She is a natural disaster.

Chapter 15 The Division of the Transcendent

The reason there was a violin in the apartment was because the late Madame Montagu was skilled at playing this instrument.

Mike had tried to learn and master the violin, but he did not inherit his mother's musical talent and could not learn it no matter how hard he tried; he had no musical sense whatsoever.

"You can play the violin?"

Mike was surprised; he found it hard to associate Anastasia with the violin.

The contrast is quite striking: a person who was just wielding a sword and hacking people in the street can suddenly start playing the violin with a skill level comparable to that of an orchestral musician.

Anastasia was also quite surprised. She only found out tonight that she could play the violin. It was a completely unexpected and unplanned discovery.

"Would you believe me if I said I just learned it?"

Do I look like an idiot?

Although Anastasia's playing was initially harsh and unpleasant, she quickly adjusted.

Mike didn't believe she had just learned it. He thought she could master an instrument with just a few fiddling around and play pieces he had never heard before. Even a genius among geniuses couldn't do that, could she?

Anastasia didn't intend to bring up her past. She quietly put away her violin, walked to the sofa, sat down, and leisurely crossed her legs.

"If you ever want to be a violinist, remember to let me know," Mike said, his head bowed. "I'll pay to make you the principal violinist."

No wonder he's rich; he speaks with such confidence. He readily flatters a violinist, even making him the orchestra's concertmaster.

"Thank you, but I don't plan to change jobs for the time being," Anastasia said. "Would you mind if I had a cigarette?"

Mike only drinks alcohol, he doesn't smoke, while Anastasia drinks and smokes both.

"Suit yourself." Mike got up to get an ashtray. Although he didn't smoke, he sometimes entertained friends and guests at home, so he always kept an ashtray handy.

Soon, a crystal ashtray appeared in front of Anastasia, and Mike sat down on the sofa opposite her, his head down, his gaze fixed on the carpet.

Out of respect for women, Mike never dared to look at Anastasia, and instead looked down at the carpet or up at the ceiling.

"My clothes were just washed and aren't completely dry yet." Anastasia noticed Mike's embarrassment. "I don't care about this, so you don't need to either."

Anastasia didn't care because she didn't distinguish between men and women; Mike cared because he did, and he wasn't a child, he was a hot-blooded young man.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, and the apartment fell silent.

Normally, there's nothing wrong with being late at night, but not tonight. The later it gets, the more uncomfortable Mike feels.

Mike Montagu has just experienced a bizarre and dangerous assassination attempt, and his understanding of the world urgently needs to be reshaped. To make matters worse, tonight is the first time he has ever killed someone.

The deeper the night, the quieter the apartment, the more Mike thought of Danny Knight, his dying pleas, the moment the dagger pierced his chest, and the warmth of the blood splattering on his face.

Mike Montagu started rubbing his palms again, over and over, unable to stop.

Anastasia, puffing on her cigarette, took in the whole scene. She was waiting for Mike to speak; she believed he would ask for help.

Sure enough, when the second cigarette went out, Mike Montagu looked up. He no longer cared about the difference between men and women; he just wanted to say something to Anastasia.

"When you mentioned 'abuse' during tonight's attack, were you referring to Rupert?"

Having been able to gain admission to the Gloria School of Municipal Economics through his own abilities, Mike Montagu's memory was naturally quite good.

“Yes,” Anastasia said. “Sadism is a type of transcendent. These transcendents have abnormally enhanced physical bodies; some are incredibly strong, while others are invulnerable to weapons.”

"You also said the other two people are 'mysterious.' Is mystery also a type of transcendent?" Mike pressed, slowing down the frequency of rubbing his palms. The question about transcendents had successfully diverted his attention.

"Yes," Anastasia patiently explained. "Mystery is different from sadism. Although their bodies are also enhanced, they are only slightly stronger than ordinary people. Their mutation power is generally more special, mysterious, and unfathomable."

For example, Wyatt Hall's deprivation of sight, and Danny Knight's corpse manipulation.

Anastasia continued, "The Mysterious Ones are very troublesome opponents. When fighting them, if you can't quickly see through their mutated powers and figure out a way to deal with them, the outcome is basically certain death."

As she spoke, she raised her hand and made a throat-slitting gesture.

Mysterious and elusive enigmatic individuals are the easiest to surpass in achieving a kill on first sight.

To ensure that their mutated power remains unknown to more people, when the Mysterious Ones begin their battle, they will kill everyone present if possible.

"Sadism, mystery..." Mike murmured the two words. "There shouldn't be only these two types of transcendents, right?"

"Of course." Anastasia seemed unusually patient tonight. "Remember your cloaked bodyguard? Was he an elemental transcendent?"

