10x God-Tier Stealing System: Pumping S-Rank SuperHeroines Daily!-Chapter 116- Teams are ready to Steal

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"Pfft."

"What happened, Young Master?"

From the opposite seat within the rocking train cabin, Darithi looked at her master, genuinely confused. A dark, amused smile was tugging at his lips as his eyes gazed lazily out the window.

"Nothing. Just thought about how some people overthink things."

Cruxius was noticeably calmer. He had realized long ago how excessive thinking often led people to rigidly predict their enemies’ movements—without realizing that the enemy might not act according to those expectations. Especially if the enemy already knows exactly how smart you are.

It was like cautiously walking down a dark lane, agonizing over each step, terrified that at any moment a trap might snap open and become a grave.

"...I don’t understand, Master."

Darithi felt a rare flicker of unease beneath her calm exterior. Initially, when her master had booked two separate trains—the one they were in now, and another trailing behind in the same dangerous Zone Seven—she had fully expected him to use the second train for some grand, violent plan. But here he was, seated casually in the obvious bait.

She should have been on edge, adrenaline pumping, especially because it was inevitable that this train was going to be aggressively attacked. Yet Darithi remained calm, her posture perfect, her tailored skirt riding up just a fraction above her knees as she waited.

Mostly, her calm came from the purple-haired woman seated a row away. Ytrisia sat with her arms folded tightly beneath her chest, the posture intentionally putting the heavy, soft swell of her cleavage on display, though her gaze was deliberately averted. She looked composed, though clearly emotionally distant.

Ytrisia. Or Volta.

Her powerful presence here assured Darithi that things wouldn’t spiral out of control too easily. They would at least have enough brute strength to escape if things went south.

"You don’t need to overthink. Just make sure to wear these."

Cruxius, casually checking his expensive watch, handed her a sleek bag. Darithi caught it, her fingers brushing the dark fabric as she pulled out a mask—a black, shiny, latex-like material with a striking star design over the right eye. The smooth latex felt cool and strangely intimate against her fingertips.

Along with it, a heavy, chrome-plated Desert Eagle pistol.

He stood slowly, his tall frame dominating the narrow aisle. Darithi followed suit, slipping the tight latex mask over her face. It clung perfectly to her features. There was a heavy black cloak too. It was all very confusing, but she didn’t question him, letting the heavy fabric drape over her form-fitting bodyguard suit before they moved toward Ytrisia. Cruxius offered the hero another cloak.

"What is this?" Ytrisia furrowed her brows, clearly confused and mildly irritated. Why hide their identities? Especially now, aboard a train practically begging to be attacked by the Zone Seven Villain Syndicate?

"To hide your identity," Cruxius replied simply, his gaze lingering on her for a second, "because the Hero Association will be sending someone here too."

He knew that the juicy information he leaked wouldn’t just draw in the desperate villains greedy for the gene serum. It would draw the Hero Association as well.

Not to stop the villains, but to violently clean their own tarnished image.

He was setting the perfect stage. With the cheese, he lured in the starving rats. Then came the vicious cats. And all the while, he prepared himself to catch both.

There was a slight, heavy tension in the train car. He was about to say something more, the low rumble of his voice trailing off.

But suddenly—

BAM! BAM!

Several heavy projectiles violently struck the metal roof of the train.

’!?!’

"Here they come."

Cruxius already knew. These absolutely weren’t Zone Seven’s low-level thugs. Especially after he learned that seven specific heroines had completely regained their past memories. He fully expected a few of them to make a desperate move. Among them, the one most likely to come for him—the most relentlessly psychotic—was probably the one who had just gotten blasted into ash on the decoy train he had booked especially for her.

He had planned it all perfectly in advance. One of those heroines—a woman he once knew as a ruthless war hero, a front-line commander—he had foolishly tried to use her. But once she actually fell in love with him, he realized exactly how deeply, terrifyingly insane she truly was.

Insane mind. Insane, rule-breaking abilities.

Unlike most heroes with a single, straightforward power, she had two.

The first was purely physical: near absolute immortality. She couldn’t be killed. She regenerated endlessly, didn’t tire, and just kept fighting. She wasn’t superhumanly strong—but on a human scale, she was an unkillable nightmare.

But the true horror was that her body could regenerate entirely from her soul. Even if completely, molecularly destroyed, her soul would violently birth a new body. Like a gorgeous, bleeding undead rising constantly from the shadows.

Calling it simple "healing" was a gross understatement. It was true, agonizing immortality.

The only limit was that in her naked soul form, time passed painfully slowly—hundreds of years in soul-time for each single year in the real world.

And her second ability? The exact, terrifying opposite.

It allowed her to die. Truly die—erasing body and soul.

But the twisted catch? Her soul could only be set free when she genuinely fell in love.

She fully believed she could never fall for someone. Never be freed from her bloody curse of endless death and rebirth.

Until Cruxius made the fatal mistake of touching her cold heart.

He only planned to use her body and her status. But she fell in love, hard and obsessively. And she saw his handsome face as her ultimate release.

But her twisted ability only activated if she died physically alongside the man she loved.

A soul bond. Eternal. A dark romance even after death—or so she desperately claimed.

But Cruxius wasn’t the type to simply lay down and die for a crazy woman.

Not because he was physically strong enough to keep himself alive. But because even if he wanted to kill himself, his own ability wouldn’t let him stay dead.

After all, he did die by her hand once. She had killed him in a brutal, passionate betrayal, building up a beautifully tragic scene. She presented it as if she were heartbroken, crying hot tears and promising how she would fiercely love him forever and all that obsessive nonsense.

He vividly remembered the sickening, wet slide of the steel as she violently pierced her own chest and drove the same blade straight into his, pinning them together. He remembered the hot, metallic taste of blood mingling with her desperate, wet kiss as their bodies failed together.

It was like a twisted scene out of some dark romantic movie, with the only difference being how in those movies couples commit suicide willingly. Here, she had plunged the knife into him without his consent, completely consumed by her yandere lust for an eternal bond.

There had been a gruesome half-hour conversation as they slowly bled out together. She continued telling her whole tragic story, sharing the agonizing details of her ability. She forced him to understand how it felt to die thousands of times, crying with a tear-stricken face as she kissed his fading lips.

But what happened next...

Their absolute abilities violently clashed.

He returned—exactly 24 hours into the past.

She? Who knows. But she was definitely not present when he woke up back in the past, gasping for air.

The afternoon sun glazed the sky in molten gold, a steady, oppressive blaze that shimmered across the sprawling dry plains.

The heavy train roared through the wilderness like a black dagger, its carriages rattling in a violent rhythm, steam bleeding into the dry heat above. Thick dust chased it, swirling in massive coils along the steel tracks.

Above, on its humming metal roof, six heavily armed shadows clung low against the biting wind.

Each of them was masked—angular, silver-faced things that reflected the harsh sunlight like executioner blades. They wore lightweight tactical armor beneath high-collared cloaks, matte-black and wind-swept. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

In their gloved hands, polished, high-tech rods clicked against their thighs, ready and highly trained.

"We’re approaching Car Five," muttered the one in front, crouched low near the welded seam of the car.

His voice was terrifyingly calm but highly alert—processed through a digital voice modulator beneath the mask.

The second closest leaned forward, surveying the rushing roof ahead. "Alpha and Bravo are in place?"

"Confirmed. Cargo’s being swept for the serum. We’re the elite entry team—secure, interrogate, retrieve."