Chapter 90: Creed of the Assassin

The Mosin-Nagant sniper rifle’s scope only had a 3.5x magnification. During World War II, telescopes with seven times magnification were considered excellent; anything like a fifteen-times scope was far beyond what ordinary soldiers could use. Meimu Mu was merely putting on an act—he knew the Ministry of Internal Affairs kept a close eye on every special talent. His presence was just to show he had conducted reconnaissance.

What he truly intended to do was to make use of a piece of black technology—a radio he had exchanged through his system. No one could say how such a thing had ended up integrated into the system, but he only needed to turn it on to receive radio signals from all directions. Radios of the World War II era transmitted in Morse code, the constant “beep-beep-beep” of coded messages. Meimu Mu could decipher these; it wasn’t beyond his abilities, though he lacked interest. Coming from a highly advanced cryptographic age—where even cryptocurrencies like Bitcoin had existed for years in 2018—he knew, even without expertise, that he could find ways to decode them from the system.

What truly captivated him was the strength and density of the radio waves. Communications below the regiment level used low-power walkie-talkies—those portable radios with minimal output, mere small fry. In World War II, to pinpoint a radio’s location required several monitoring trucks using triangulation. But with black technology, it was far less troublesome. Centered on Meimu Mu, the battlefield’s radio waves appeared before his mind’s eye like ripples in water, revealing the strength, density, and number of sources across each area.

"I’ve found you."

Meimu Mu descended the stairs like a lithe cat, returning to the regiment’s quarters assigned to him, where he pulled the covers over his head and fell into a deep sleep.

Night was restless. Fierce fighting continued everywhere, and without night vision devices, the darkness concealed many things. Meimu Mu made his way to a frontline position, where Russians and Germans clashed noisily below, the battle lively but casualties surprisingly few. Without electricity and night vision, both sides were nearly blind, distinguishing enemies only by flares, burning buildings, tank wrecks, and the pale moonlight.

A mass of clouds swept across the sky, shrouding the ground. No one noticed the ghostly shadow soaring a hundred meters above, for in the minds of both armies, nothing could possibly move at such speed at that height.

It was Meimu Mu’s Floating Cloak!

He was fortunate: through time’s reversal, all his belongings came with him. At first, they weren’t on his person, but later he discovered that the Floating Cloak, along with many items, were stored in a special space resembling a pouch—though only things from 2016 could be placed within.

Initially, he couldn’t operate the Floating Cloak skillfully, its speed inferior even to running. Now, adept, he could fly at fifteen kilometers per hour without difficulty. Using the cover of night, he soared toward the outskirts of the city.

At that moment, over seventy percent of Stalingrad’s urban area was occupied by the Germans, and the territory outside was entirely enemy-held. Tanks and armored vehicles crowded the snowy fields, protected only by rudimentary camouflage. This wasn’t German arrogance; it was thanks to the absolute dominance of their air force. The Red Army’s air force was too feeble to organize enough escort fighters to shield their bombers for large-scale attacks. Merely dealing with German air raids and dogfights left them exhausted.

Following the dense, high-powered radio signals, Meimu Mu quickly located his target. Outwardly, it was an ordinary school. Yet the five-meter antenna atop the highest point, the strict security, and the frequent passage of officers betrayed its true nature. This was at least a division-level command center.

He floated lightly above the school’s rooftop. Below him, over six German soldiers kept watch, clad in military coats, their breath visible in the snowy wind as they dutifully stood guard. Two scanned the distance with binoculars, four held rifles—two conversing quietly, two stationed at the rooftop door.

Also on the roof were two anti-aircraft gun crews, though those not on duty huddled in sheltered corners, brewing hot coffee. No one noticed, as a gust of icy wind prompted them all to close their eyes for a moment, a shadow slipped down from the sky.

The Web of Shadows!

The lights that should have dispelled the darkness now seemed dimmed, their power reduced. In a moment’s distraction, a recently arrived SS lieutenant colonel appeared again in the basement corridor.

"Hans? Why are you back down here?" The guard was surprised but not alarmed, assuming he had forgotten something. The lieutenant colonel nodded expressionlessly, continued downstairs, and pushed open the command center’s door.

Hans, of course, was Meimu Mu. As he cast his spell, the system’s prompt appeared: "You have activated Disguise: Your appearance is now that of Lieutenant Colonel Werner von Hans, but you cannot change your physique, voice, or touch."

As Meimu Mu opened the door, he saw the bustling scene within—adjutants coming and going, guards posted in every corner.

"May I ask everyone to die?" Meimu Mu smiled.

He spoke in Russian.

In this place saturated with German, uttering Russian meant only one thing—enemy!

Shock froze every German officer’s face, but the quick-witted already reached instinctively for their guns. Unfortunately, in Meimu Mu’s state of Self-Acceleration, their movements appeared in slow motion.

The translucent blade of magic had already formed in his hand, and, like a storm, it swept through the command center, slashing every German’s throat.

“Thud! Thud! Thud!” The magical blades tore through the air, slicing each target’s neck.

In a single instant, more than thirty men fell, clutching their throats in agony—including the two guards at the door.

Without walking across, Meimu Mu floated on his cloak over the chaotic command tables, then grandly swept all documents marked "Confidential" and "Top Secret" in German into a leather bag. Finally, he found two men who appeared to be senior officers.

He used the command center’s old camera to take their photograph, but unable to find their officer credentials, he shamelessly stripped them of their uniforms. He took the camera and uniforms as well.

Meimu Mu sighed. No wonder characters like Captain America were considered city-level heroes in the Marvel universe. When your power reaches a certain level, killing ordinary people is a hundred times easier than slaughtering pigs or dogs.

A one-man massacre of a city—truly, it’s nothing remarkable at all.