She is a natural disaster.

Chapter 6 A Moment's Intent

Anastasia entered the Floating Life Bar.

The bar was luxuriously decorated, with a magnificent lobby and a gleaming floor.

Small lights hung from the ceiling, twinkling like stars scattered across the night sky.

The bar was bustling with business. Even though night had just fallen, the place was already packed with people, and eye-catching socialites moved about skillfully.

Anastasia weaved through the crowd, across the swaying skirts of the dance floor, and sat down at the long bar.

She had just sat down when the bartender came up to her.

"Miss, did you come with Mr. Montague?" the bartender asked with a smile.

Anastasia nodded. She didn't know what her newly adopted son was up to. Surely he wasn't trying to kick her out.

"Miss, this is the drink Mr. Montague ordered for you." The bartender said, as he took out a glass of whiskey that was almost overflowing, without water or ice.

Anastasia raised an eyebrow. Her son's behavior was a little more magnanimous than she had expected, but only a little.

"Mr. Montague also said," the bartender continued, "that if you need other services, he won't pay a helle for your bill."

Anastasia smiled and nodded, steadily picking up the overflowing wine glass, then precisely pinpointing the location of her eldest son in the crowd.

At this moment, Mike was sitting in the middle of a group of people, men and women, who looked to be about the same age as him.

Mike grinned mischievously and raised his glass, gesturing to Anastasia.

Clearly, that glass of plain whiskey was Mike's revenge; it wasn't very harmful, but it was extremely insulting.

Anastasia smiled again, raised her glass in a gesture of greeting, and downed it in a flurry of drinks to Mike's slightly astonished gaze.

That wasn't all. Anastasia turned the empty glass upside down and placed it on the bar counter, indicating that she had finished drinking and there wasn't a drop left. Now it was the turn of the ill-intentioned eldest son.

Sitting in the middle of a group of people, Mike cursed his bad luck and quickly turned his head away, no longer looking at Anastasia in front of the bar.

The wine cups were clinked and toasts were exchanged several times.

Mike, chatting and laughing with his friends, gradually forgot his troubles, and even Anastasia, who seemed to be his karmic retribution, was left behind.

The wine glass swayed, and she giggled repeatedly.

After a few more drinks, Mike, increasingly happy, began to let loose.

He was constantly on the go, dancing energetically on the dance floor one minute and toasting other guests the next.

Unlike the noisy Mike, Anastasia sat quietly at the bar, her knuckles tapping lightly on the counter to the rhythm of the music, her raised leg swinging rhythmically.

"Miss?"

A strange man suddenly walked over.

Anastasia lifted her eyelids; the man looked to be about the same age as Mike.

"I heard you're a friend of Montague?" the man asked, leaning against the bar with a frivolous and dissolute expression.

Anastasia lowered her eyelids. She had nothing to talk about with this man. She was there to protect Mike, not to actually drink.

When Anastasia ignored him, the man's face immediately turned ugly, but he still continued to strike up a conversation, seemingly trying to embarrass Mike by winning Anastasia over.

"Miss, may I buy you a drink?" he continued. "Not the Montague kind, but everything tonight is on me."

Anastasia opened her eyes again, and the man looked smug, probably thinking that Anastasia was smitten.

In fact, Anastasia remained completely unmoved. She lifted her coat to reveal a revolver holstered in its case.

"Excuse me." The person was quite sensible and turned to leave without any hesitation.

The world was finally quiet. Anastasia closed her eyes again and tapped the table lightly with her knuckles in time with the music.

A long time passed, long enough that Anastasia's stomach began to rumble, and her commissioned target finally ended his colorful nightlife.

Mike stood up unsteadily, looking as if he might fall headfirst at any moment and then fall fast asleep on the spot.

Mike's friends rushed over to help him, supporting the drunken man as they walked out of the bar.

"I'm not drunk, I don't need your help."

Mike mumbled incoherently while waving his arms haphazardly.

