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Before 1 a.m., the revisions need to be complete.
There’s been so much going on lately…
There’s also the final exam to prepare for, which will take up a week’s ti. There won’t be any issues tomorrow, and I surely won’t hold things up.
Everyone just consider it an anti-theft asure...
In the dense forest, several figures hurried along, their faces and necks covered with bloodstains from the scratches of tree branches.
"Ha, huh, hah-heh."
Matsumoto Kiyotaka panted heavily, his trachea burning as if touched by fire, his saliva thick as glue blocking his throat, almost making him retch, while his legs shook uncontrollably, nearly bringing him to his knees on the ground.
The mountain route was too difficult to run on, with bushes and stones everywhere, making it easy to twist an ankle.
The performance of a 5-kiloter run back in the police academy had long been worn away by the years.
The younger ones, just as exhausted, could barely speak and looked to Matsumoto Kiyotaka for an order.
The hillocks on either side of Dolphin Bay stood over forty ters tall, with waves crashing against the rocks below and sheer cliffs as if cut by a knife.
The mountain was small, and the summit even narrower.
Exposed to the sea breeze all year round, the small patch of land boasted only jagged boulders with not a single tree in sight, laying everything bare to both sides.
Matsumoto Kiyotaka raised his hand, shielding his eyes from the sun as his pupils contracted, struggling to adapt to the brightness.
The 8 o’clock sun was a spilling golden light, the entire ocean glinting with phosphorescence, a pale gold edging the line where the cliff t the sky, so bright it was almost blinding.
Yet in this flood of light, one particular shape stood out starkly.
A black silhouette stood erect on the mountain peak, its edges iron-blue in the interplay of light and shadow, like a freshly forged sword.
"General Bi Fang! You’ve got nowhere left to run!"
Matsumoto Kiyotaka yelled.
From the height of the hillock, over forty ters, a fall into the water would be nothing but a shattered body.
Matsumoto Kiyotaka didn’t know the world record for the highest dive, but he rembered clearly: In his youth, he had jumped from a bridge over twenty ters high into a river to save a drowning woman, breaking his shin on impact. Had it not been for two colleagues on hand, he might have ended up at the bottom of the sea with the woman.
The girl was even unluckier, lacking basic diving posture and the sturdy build of an adult male. She suffered 5 broken ribs that punctured her lung; her esophagus and trachea were damaged, and her body was bruised and abraded everywhere.
The doctor said she was fortunate her neck hadn’t snapped upon hitting the water; otherwise, she would have been killed instantly.
That incident was the most terrifying mont of Matsumoto Kiyotaka’s career, and from then on, his official journey was smooth sailing.
Now the height was double that, and the person on the other side could not possibly escape.
Matsumoto Kiyotaka did not wish to cause a fatality, especially since the person in question was a celebrity. He gasped for breath, trying to force out a few words.
But in the next mont, Matsumoto Kiyotaka’s pupils shrunk to the size of pinpoints; his voice was hoarse, and he couldn’t shout.
The iron-blue longsword suddenly extended a hilt, which eventually elongated so much that it seed to turn from a sword into the Judgent Cross. Experience tales with .Côm
Then, suddenly, the cross shortened.
No!
It wasn’t shortening.
The man was falling backward, about to leap into the sea!
Matsumoto Kiyotaka’s mind froze for an instant.
To die for a just cause!
The phrase burst into his mind. He opened his mouth and bellowed:
"Fire!"
Everyone was startled by the command.
The target was a world-famous adventurer, even live streaming at the mont. Should they really fire?
"Fire!!!"
Matsumoto Kiyotaka roared again.
```
These young graduates from the police academy reflexively drew their P230s from their waists.
But before they could aim, the pitch-black cross had already disappeared from their sight.
Everyone panicked and ran towards the edge of the cliff, their weak legs starting up again and nearly causing them to fall to the ground.
For Bi Fang, every free fall was a feeling of Earth’s true presence.
That sense of being pulled, unparalleled.
The humid, salty sea breeze lifted his hair as Bi Fang turned his back to the ocean, falling backward into a free fall under the force of gravity.
The air was filled not only with the sll of fish but also with an extrely heavy and rich scent of blood that was getting thicker and thicker.
Forty ters, almost forty-five ters in height.
Diving, the sport, is more difficult and dangerous than most people imagine.
The world diving official record is 59 ters; ordinary people have no chance of surviving from 30 ters.
Even a fall from about 10 ters, whether on the back, stomach, or head, or in a seated position, would result in a 60g load that could cause death or crippling injuries.
Around June 14th, 2009, at the Beirut Seaside of Lebanon, a boy jumped from a ten-ter diving board. Right after, a scream was heard, and the water in the swimming pool quickly turned red.
Later, he struggled to swim close to the shore, and the people on the shore scread in horror.
Because the boy’s face was split in half.
His face was longitudinally bisected; everything from his mouth to his eyes disappeared, leaving his tongue and teeth exposed. All the teeth were clearly broken into segnts amongst the bloody flesh.
In the midst of the blood-red, it was strikingly white.
Even professional special forces soldiers are often only assigned diving missions of twenty-five ters or less; anything higher poses a significant risk of accident.
Was Bi Fang ready to sacrifice himself?
Of course... not.
Bi Fang’s morality was not that noble. He was just an ordinary person with above-average ability, hoping to make a little difference.
A free fall from forty ters only takes two seconds.
The impact of the water surface on a body in high-speed free fall is the main difficulty in extre diving.
In professional high-altitude sports, the n’s diving height is 23 to 28 ters and the won’s is 18 to 23 ters, with athletes entering the water at speeds of about 78 to 100 kiloters per hour.
At the mont of entering the water, the impact on the body is likened to crashing into a wall at 100 kiloters per hour, which is why divers must enter the water feet first after completing their maneuvers.
Only in a standing soldier’s position, may there be a slim chance of survival.
And there can be no reefs underwater.
Bi Fang never took aimless risks; he had thoroughly assessed the specific underwater conditions on his first diving operation.
In mid-air, Bi Fang twisted his waist and abdon to quickly adjust his posture.
His entire body was tense like a straight javelin.
Beneath the cliff, the waves crashed one after the other, breaking the surface tension.
Like a shooting star, Bi Fang gracefully dived into the water.
Accompanied by a splash drowned out by the wind, the police officers who reached the edge of the cliff only saw the undulating waves.
A few young officers widened their eyes in disbelief at the wave that had not even stirred.
Dead?
"Had he been planning to jump all along?!"
"At this height... he’ll die, right?"
At forty ters, just looking down made the officers’ legs go weak.
But the next second, an officer’s eyes widened in astonishnt, and he fell seated onto the ground, pointing shakily at the sea as if he had seen a ghost.
Everyone looked down, and their expressions instantly beca stiff.
Beneath the glittering light, a pitch-black shadow streaked under the sea like a sword, speeding towards the fishing boat!
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