Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

The twelve scorpion tails on his back stood up simultaneously, the liquid dripping from the tips of the stingers corroding twelve small pits in the ground. His amber vertical pupils stared at Wu Heng, and a low hiss came from his throat, the sound of some ancient creature from the desert.

"Karim, codename 'Sand Scorpion'."

The ninth medal landed on Hans's chest, the metal tentacles on his head trembled wildly, and the numbers in his eyes jumped so fast they were almost invisible.

He stuck out his forked tongue and licked his lips, making a soft hissing sound, then he laughed, a laugh that looked like he was calculating something.

"Hans, codename 'Keyboard'."

The tenth medal landed on Martin's chest, and his body instantly stabilized, transforming him into a seemingly ordinary middle-aged man.

But the images on those bone spurs behind him were still dancing, with countless points of light flickering in the blackness.

"Martin, codename 'Chess Player'."

All ten medals have been worn.

Wu Heng stepped back and stood in the center of the platform, facing the hundreds of thousands of eyes below.

Then he started talking.

The voice wasn't loud, but every word was clearly heard by everyone.

And it was broadcast simultaneously through all the guild's communication channels, reaching not only every corner of the plaza, but also every survivor settlement around the world, every demon hunter terminal still in battle, and the radios of every ordinary person hiding in an air-raid shelter.

"Today, the Demon Hunter Knights are officially established."

The square was completely silent.

"You see these ten people on the stage. They were once ordinary people just like you: construction workers, nurses, students, veterans, and bounty hunters. They fought their way out of twelve million applicants, crawled out of the death trials of the Dead Zone, walked out of the fear of the Mind Magic Array, and survived the pain of energy fusion."

"They are the most loyal to all of humanity in the selection process. If there are still a hundred people in the world who are loyal to humanity, then ten of them must be among them."

"Therefore you need not fear them."

These words instantly made many people understand; yes, these ten people were their protectors.

The Buddha statues in temples are so ferocious, yet people still worship them. But when they are in danger, no gods or Buddhas descend upon them. But this is real protection, not some vague and ethereal faith.

Instantly, many people's eyes changed, showing gratitude and lessening their fear.

Wu Heng paused for a moment.

"Now, they are no longer ordinary people; they are demon hunters, the ten strongest swords of mankind."

Wu Heng turned around and looked at the ten people.

"Thirty-two days ago, angels fell to earth, 170 million people died, thirty core cities were reduced to ruins, and transportation, communication and energy systems on three continents were paralyzed. Survivors crammed into basements, waiting for dawn in the darkness."

He turned around and faced the audience.

"Bartholomew, with 18,000 angels, is hiding in the Holy Light Barrier in Africa, waiting to regain his strength and make a comeback. Crowley, with his seven demon legions, has retreated to Hell, waiting for us and the angels to be exhausted before coming out to reap the rewards."

"Ordinary witchers cannot stop the angel lords, the demon kings, or those things lurking in the darkness."

“But the Demon Hunter Knight can.”

His voice finally showed a slight fluctuation, not from excitement, but from the coldness of a blade before it is drawn.

"From this day forward, these ten people will be a shield for humanity."

"If angels dare to step out of Africa, they will flatten the barrier of holy light."

“If demons dare to trespass on earth, they will tear down the palaces of hell.”

"If Heaven dares to interfere in the affairs of the human world, they will storm the gates of Heaven."

He raised his right hand and pointed to the ten medals on the stage.

"The order of the human world shall be determined by us humans." "The Demon Hunter Knights will roam through Heaven and Hell, protecting humanity."

The words fell.

There was a three-second silence in the square.

Then someone started clapping.

It wasn't the kind of enthusiastic, cheering applause, but the kind of silent, rhythmic clapping, each clapping heavy, like a tap on the heart.

Then more people applauded, and then everyone applauded.

Hundreds of thousands of people clapped at the same time, the sound like thunder, like a tsunami, like the roar of some ancient ritual.

Dean stood in the crowd and clapped enthusiastically.

Sam next to him was also clapping. Their eyes were fixed on the ten people on the stage, on their inhuman bodies, their grotesque organs, and on the light flowing beneath their skin.

“They deserved it,” Dean said softly, but his voice was drowned out by the applause, and Sam saw his lips move.

Sam nodded.

"It was worth it."

Renault stood at the front of the European theater troops, clapping enthusiastically, as did the soldiers behind him. The young men, their bodies wrapped in bandages and their faces stained with gunpowder, had a gleam in their eyes.

Liz, sitting in her wheelchair, was also clapping.

She couldn't use her legs, but she could use her hands. Martin pushed the wheelchair, one hand on her shoulder, the other clapping.

There was a tear in Calderon's single eye.

The veteran, over seventy years old, a legend who survived the invasion of the devils to this day, was in tears. He clapped his hands vigorously, not stopping even when his palms turned red.

"Okay," he murmured repeatedly.

Ten people stood on the high platform, facing hundreds of thousands of eyes below.

In Isaac's eyes, two dark red flames flickered as he looked at the faces below the stage—tired, excited, young, old, and alive.

Every face was clapping, and every pair of eyes was watching them.

He thought of Chicago, of that basement. He thought of that half-burnt family photo, and touched the medal on his chest. The medal was cold, but the glowing cracks around it seemed to pulsate.

"Did you hear that?" he whispered, as if speaking to no one in particular. "We were worth it."

Thomas stood beside him, the scales gleaming coldly in the sunlight. He looked down at the audience, at the bounty hunters who had once fought alongside him, at those young faces.

“Jennifer,” he murmured, the name etched on the dagger he’d found, “are you watching?”

Marcus crouched on the edge of the platform, like an ice sculpture.

The thin frost around him had spread far and wide. He looked at the young witchers below the stage and thought of his comrades who had died in front of him, forty years ago, twenty years ago, and thirty-one days ago.

“Old buddies,” he said, “now, I’ll kill for you.”

Elena gripped the silver sword.

The nicks on the sword had been filled in, and pale golden runes flowed across its blade. She looked down at the audience, at the faces that were as old as hers, and at the young faces that held the promise of the future.

"Son," she choked out, "wait for Mom to come find you."

Michelle stood in the center of the platform, her golden tentacles slowly wriggling.

She looked down at the audience, at those who, like her, had crawled out of the ruins of New York, at those who had been hiding in basements for a month.

“Emily, Old John, Lily.” She read the nineteen names, one by one, each word clear and distinct. “I will live for you.” (End of Chapter)