash and traps. The one entrenched in the estate, codename 'Assassin,' can transform into insect swarms and shadows. Very troublesome."

Lin Jie fell silent for a moment.

"Do you need me to deal with them?" he asked.

Since he'd already taken the title and the benefits, he didn't mind helping the Association clean house a bit more.

And the core materials from these bosses were also rare resources.

But Isabella shook her head.

"No. These are prey for other hunters," she looked at Lin Jie, "Besides, it's time for you to leave. Mr. Morgan sent an urgent telegram; there's trouble in New York. And… you need to head East immediately now, don't you?"

Lin Jie nodded.

Yes, he had already delayed here long enough.

William was still on his sickbed in Cairo, hanging between life and death, waiting for the life-saving medicine.

Julian was fighting alone in Southeast Asia, facing pressure from both the Black Lotus Sect and the Knights Templar.

And Evelyn and Hawk were still waiting for him to regroup in New York.

This plague war here was no longer his concern.

This swamp had its own guardians and predators.

And his battlefield was in more distant places.

"Your train ticket is already bought," Isabella handed him a ticket to New York, "First-class compartment. Get some good sleep, Mr. Scalpel."

Lin Jie took the ticket and put it in his pocket.

"Thank Mr. Morgan for me."

"I will."

The carriage stopped at the entrance of New Orleans Central Station.

The roar of the steam locomotive was already faintly audible, white steam shooting straight into the sky.

Lin Jie, carrying a simple bag, jumped off the carriage.

He didn't look back, just waved a hand behind him at Isabella, then strode into the bustling station.

Sunlight streamed through the tall glass dome, casting his long shadow behind him.

Behind him, the jazz music of New Orleans still flowed through the air, masking the unceasing roars and wails from the depths of the swamp.