Chapter 87

Damn it!

Bastard! I'll kill you! I'll definitely kill you!

Damn beast!

In an empty alley corner, Chloe was treating her own wounds.

Her wrist had almost been pierced through by the sharp fangs of the Heavenly Roar Dog.

The injury was serious; if not treated promptly, it would likely leave lasting effects.

For an assassin, having steady hands is crucial—no wonder Chloe was furious and helpless here.

"Tsk, looks like you took a big loss." Ward appeared at the alley entrance.

"What do you want?" Chloe said in a hostile tone.

She wasn't worried that this information broker would try to rob her while she was down—assassins value profit, and no one kills without reason or creates grudges for nothing.

"Information." Ward looked at Chloe with interest—how did she get hurt?

"One million." Chloe demanded lion's share.

"Too much—100,000 will do." Ward countered, slashing nine-tenths off.

"Fine." Chloe agreed immediately.

Now Ward's expression turned strange, but since he'd already said it, he let it go.

Someone like Ward, who's been scraping by for years without dying, naturally wouldn't be short on money.

But human greed is endless—once you have money, you only want more. Few assassins who've made a lot can suppress their greed and withdraw in time.

Even fewer can truly "wash their hands in a golden basin and retire from the jianghu." Even Wayne Kate, who once left, was forced back.

"He has a dog, right?" Chloe asked.

"Right." Ward nodded.

"I was bitten by his dog—that damn beast almost bit off my hand." Chloe said.

Ward glanced at the bloodstain on the ground: "I remember, his dog is a Husky puppy."

"Exactly." Chloe unwrapped the bandage, revealing the wound: "See?"

Ward leaned in, took a few photos, nodded satisfied—this deal wasn't a loss.

Who would've thought Wayne Kate's little dog would have such lethal power?

At this very moment, the Heavenly Roar Dog that caused the wound was happily chewing on fried chicken.

The traffic jam finally ended. The long dragon-like convoy slowly moved forward.

The Heavenly Roar Dog lifted its head and barked twice at Tang Luo, warning him there were many enemies around.

"Got it."

Tang Luo nodded.

As a brawler-type player, Tang Luo's perception isn't great—typical "can't defend against hidden arrows."

Of course, few can break through his defense anyway.

Now that the Heavenly Roar Dog has appeared, it somewhat makes up for Tang Luo's weakness.

Heading toward the city outskirts, speed gradually increased—though leaving the bustling city, traffic should've decreased, but it didn't.

Behind Tang Luo, eight vehicles followed ostentatiously, basically not hiding their intentions.

Dusk approached, city outskirts.

Several vehicles began speeding wildly.

The lead vehicle was an off-roader.

Behind it followed an SUV; the passenger window rolled down, someone poked their head out and began firing at the off-roader.

"We're about there." Tang Luo stomped the brake.

The SUV, not keeping a safe distance, slammed into them head-on.

The two vehicles instantly lost control, spinning wildly on the road.

The shooter was flung from the vehicle, landing hard in the grass by the roadside—whether dead or alive, unknown.

Accompanied by sharp screeching, the two high-quality vehicles lay sideways on the road, perfectly parallel.

The SUV's front was damaged, black smoke billowing out.

The off-roader's rear was slightly dented, but aside from appearance, no other impact.

The window rolled down, Tang Luo extended his arm, leveling the ominous weapon.

The shooter in the opposite driver's seat likewise raised their gun, hesitating not as they pulled the trigger!

No time to undo the seatbelt—could only seize the initiative and fire.

Gunfire rang out.

Tang Luo's left hand seemed to move casually, but every pause of the ominous weapon coincided exactly with bullets flying past.

Metal clanged and scraped, producing a fleeting spark.

Bullets clinked and clattered as they fell to the ground.

The magazine was completely emptied; the firing pin clicked uselessly— the shooter gaped, instinctively continuing to pull the trigger with their finger.

Were the bullets blocked by the gun?

"Bang!"

The ominous gunshot sounded slightly different, carrying a dull heaviness.

"Ding—" a headless corpse pressed against the horn, triggering a piercing honk.

The power of the ominous weapon was at hand-cannon level, higher than a Desert Eagle—of course, recoil was also significant.

Opening the door, stepping out, Tang Luo walked toward that SUV.

On the other side of the vehicle, the other vehicles also stopped accordingly.

The car doors opened, and "long guns and short cannons" were all aimed at Tang Luo's side.

Rifles, pistols, and one person holding a scatter (shotgun).

No matter what, since they were operating in the "Shadow World," everyone still needed to maintain a certain level of low profile.

The primary weapons used were still guns; they wouldn't pull out RPGs or similar devices to engage in firefights.

They were assassins, not mercenaries on the battlefield.

No one fired recklessly; everyone was waiting for Wayne Kate, hiding behind the car, to reveal a flaw.

A hail of gunfire was imminent; as soon as the other side slightly exposed their head, they would open fire.

As for lying down and kicking through the gap under the vehicle's chassis, no one did that—believe it or not, just as they lay down, a bullet would blast a hole in their forehead.

After all, he was the Messenger of Death, the man who had fought his way into others' lairs and buried over a hundred corpses in a single night.