His friend, who was supporting him, didn't let go. Drunken words shouldn't be taken seriously, especially when someone says they're not drunk.

Anastasia followed behind, and she also heard Mike's drunken ramblings. She knew that Mike wasn't actually drunk, or at least he wasn't acting as if he were completely intoxicated.

The carriage was already waiting in front of the Floating Life Bar. With the help of his friends, Mike stumbled and crawled into the carriage.

He leaned against the doorframe, mumbling, "Tomorrow! We'll continue tomorrow! I'm going to drink you all under the table!"

"Okay, okay, let's continue tomorrow."

Mike's friends, while ignoring his drunken ramblings, shoved Mike, who was about to fall out of the carriage, back into place.

During this time, a woman tried to get into the carriage, seemingly wanting to go home with Mike.

Whether it was Mike, who was pretending to be drunk, who gave her a push, or others outside the carriage who pulled her, the woman not only failed to get into the carriage, but also almost fell to the ground.

Anastasia chuckled softly, it was unclear whether she was laughing at Mike for pretending to be drunk, or at the woman who lacked self-respect.

Finally, the carriage door closed, the driver pulled the reins, and the carriage slowly moved forward.

Anastasia gave the driver a deep look, and the driver also turned to look at Anastasia.

The man driving the carriage was one of the three men from earlier that day—the same man who had changed into many different outfits and flaunted himself in front of Anastasia.

Humans are indeed complex creatures.

Mike Montagu strongly resisted his father's forced arrangements, but still accepted his father's protection.

Just like how Mike was very angry with Anastasia, his revenge was just a glass of plain whiskey.

At this moment, Anastasia really wanted to know what kind of face was hidden behind Mike Montagu's rebellious, dissolute rich kid persona.

If that unfamiliar face is someone who is worldly-wise and adept at human relationships, wouldn't that be too cliché?

However, before figuring out the true nature of the eldest son, Anastasia first needs to confront her peers, since peers are the real enemies.

"Miss Angel."

Anastasia hadn't gone far with the carriage when her companions appeared in front of her and blocked her way.

The person blocking the road was also an acquaintance, the same man in a cloak who had been hiding on the street corner during the day.

It was midnight, and the man was still wearing a cloak, his hands clasped together, his fingers interlaced, as if he were praying.

Anastasia turned her head to look behind her. The man who had been hiding behind the tree during the day had also arrived. He and his companion stood in front of and behind Anastasia, sandwiching her between them.

"Miss Angel, we know you were sent by the master. We hope you understand your place and don't do anything you shouldn't."

The cloaked man spoke again, his tone filled with a strong threat.

The man blocking their escape route put his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a pump-action shotgun.

"Sir, may I ask what is right and wrong?" Anastasia asked as she swaggered toward the cloaked man with his arms crossed over his chest.

At that moment, the gunman with the shotgun behind them suddenly spoke up, saying, "Go back to your old town, the new town is not a place for you!"

The cloaked man neither rebuked nor refuted, suggesting that he agreed with what he said.

Anastasia's appearance made the two men feel threatened. They dared not confront their boss, so they could only vent their anger on Anastasia, this weak woman.

What a cliché plot.

Anastasia stopped in her tracks, a smile playing on her lips.

The next second, Anastasia turned sharply and charged straight at the gunman who had been spouting nonsense.

"Be careful!"

The cloaked man shouted a warning, but it was too late!

Anastasia was already close by the time the gunman sensed danger.

Soft, white hands climbed onto the gunman's shoulders, and with a snap, a sharp pain shot through his heart.

That was the sound of bones rubbing or hitting each other when they dislocated. In just one exchange, Anastasia dislocated the gunman's arm.

A weak woman is indeed a weak woman, but how can someone with both strength and speed A not be considered a weak woman?

The gunman protecting Mike was almost completely wiped out, but the cloaked man with his arms crossed over his chest was still there, his eyes fixed on Anastasia.

