Reborn As A Doomsday Villainess
Chapter 226: Highest - count. Random Chapter name. Happy 226 Chapters

Chapter 226: Highest Chapter count. Random Chapter name. Happy 226 Chapters

"I never said she was." Meng Nian took a step forward. "But she’s not stupid either. She knew her limits and made the call to rest. You barging in now might just get in her way."

For a moment, Yu Song looked ready to argue. But then he deflated slightly, his shoulders sagging under the weight of helplessness.

"She could be bleeding out in some basement, Meng Nian."

"She could also be sleeping. Recovering. Thinking."

That last word hit harder than intended. Yu Song looked away, chewing the inside of his cheek.

"She wouldn’t leave us hanging."

"No," Meng Nian agreed quietly. "She wouldn’t."

He sighed, they could only wait for her to come back.

The encrypted call connected with a soft chime, and a holographic silhouette materialized in front of Fengya.

The figure was faceless, shrouded in static, with a voice filtered into a deep, mechanical tone.

This was elite security protocol, standard procedure for upper-echelon contacts.

"Fengya, report.." the voice commanded.

Fengya stood on the rooftop of a partially destroyed building, the wind whipping her coat into a frenzy.

Her silver eyes were fixed on the horizon, where the Rift pulsed like a heartbeat beneath the clouds.

"Target confirmed in the southern quadrant, approximately two kilometers beyond Sector Eighteen. I’m closing in."

"Alive?" the voice asked.

"Unfortunately," Fengya replied, her voice tinged with fatigue. "She’s resourceful and adaptive. I underestimated her last time. It won’t happen again."

The voice remained flat. "You are to capture her, not kill. Her system remains high-priority. The council wants it intact."

Fengya’s response was smooth. "I understand."

A hint of a smile played on her lips, hidden behind her words. "I’ll be gentle."

The voice didn’t react, but Fengya’s intentions were clear. The system wouldn’t transfer unless the host died, and she had every intention of making that happen – neatly and permanently.

"The Rift resonance around her is increasing," Fengya added, tapping her earpiece as if relaying vital information. "It’s possible she’s developed some form of symbiosis. That makes her unstable."

The voice on the other end grew colder. "She’s still human. No Rift-born has that system signature. You are not to improvise beyond protocol."

Fengya’s voice softened, taking on a purring quality. "I follow orders."

Another lie. Her fingers itched with anticipation. She didn’t want Qingran captured; she wanted her erased. The girl didn’t deserve the system she held – wielding it like a blade for others, for compassion and justice. What a waste. Fengya could use it better – sharper, more efficient, more final.

The voice spoke again. "You will be monitored. Another team will rendezvous with you in seventy-two hours. Until then, do nothing reckless."

Fengya’s response was a gentle murmur. "Of course. I’ll wait."

The call ended with a soft click. Fengya stood there for a long moment, listening to the Rift’s rhythmic pulse. Then she turned toward the edge of the building and smiled – wide and cold.

"Seventy-two hours?" she whispered. "I’ll be done in two."

Fengya let the silence settle once more after the call ended, the wind whipping through the ruined skyline.

Below, the city lay in shambles – a jagged landscape of glass and concrete.

She raised her hand, fingers curling as if plucking something invisible from the air. A shimmer of Rift energy erupted in her palm, swirling with violet and gold hues.

This wasn’t pure Riftlight; it was her own brand of control, bending reality without needing external triggers.

"Tracker.." she whispered.

The orb flared, and a rough map formed in her mind’s eye – topography, energy trails, movements of infected, and one glowing thread of interest.

Fengya’s head tilted slightly. "Hiding again, little ghost?"

She crouched at the edge of the building, letting the Riftlight fade from her hand. Her other hand touched her earpiece, switching to an encrypted frequency.

A second voice answered, male and amused. "Thought you were going in quiet."

"I am..." Fengya replied. "But I need an asset moved."

"Asset or weapon?" he asked.

She smirked. "Both."

"Coordinates?" he asked.

"Subsection 04, beneath the collapsed supermarket on Heping Avenue.." Fengya replied.

There was a pause. "That’s right in the middle of the quarantine line. You’ll draw attention."

"I won’t.." Fengya said. "But if she surfaces... I want her boxed in."

The voice was quiet for a moment before responding, "Understood. ETA about 2 hours. Try not to vaporize the merchandise before the pickup team arrives."

Fengya ended the call. Merchandise – that’s what they called her, what they called Qingran. But Qingran was more than just a package; she was a keystone, the last wielder of a system that shouldn’t exist.

Fengya wanted it, didn’t care if it ripped Qingran’s mind apart in the process. She had contingencies,.force, binding arrays, bio-neural regulators.

If it came down to it, she’d burn the host down and wear the system like a skin.

She stood, brushing dust off her coat, her eyes gleaming with a feral light.

"Time to go hunting."

With a flash of Riftlight, she vanished from the rooftop, warping through the thin lines of dimension where normal physics bent to her will.

Meanwhile, down in the basement, Qingran’s senses picked up a faint shift in the Rift, a tingling cold, like the precursor to a storm.

The second time Qingran stirred, her body no longer screamed in protest. It murmured instead, tight muscles, sore ribs, dull fatigue. Manageable. Her head felt clearer, her breath less shallow.

She sat up slowly, the blanket slipping off her shoulders.

The futon’s warmth clung to her limbs, but the cold air of the basement returned quickly, chasing away comfort.

"Time to move.." she murmured.

[You sure? You could nap another two hours and I wouldn’t complain.] Lingquan’s voice was light, but not teasing.

"No more sleeping. If I stay curled up too long, I’ll stiffen up completely."

She pulled on her jacket, rolled up the futon, and returned it to her space along with the blanket.

Her boots were heavier than she remembered, but once she stood and stretched, the movement came easier. Her side ached, but not as sharply. It was enough.

The small basement she’d claimed as temporary shelter had one hallway leading out a short stretch with a rusted emergency exit door hanging ajar.

Beyond it, the building spread into what had once been a lower level service floor. Dim, cavernous, and quiet.

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