Tang Luo smiled slightly, lowered the gun barrel, stepped back two steps, and lifted his foot.

Then, he kicked the car door with one foot.

The vehicle shot forward like a cannonball; before the assassins could react, it collided with two nearby parked cars.

The vehicle then struck a person.

Several assassins were flung sideways ten or so meters, rolling on the ground, and died instantly.

"Poor monk, I have come to save you."

A somewhat dull gunshot rang out, accompanied by Tang Luo's voice.

"Oh woe!"

Inside the off-road vehicle, the Heavenly Hound raised its head and let out a long, wolf-like howl.

Two minutes later.

Gunfire ceased; Tang Luo carried some firearms and financial items, turned, and walked toward the off-road vehicle; soon, the vehicle sped away in a cloud of dust.

The Heavenly Hound inside the vehicle barked twice.

"Someone didn't die? I know that—I just left a living witness."

About fifteen minutes later.

A vehicle drove up to this location and slowly came to a stop.

Ward got out of the car, looked at the corpses scattered across the ground and the chaotic scene, and helplessly dialed a phone number.

In the Shadow World, there are specialized "cleaners," essentially like a chain hotel staff.

But under the circumstances of being hunted, Wayne Kate would certainly not call for people to come clean up.

Ward intended to make a phone call to have someone handle the situation; of course, he wouldn't pay, and he would run off shortly—equivalent to a "good Samaritan" unwilling to reveal his name.

After hanging up, he kept taking photos; for Ward, these were money.

"Huh?"

Soon, Ward discovered a survivor on the grass by the roadside, felt delighted, lifted the person into the car, and drove toward the city.

He no longer intended to pursue Wayne Kate for intelligence; that guy, he felt, was becoming increasingly dangerous.

If he made even a slight mistake, getting involved would be disastrous.

After driving less than two minutes, Ward passed a black business vehicle.

It was merely the cleaner's vehicle; cleaners are responsible for handling corpses and other aftermath work, and they consistently drive large vehicles—such as modified trucks or RVs.

"Hey, you're not dead, are you?" Ward asked casually while driving slowly.

He had already administered some basic first aid to the half-dead, half-alive injured person.

"No..." the person replied weakly.

"What happened? You all had so many people, yet Wayne Kate took care of you all by himself?" Ward asked.

"Yes," the assassin said, "I seem to have... seen... him kick the car open with one foot."

The speech was fragmented and intermittent.

Ward pressed the brake, nearly causing the assassin to roll off the back seat.

"What do you mean by 'kicked the car open'?" Ward asked.

He recalled seeing three vehicles piled together, almost interlocked like inlaid pieces, completely totaled.

"I don't know, I'm not clear," the assassin said, voice hazy.

At the time, he was thrown from the vehicle and hit the ground hard; he wasn't sure if he had really seen it or if it was just a hallucination.

"What the hell." Ward muttered under his breath.

The events began when Wayne Kate left that small inn; from then on, things seemed to develop in a direction he couldn't comprehend—strange and bizarre.

The corpses on the rooftop, Chloe's wound, and the scene just witnessed.

It felt like a silent confession, speaking of Wayne Kate's terror.

Ward felt his decision to stay out of it was absolutely correct.

A horn sounded from behind.

Ward glanced at the rearview mirror; the business vehicle that had just passed them was catching up, flashing its lights twice, then turning on its turn signal, indicating Ward should stop.

Probably frightened by the scene on the highway.

Ward couldn't be bothered; he continued forward—he had no time to waste talking with people; getting the injured treated quickly, gathering more intelligence, and making money was the way to go.

But Ward's indifference didn't mean the business vehicle had given up.

The business vehicle suddenly surged in speed, pulled alongside Ward's car, then gradually pressed forward, forcing Ward to stop.

Ward frowned, gripped his pistol in hand, pressed against his thigh; the black pants made the black gun less noticeable.

Ward opened the door and stepped out, shouting loudly: "Looking for death?" He acted just like an ordinary angry driver forced to stop.

The door of the business car opened, and three men stepped out, one of them with white hair, very conspicuous.

Worden frowned; as a hitman and information dealer, his ability to read people and situations was certainly strong.

At a glance, he saw that these three were not ordinary people, all ruthless figures stained with blood.

"What happened over there? Do you know?" one of the men asked, looking at Worden.

Worden wasn't sure if the opposite party were colleagues. Even if they were, to sell information, he wouldn't do it face to face like this.

"What's going on?" Worden's confusion was just right.

"Oh, it seems you know." The man completely ignored Worden's acting.

He had lie-detection skills, enough to detect whether an ordinary person like Worden was lying.

"Catch him." The white-haired man said.

"Damn it!" Worden cursed low from behind the car door, then raised his gun directly.

And just as he raised his gun, the man who had just been speaking opened his mouth wide.

A blue water column as thick as an adult's forearm shot out from his mouth.

Like a water column from a high-pressure water gun, it instantly shattered the car window glass and struck Worden.

Worden felt as if struck in the chest by a large hammer, his body flying backward.

Falling to the ground, ignoring the intense pain, Worden rolled his body, got up, and wanted to flee.

He didn't really exert himself to sprint wildly.

A hand reached out from behind and grabbed Worden's neck, as if grabbing a little chick.