The moment he stepped out, the muscular man turned his head, his expression thoughtful.
Li Yexing, of course, had no idea he'd caught the attention of some beefy stranger. He headed to a nearby general store, buying a pile of pots, pans, and kitchenware, lugging the bags back to his little hideout.
Compared to when he first arrived, the place was noticeably cleaner. The inexplicable stains and graffiti on the walls still grated on his nerves, but Li Yexing had no time to deal with them. He neatly arranged his purchases in the kitchen and let out a sigh of relief.
"Finally looks like a place a human might live in."
Now, the only thing on his mind was the armed escort job in a few days. As a regular joe in his past life, he had zero concept of what an armed escort entailed. His only guide was the memories of this body.
Sitting on the sofa, Li Yexing began sifting through those memories. Most were a chaotic mess. In this world, his mother died early, and his father was a deadbeat businessman dealing in shady trades. One trip abroad, his father ran afoul of pirates and was fed to the fish. His father's so-called friends swindled Li Yexing out of his inheritance under the pretense of "finding him work," then tossed him into the sea. Miraculously, this guy's luck held, and a passing ship fished him out.
After that, he drifted through the Golden Triangle for a few years, not only surviving but making a name for himself. Three years later, he tracked down the bastards who stole his father's fortune and skinned them alive before feeding them to the fish. That stunt didn't sit well with some powerful folks, and he couldn't stay in the area. Luckily, his boss at the time was loyal, pulling some strings to smuggle him to a new employer—a former Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service (UBCS) operative. After Umbrella's collapse, this ex-mercenary, strapped for cash, came to the volatile lands of Eastern Europe to make a quick buck. Li Yexing, bold and scrappy, became his right-hand man, taking on odd jobs for anyone who paid. Two years passed like that.
The boss had planned to pull off a few more jobs before retiring, but fate had other ideas. Last year, they took a gig guarding an arms dealer during a business deal. Talks went south, and a firefight broke out. They saved the client, but the boss took a bullet to the head—a finger-sized hole in his forehead, his entire skull blown out the back, brain matter splattered meters away. With his commission in hand, Li Yexing was left alone. Relying on the skills his boss taught him, he scraped by, living a "wine today, drunk today" lifestyle.
"What a wild ride…"
Li Yexing couldn't help but marvel as he reviewed the memories. This version of himself was a bona fide badass, the kind whose story could fill a multi-season TV series. Though his soul was that of a working-class otaku, this body's combat instincts remained, and his low-rent loser soul seemed to have leveled up under the influence of this high-tier tough guy, boosting his grit by at least one tier.
He recalled the details of the armed escort job. The cargo was classified, accompanied by an escort convoy and external security personnel. The client had an agreement with local forces, and the convoy would pass through the town to reach a handover point in the outskirts. Li Yexing's role was straightforward: as a local, he'd grease palms and guide the convoy to its destination.
It was just a pass-through job—Li Yexing didn't expect any armed conflict. Still, better safe than sorry.
He headed to the storage room, flipped on the light, and began gearing up piece by piece: belt, gloves, bulletproof vest, windproof sunglasses. Finally, he grabbed the AR-15 from the wall, handling it with practiced ease. He attached a holographic sight, tactical flashlight, suppressor, and other accessories, loaded a magazine, and flicked off the safety, striking an aiming pose.
"Just as I thought." He'd never touched a gun in his past life, but thanks to this body's memories, the weapon felt like an extension of himself—second nature, fluid as water. No need to worry. In a few days, he'd suit up like this, play his part, and collect the remaining $400,000. Unlike the spendthrift Li Yexing of this world, he'd make that money last. Life was about to get real comfortable.
Stripping off the gear and keeping only a loaded handgun, Li Yexing grabbed a can of unfamiliar beer from the fridge and flopped onto the sofa, legs propped on the table. He lit a cigarette. In that moment, his soul and the body's memories aligned. Hundreds of nights, the former owner of this body had done the same—smoking, drinking, sprawled on this beat-up sofa, staring at the ceiling, reminiscing about a turbulent past. Now, Li Yexing was just following the muscle memory, acting on instinct.
