By all logic, Chen Mo shouldn't have been fooled so easily.
But at that moment, all his focus had been on swordsmanship — not the battlefield as a whole. He hadn't expected Strucker to use tricks outside the blade. In the end, it simply came down to one thing: Chen Mo still lacked real combat experience, especially against other true masters.
When he fought Red Skull, he had blown him half to pieces with explosives, then finished him off with a thrown knife from a safe distance. Even when Red Skull feigned death, Chen Mo — cautious and calculating back then — had seen right through it. That "battle" had never been in doubt.
As for his other opponents — men like Huang Quan and Han Qing — though their martial arts and physical prowess were not inferior to Baron Strucker's, their fights had been sparring matches, not duels to the death. Many techniques were never used in earnest. Chen Mo had learned much from those bouts in theory, but not in lethal application.
Every other confrontation he'd had since then was a massacre — one-sided domination. Those victories had done nothing but inflate his arrogance.
So when Strucker slipped out through the door, Chen Mo made no move to chase him.
If he'd wanted to, he could have ended it instantly. Before Strucker even reached the threshold, a single flick of Chen Mo's wrist and a flying knife would've finished the baron.
But killing him wasn't the goal.
Chen Mo's purpose this time was to help Steve rescue the prisoners — nothing more.
Strucker's death could wait. In fact, it needed to wait. Chen Mo still required him to lead the splintered Hydra remnants and finish the role he'd been scripted to play in this elaborate game.
Pulling his gaze away from the doorway, Chen Mo turned toward the wall of monitors.
On the screen, Steve was already leading the freed Allied soldiers through the outer defenses, blasting open a section of the perimeter wall with a tank and escaping the base.
On the console beside him, the base's self-destruct timer ticked down — less than three minutes remaining.
The mission was complete: the prisoners rescued, Strucker tested, valuable lessons learned. It was time to go.
The self-destruct sequence would only trigger the planted demolition charges — not the super bombs stored in the factory.
But who could say for certain? The shockwaves might set off a chain reaction.
And if even one of those super bombs went off, the entire region — several kilometers across — would become nothing but ash.
Confirming that Steve and the others were safely outside, Chen Mo wasted no more time.
He unleashed his full strength, leaping off the railing outside the control room.
As he descended, he caught hold of several metal beams to slow his fall, landing hard on the ground below moments later.
The control room was at the very top of the base — several dozen meters up. It wasn't like leaping from a plane at ten or fifteen meters; even with his enhanced body, Chen Mo had to use the structures along the way to bleed off speed.
Touching down, he didn't pause.
He sprinted straight through the base's corridors, the sound of gunfire and explosions echoing in the distance.
Any Hydra soldier who crossed his path barely had time to register what they'd seen before Chen Mo blurred past and vanished around the corner.
Bursting out of the main building, he broke into a full sprint — heading in the same direction Steve had escaped.
The outer guards were already in chaos.
Moments earlier, Steve had led the freed soldiers in a fierce surprise assault, slaughtering the unprepared Hydra troops.
Those who survived were still on edge, weapons raised, nerves stretched thin.
So when Chen Mo suddenly appeared out of the darkness, their reflexes took over — they opened fire.
Bullets tore through the air in waves, but Chen Mo didn't slow. His alloy armor absorbed the barrage without hesitation, and he simply ran straight through it, a streak of black cutting across the battlefield.
Even with his inhuman speed, some rounds found their mark, shredding what was left of his already-tattered combat uniform. The fabric disintegrated under the wind of his sprint, leaving only the pitch-black alloy suit beneath.
Covered head to toe in sleek, unyielding armor, moving with superhuman speed, Chen Mo looked less like a man and more like a steel titan come to life.
The Hydra soldiers hesitated, their trigger fingers faltering.
Was this even human? Or some kind of weapon?
By the time they recovered from their shock, Chen Mo was gone — slipping through the collapsed wall and vanishing into the night.
Three days later — Allied Frontline Camp, Italy.
Chen Mo and Steve had been gone for seventy-two hours.
Cut off deep behind enemy lines, they had no way to send word.
To the outside world, they had simply vanished.
The news spread fast: the famous American icon — Captain America — had disappeared.
Word was that he'd gone deep into enemy territory on a mission to rescue prisoners.
Senator Brand, who valued Steve's public image above all else, was furious.
He bombarded Colonel Phillips with calls and telegrams, demanding that the Army launch a full-scale operation to bring Captain America back alive.
But Colonel Chester Phillips remained unshaken.
He wasn't worried. Not at all.
He knew Chen Mo's power better than anyone.
The man who had single-handedly annihilated multiple Hydra strongholds — his record spoke for itself.
Phillips had no doubt the mission had succeeded.
So while the senator ranted and threatened, Phillips simply nodded and ordered a few reconnaissance planes to sweep the area — nothing more.
He had absolute confidence in Chen Mo.
Still, Brand didn't let up. In his latest call, he'd gone so far as to threaten Congress action.
"If anything happens to Steve Rogers," he had roared, "I'll bring this before the Senate and shut down the Strategic Scientific Reserve myself!"
In America, a senator's words carried weight — and Brand was no ordinary senator.
He was an old hand with deep influence in Congress.
If he wanted to cripple the SSR, it wouldn't just be talk.
Captain America was his political golden goose — his key to power, fame, and a potential presidential bid.
If something happened to Steve under Phillips's watch, Brand would make sure the entire program paid the price.
Of course, the Strategic Scientific Reserve was no longer an organization that could be pushed around.
Its contributions — destroying Hydra's bases, turning the tide of war on multiple fronts — couldn't simply be erased.
And it wasn't just an American unit; it was an Allied task force.
Even if Brand wanted to shut it down, he'd face resistance from every other major nation involved.
So when he slammed the phone down, Phillips only smirked.
He turned toward Agent Carter, who stood across from his desk, and shrugged.
"He says if we don't find Steve soon, he'll have us shut down."
A faint grin tugged at his lips.
"Looks like our big celebrity really is quite the important man."