"Elements?" Mike thought for a moment, "Earth, fire, water, wind... like these?" He had forgotten to continue rubbing his palms; his curiosity about the transcendent overshadowed the shadow of killing his own kind.

"Pretty much," Anastasia nodded. "The power of mutation grants these transcendent beings the ability to manipulate elements, making them incredibly destructive. You might not even see them before you're burned to ashes."

Mike thought for a moment and then said, "But you killed him. I asked around at the police station, and it was a fatal shot."

Anastasia remembered that when Mike called to find someone to dispose of the body, the person he contacted was from the police station, and I think he was a detective.

"Dear Mike, battles between Beyonders are not like playing cards. Elemental Beyonders possess astonishing destructive power, but they must hit their target to cause damage. If they miss, no matter how much destructive power they have, it's useless."

Mike nodded thoughtfully. He recalled the clanging sound of metal clashing during the attack tonight. Anastasia's sword could even block bullets, so it was normal for her to easily defeat an elemental transcendent.

Mike Montagu's thinking wasn't entirely wrong, but he was oversimplifying things. The power of mutation itself wasn't differentiated by strength, but there was a vast difference between those who transcended it.

"Speaking of hitting the target, there's a type of expert who excels at hitting enemies; they're called 'precision'," Anastasia continued. "Arrows, throwing knives, and firearms are their most common methods."

"A sharpshooter?" Mike was a little confused. Could being a good shot really qualify someone as a superhuman?

If a Precision Transcender is only good at shooting, wouldn't they be doomed if they encountered someone like Anastasia who could even deflect bullets?

"Did I say they were sharpshooters?" Anastasia retorted. "I hate accuracy more than anything in my life. They're all cowardly bastards!"

Mike was somewhat surprised; this seemed to be the first time he had ever seen Anastasia—how to describe it, was he flustered?

Precision-type transcendents cannot be considered sharpshooters, but they always find a way to hit their enemies. As for how they hit them, that doesn't matter, as long as they can hit them.

"I can tell you really hate these kinds of superhumans," Mike said. "Not just a little bit."

Anastasia spoke casually when discussing sadism, mystery, and elements, only becoming somewhat exasperated when mentioning precision.

The reason for her exasperation was simple: she had once suffered at the hands of a precision-type transcendent. That time, she was shot in the back before she even saw the person. This was the only time since she woke up that she had been beaten so badly that she had no chance to fight back.

"There's one last type of transcendent, they're called Ophiuchus." Anastasia's tone became relaxed and casual again. "Unlike other transcendents, Ophiuchus are not usually known for their destructive power; their greatest strength lies in healing."

"The Ophiuchus? Healing?" Mike thought for a moment, then said, "It sounds like a myth I heard when I was a kid."

"Myths may not be real, but those who transcend reality are all around you," Anastasia said. "Perhaps one time when you go to the hospital, the doctor who treats you will be a serpent keeper."

At this point, Mike finally quieted down and stopped asking questions like a child clinging to his mother.

The top student, a graduate of a prestigious university, was quietly absorbing knowledge about transcendent beings. He knew that he would be dealing with many more transcendent beings in the future, so he wanted to learn more about them.

Anastasia had the same idea, wanting Mike to learn more about the Beyonders so that he wouldn't be caught off guard if he were attacked again.

"And you? Which category do you belong to?"

After a while, Mike, having digested the new knowledge, spoke again.

"I know I shouldn't ask this question, but I'm really curious and want to know which type of transcendent you are."

Anastasia fell silent, not because she didn't want to answer, but because she didn't know how to answer. She didn't belong to any of the transcendents mentioned earlier.

"I am the Mysterious One," she said. "You see my sword too; that is my power of mutation."

Anastasia gave her answer, which, while not entirely accurate, could not be considered a lie: any mutation power that did not belong to sadism, elements, precision, or the Ophiuchus could be regarded as mysterious.

The division of the power of transcendent mutations is so hasty that even the whole world is just a huge makeshift operation.

"You should get some rest, Mike," Anastasia continued. "If you're having trouble falling asleep, a drink before bed might help."

"And what about you?" Mike asked. "I'm not giving up my bed."

The apartment was large, but it only had one bedroom and one bed. Mike turned the original guest room into a place to play cards.

"I don't need a bed, and I certainly won't steal yours," Anastasia said. "You can sleep soundly without worry, and nothing like climbing into your bed will happen."

Upon hearing this, Mike awkwardly turned his head away, recalling the scene of their first conversation.

"Um..." Mike scratched his head and touched his ear, "About the first day... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said those things..."

"Dear Mike, I will not say 'it's okay' to you, because I am petty and hold grudges."