"My soul's really being shaped by this body, huh? Emotions all dulled." He realized this, then couldn't help but wonder: if he'd transmigrated here, where was the original soul of this ruthless mercenary Li Yexing? Had they swapped places? If so, how would that guy feel waking up with his face, minus the chiseled physique? And could he handle taking care of Li Yexing's parents in his old life? Probably, right? If his soul was influenced by this body, then the mercenary's soul might be softened by his old one. Maybe he'd turn into a cool-on-the-outside, warm-on-the-inside type. The thought was kind of thrilling.
For the next few days, Li Yexing fell into the old routine, passing time aimlessly. He tried cooking in his new place, and the results were surprisingly good—solitary types often pick up decent skills. When bored, he'd browse the internet for recent news and major events from the past few years: the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance (BSAA) making progress in anti-bioterror ops in Africa, suspicions of India conducting bioweapon experiments, and the UN ramping up pressure. It was 2005, just seven years since the Raccoon City incident, and the biohazard crisis had gone from a local disaster to a global threat. Humanity's knack for self-destruction was top-tier. Even arms dealers didn't fully grasp why caged monsters fetched higher prices than conventional weapons, but if it made money, it was good business. What happened after those monsters reached buyers? Scumbags didn't care.
His old boss, the one with the blown-out skull, had worked for Umbrella's UBCS, handling lab accidents and assisting with monster data tests—a glorified cannon fodder unit. When drunk, he'd ramble about his days at Umbrella's Paris branch. One year, they lost a high-value monster, and his unit spent months chasing it down, only for the matter to fizzle out. The lab's supervisor? Never seen again.
Thanks to his past-life knowledge of the Resident Evil series and the fragmented memories of this body, Li Yexing had a god's-eye view of this world's issues. But none of that mattered to him now. He was just a small-time mercenary in an obscure Eastern European country, trading his life for cash. The world's conspiracies were far above his pay grade. For now, he just needed to do his job.
Days later, the escort mission arrived.
Fully geared up, Li Yexing sat on a roadside rock in the outskirts, fiddling with his phone while waiting. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the distant rumble of engines grew louder, vibrating the ground.
His calm heart stirred with unease, a primal roar from deep within his soul making him tense. This body might be battle-hardened, but his core was still that of a civilian raised in peacetime. He tightened his grip on his gun, eyes fixed on the horizon.
At the edge of his vision, a line of black trucks rolled toward him.
He stood, waving at the lead vehicle. The convoy halted. A blond man in a black suit stepped out of the passenger side, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses with a warm smile.
"Sir, are you our guide for this operation?"
"That's me," Li Yexing nodded.
"Haha, then you must be Mr. Li! A pleasure to meet you." After a quick identity check, the man shook Li Yexing's hand enthusiastically. "I'm Eben Freeman. Call me Freeman—or Eben, if you like. When I said our convoy needed to pass through Roples, Edonia, Mr. Argall recommended you without hesitation. Said you're a reliable guide."
"Oh." Truth be told, whether in this life or the last, Li Yexing wasn't great with overly enthusiastic types.
"Anyway, let's get in. We'll ride in the second truck—plenty to talk about, I'm sure." Freeman pulled Li Yexing toward the second vehicle.
The convoy rumbled back into motion.
Once aboard, Freeman kept yammering, griping about the mission's strict demands. At first, Li Yexing listened closely, thinking the chatterbox might let something interesting slip. Ten minutes in, he admitted defeat. Freeman had rambled on with zero substance—saying everything and nothing at all. Surprisingly tight-lipped for a talker.
Giving up, Li Yexing turned his attention to the others in the truck.
