Riding an electric scooter through dense smoke, Chen Mo sped along a winding mountain path, faint sounds of combat echoing from afar.
Anxiously patting the scooter, he urged helplessly, "Step on it! Even if Guan San's lost an arm, if we lose him, it'll cost us years of savings... Damn it! Had I known this would happen, I'd have bought insurance first!"
"Boss, leave it to me!" the scooter revved confidently, then added nonchalantly, "From what I saw, Guan San's blade skills are lethal, and his agility could match that of a seasoned rogue... And don't forget, he exudes the aura of a warlord—just a tremor from him could make his enemies bleed from every orifice!"
As they spoke, the mountain valley ahead began to clear. A gentle night breeze swept away the lingering mist, revealing two figures locked in a deadly duel beside the rocks.
As expected, Guan San had already seized the upper hand. He toyed with his opponent like a cat with a mouse, slashing again and again with delightful ease.
In stark contrast, the masked man, unarmed, was in utter disarray. His dodges were clumsy and frantic—at times resorting to desperate rolls to evade being struck.
"Perfect. All we need to do is cheer from the sidelines." Exhaling in relief, Chen Mo leaned against the scooter and lit a cigarette.
But after a few minutes, he suddenly uttered a puzzled "Hmm?" and furrowed his brows. "Hey… don't you feel like something's off? The more I watch, the more it seems…"
"Repetitive!" Benben blurted out, instantly enlightening Chen Mo—yes, Guan San's attacks were entirely repetitive!
First, a standard heroic tremor; then, the release of his warlord's aura; finally, a sweeping crescent slash...
He repeated the sequence relentlessly—tremor, aura, slash; tremor, aura, slash...
"Oh my god, is this a looped replay?" Chen Mo slapped his forehead in disbelief. "What kind of battle is this supposed to be?"
In truth, the masked man had exposed his defenses multiple times—any decent kick could've knocked him flat.
But Guan San, ever the stickler for chivalric decorum, stood upright and reset after every move, never breaking his ritualistic rhythm.
"Boss… don't tell me…" The scooter and Benben exchanged wary glances, a terrible premonition dawning between them.
At that moment, sensing the predictability of his opponent, the masked man finally seized an opening. As Guan San launched into another tremor, he abruptly countered with a fierce kick.
With a resounding thud, Guan San was sent flying several meters back—before he could even summon his aura.
And as a metal fist thundered toward his chest, Guan San… trembled heroically again.
"Damn it! Dodge, will you?!" Chen Mo launched the scooter forward in exasperation, wishing he could fast-forward the scene.
Before he could finish, Guan San crashed down beside him, blinking with grievance. "I… I only know that one move."
"For heaven's sake!" Chen Mo rolled his eyes and caught him mid-fall.
Now it made sense—this budget-version Guan Yu only knew a single technique. Damn! Even Cheng Yaojin had three signature strikes—you've only got one, how's that supposed to help?
"Look out!" At that instant, the masked man, having shaken off his melee engagement, drew a sawed-off shotgun in a flash of retreat.
"Carrying a whole armory, is he?" Before Chen Mo could even curse, the shotgun roared, scattering shrapnel that tore into the scooter.
"Crescent Slash!" In the booming aftermath, Guan San's blade managed to deflect the worst of the blast—but the scooter would definitely need a paint job.
"How does it feel?" Watching Chen Mo stagger back, the masked man smirked. "You should feel honored. This Italian SPAS-15 MIL combat shotgun is the king of close-quarters carnage!"
"Close-quarters king?" Chen Mo rolled into cover and exhaled sharply. "Well, in China, the most fearsome weapon up close isn't a gun… Watch closely—the Bricks of Heaven Strike!"
"Boss, it's Heaven Strike brand bricks!" Benben corrected mid-flight, spinning through the air.
In a flash of green light, it morphed into a several-meter-wide steel slab, plummeting with thunderous force.