Suddenly, the ground beneath Anastasia's feet froze, and her feet were restricted by the icy surface emanating a chilling aura. This was the ability that the cloaked man had gained after his transformation; the cloaked man was a transcendent being!

That makes sense. How could Mike Montagu's bodyguards all be useless?

Although the gunman with dislocated arms was somewhat useless, he was still quite brave. He endured the excruciating pain and fired a rocket headbutt straight at Anastasia's chest.

Despite being restricted in her movements, Anastasia remained calm. She raised her hand to block the incoming rocket headbutt and simultaneously delivered a powerful punch to the gunman's abdomen. With just one punch, Anastasia knocked the much stronger man to the ground.

However, the crisis was not over.

The icy surface, radiating a chilling aura, climbed up Anastasia's feet, enveloped her ankles, and advanced towards her calves.

The ever-climbing ice seemed to be turning Anastasia into an ice sculpture, and the chilling cold was bone-deep, making the blood vessels in her legs seem like they could burst and bleed at any moment.

Clearly, the cloaked man and the gunman are a duo; the former uses ice to freeze targets, while the latter uses firearms to kill them.

Even if firearms cannot kill a frozen target, the bone-chilling ice can still take a life.

"Anatasia Angel, the private investigator of the old city, the new city is not a place for trash like you."

Seeing that victory was within his grasp, the cloaked man began to make threats. As he spoke, he walked toward Anastasia, who had her back to him, and an ice spike materialized in his hand.

"I originally just wanted to teach you a lesson, to send you back to where you came from," the cloaked man continued. "But since you've taken both of his arms, I have to take something from you too."

Anastasia tilted her head, glancing out of the corner of her eye at the cloaked man approaching. Her sweet and gentle oval face remained completely calm.

"Does Mr. Montague know you're doing this?" she asked. "Do your superiors know?"

Although it was only a brief exchange, Anastasia had already figured out the strength of the two.

The gunman was just an ordinary person, though his marksmanship might be decent, while the cloaked man was a Transcendent with a relatively low level of mutation.

If the people responsible for protecting Mike Montague were only of their caliber, news of the young master Montague being kidnapped by thugs would have been everywhere long ago.

"It's too late to beg for mercy, Angel," the cloaked man said coldly. "When you're at the bottom of the river, do you think the master will punish me for a dead man?"

"Do you know that someone wants to do something to Mr. Montague?" Anastasia asked again.

"Are these your last words?" The cloaked man stepped closer and raised an ice pick.

The cloaked man and the gunman may have just wanted to teach Anastasia a lesson for stealing their jobs, or they may have really wanted to kill her. Whatever they were thinking, it no longer matters.

After that exchange, Anastasia, who had only intended to play around, now harbored murderous intent; her murderous intent was never a joke.

The cloaked man raised the ice spike in his hand high and plunged it into Anastasia's back.

The ice spikes shattered, the ice surface vanished, and the cloaked man's cruel smile froze on his face as a slender, jet-black sword pierced his chest.

As the ice melted, Anastasia remained with her back to the cloaked man, not moving an inch, but a slender sword appeared behind him and pierced his heart from behind.

The cloaked man is dead.

One second he was spouting nonsense, the next he was silently dying on the street at midnight.

Anastasia bent down to pick up the shotgun that had fallen to the ground, slid the handguard under the barrel, and heard a crisp, pleasant sound as she reloaded.

"Don't...don't kill me...please...please..."

The gunman, slumped on the ground, begged for mercy; he didn't actually have to die.

However, killing is the same whether you kill alone or with someone else, so it's better for two people to travel together and keep each other company.

"Look at me, sir," Anastasia said softly. "Look into my eyes, sir."

The gunman dared not refuse and could only obediently look into Anastasia's eyes, hoping that this woman who could easily kill a Transcendent would spare him.

boom!

Gunshots rang out, sparks flew.

The sharp, piercing siren shattered the silence of midnight.