The compartment held ten people, including Freeman and himself, leaving an eight-man security team. They were decked out in black combat gear, wearing unfamiliar black helmets and gas masks, armed with pistols, knives, radios, and HK-416 rifles. The exception was the man across from Li Yexing—a tall, white guy with a shaved head, gas mask clipped to his belt, helmet beside him, and sunglasses hiding his stern expression. His bald head stood out most.
Sensing Li Yexing's gaze, the bald guy looked up. Through the sunglasses, their eyes locked, and a chill shot down Li Yexing's spine. This wasn't a man—it was a wolf from the wild, radiating danger.
"He's Norman, our security team's captain," Freeman said with a grin, noticing Li Yexing's stare. "Don't mind him. He's always got that deadpan face. Riding with him is suffocating, so I'm glad you're here!"
Li Yexing thought to himself, I haven't exactly been chatting with you either, dude. It's been all you talking, me listening.
Best not to say that aloud and ruin the vibe. The moment grew awkward until a voice crackled through the radio: "Supervisor, we're entering Roples."
The convoy was stopped by local forces. Li Yexing shifted his gaze from Norman, hopped out, and had a quick chat with the local officer—an acquaintance. After slipping him a couple of bills, the officer waved his men to clear the way. Li Yexing signaled the lead truck's driver, and the convoy rolled forward.
He noticed the lead truck's cargo wasn't personnel. Its rounded shape resembled an oil tanker's, but it was solid black, marked with a ring of numbers and letters—like the codes for those "special" Japanese videos from his past life. A red valve on the side suggested it could be opened. The whole thing looked like an oversized Iron Maiden fresh off a 21st-century assembly line. Two more trucks like it followed.
The officer clapped Li Yexing's shoulder. "Li, what's this convoy hauling?"
"No clue," Li Yexing replied. "Our rule: get paid, do the job, don't ask questions."
The officer nodded, understanding. Li Yexing said nothing more, returning to the second truck as it passed.
"Having a reliable local guide is a godsend," Freeman said with a smile as Li Yexing climbed back in. "I heard Roples is a roach nest—full of lowlifes, every last one. But I can tell you're different. You and I, we're civilized folks. Normally, our security team can handle small-scale conflicts, but my boss insisted on hiring a local guide for extra insurance. That's why I contacted Argall."
Civilized? Li Yexing mused that Argall probably hadn't mentioned how he was skinning people and feeding them to fish before he was even an adult.
Roples wasn't your average city where money solved everything. Plenty of scumbags here took cash and ran—or worse, hijacked the goods. Argall's job was to connect outsiders with trustworthy locals, acting as a middleman for a cut of the profits.
Li Yexing caught a hint of disdain in Freeman's tone. This guy probably didn't do much fieldwork. Beneath his polished, hospitable demeanor lurked the arrogance of a so-called "civilized" man, looking down on the thugs of this Eastern European backwater. Clearly, he saw Roples as just a poorly policed town, clueless about the local gangs and veteran crooks who'd eat him alive. This place had street shootouts every other day… though, come to think of it, America wasn't much different. Li Yexing realized he might've been the naive one.
Across from him, Norman stared out at the streets, his already grim brow furrowing tighter.
"Let's get out of here," he muttered. "The air in this place makes me sick."
Li Yexing charted the route, hopping out a few times to grease more palms, and the convoy left Roples without a scratch.
"You're a big deal in this town," Freeman remarked, impressed by the smooth passage. "Argall said you were just a mercenary, but I clearly underestimated you."
"Flattery," Li Yexing brushed it off. He just wanted to deliver the cargo, get paid, and go.
Night had fallen completely. The highway was flanked by mountains covered in trees Li Yexing couldn't name. The headlights couldn't pierce the darkness, and something about it felt off, unsettling him. He lit a cigarette, then looked up to find Norman staring him down.
Thinking for a moment, Li Yexing offered him one. "Smoke?"
"Don't smoke," Norman said, waving it off.
Li Yexing tossed the lit cigarette out the truck, feeling a bit deflated.