"What the—?" The masked man was momentarily paralyzed, staring blankly at the descending black mass.
He barely managed a startled cry before rolling away just in time—tossing a smoke grenade in retreat.
"Damn it, is he part octopus?" As the smoke billowed thick and fast, Chen Mo hit the brakes, watching the silhouette vanish into the night.
"Stop right there!" Guan San struck a heroic pose, seemingly ready to chase—but it was just that: a pose.
"Forget it! Heaven favors the merciful. I shall let him go… for now." He puffed up proudly, clearly basking in his imagined victory.
Chen Mo could only shake his head. Two things were now certain: first, Guan San's skin was thicker than armor; and second, his combat skills were utterly unreliable—you'd be better off calling for help.
"Slander!" Guan San bristled with indignation. "Usually one move is all I need! I just got caught off guard this time!"
"Yeah, sure…" Chen Mo sighed and turned toward the Guan Yu shrine. "I just hope you'll at least change your move order… Maybe start with rock-paper-scissors training?"
Meanwhile, the masked man fled into the mountains under the cover of smoke. Stumbling and clutching his wounded left arm, he ran for miles.
Once certain he wasn't being pursued, he exhaled shakily.
"Just wait… I will never forget this disgrace!" he hissed, tearing off his mask and slumping against a tree. Then, he pulled out his phone.
Seconds later, as the line connected, he reported solemnly, "Boss, this is Yang Ke... I'm sorry. The assassination attempt failed."
"What?" Thomas, savoring a glass of wine, froze—then crushed the goblet in his hand.
"Yang Ke, I told you not to mess this up. Now tell me—has that damned Blood Eye of yours failed? If so, I'll gladly rip it out myself!"
"No! That's not it!" Yang Ke trembled at the roar, hurriedly explaining.
"Boss, I could have killed several of them… they were in chaos. But I never expected that museum guy—who the hell even was he—?"
With a soft bang, the line went dead. Only a busy tone remained.
Thomas hurled the phone, kicked over the table, and roared like a lion, startling the dozen subordinates around him.
"Goddammit! Can someone please tell me what's going on? Why is every damn plan in South City mysteriously unraveling?"
No one could answer. They looked at each other, speechless.
First, they used a robber to test police response—he got arrested mysteriously. Then, they planned to replace a guard with a sniper—somehow, the guard dodged the bullet.
Fine. So they stirred up internal chaos in Wu Yi Society to draw away police forces. That had to work, right?
But no—the Blood-Eyed Yang Ke had failed. Worse yet, he likely wasn't coming back alive.
"Boss, rage is bad for your health." A quiet voice broke the storm.
In the corner, a bespectacled man murmured to himself. He looked like an eccentric scholar, but the homemade bomb in his hand ticked ominously as he twirled it.
Oddly enough, Thomas didn't lash out this time. He nodded slowly. "Maybe you're right. So, Ryan—got a plan? Wait—put down the bomb first!"
"Relax. As long as I don't drop it, it won't explode." Ryan casually tossed the bomb from hand to hand while spreading out a map.
"Look here. How about I engineer a proper disaster? Don't worry—I'm no third-rate psychic like Yang Ke. I'm a demolition artist."
Thomas studied the map for a moment, then clapped Ryan's shoulder. "Good. Then I'm counting on you. Everyone, get ready… Monde, something to add?"
He noticed the burly bodyguard's uneasy look and raised an eyebrow.
"No, no questions!" Monde blurted, then hesitated as he glanced at the floor. "But… Sir, you might want to look over there…"
"What?" Thomas followed his gaze.
Seconds later, his eyes locked onto a familiar black object on the ground—and his face twisted in alarm. "Wait a second… That looks like—MOVE!"
BOOM!
The explosion shook the room like a storm. Smoke and fire engulfed everything.
From within the swirling smoke, Monde's faint voice could still be heard.
"Sir… when you clapped Ryan's shoulder just now… the bomb dropped…"