Chapter 382

On the third floor of the Dragon Gold Casino, in a vast, highly secret room filled with countless surveillance monitors.

A forty-year-old East Asian man stared at a monitor showing a group of wealthy Chinese gamblers betting wildly, a faint sneer curling at his lips.

"Notify the croupier in VIP Room Three: don't use any special tactics in the first ten hands—give the guests some early wins, then net them later." The East Asian man ordered calmly in British English.

"Yes, Mr. Wei."

"While checking the slot machines on the second floor this afternoon, lower the payout rates by five percent. This morning's payouts were too high."

"Also, keep an eye on the players at table eighteen downstairs. They seem generous with their bets—likely wealthy. Send a Gongguan to invite them to the VIP lounge."

The middle-aged man scanned other surveillance screens, continuing to issue orders, while staff occasionally relayed them via mobile phone.

"By the way, Mr. Wei, two men from the Mao family's security detail followed a guest after he exchanged over three hundred thousand pounds in cash on the first floor." A manager, hesitating, whispered the report.

"When did this happen? Don't you know that trouble right after a big win will severely damage the Dragon Gold Casino's reputation?"

"How did this guest win? Did he cheat? Was he from the VIP lounge?" Mr. Wei's face darkened with anger.

"Mr. Wei, this happened before you arrived. The guest was only playing at the regular tables. I reviewed the surveillance footage—he didn't cheat. Just lucky: he hit several big wins across multiple tables and kept riding the streak, netting five hundred thousand." The manager hurried to explain.

"Three hundred thousand isn't much—fine for a regular table player. But if a VIP client runs into trouble, even the Mao family owes me an explanation. After all, they take the lion's share of this casino's profits."

"Also, which two followed him? Order them to leave immediately—never set foot in this casino again." Mr. Wei exhaled slightly, then growled fiercely.

"Mr. Wei, it was Bald Nick and Scarred Xin. But they haven't returned yet—could they have taken the money and run?" The manager hesitated before answering.

"Three hundred thousand? Not enough. Three million, maybe."

"Though they're just lowlife hangers-on under the Mao family, they wouldn't risk this for a few hundred thousand. More likely they took the cash and went to splurge somewhere. When they return, tell them to leave—I'll handle the Mao family." Mr. Wei spoke coldly.

"Yes."

The manager bowed his head in response.

…

Wang Yu followed the brown-haired, scarred man through several streets, gradually leaving the bustling downtown core and entering neighborhoods with old, dilapidated buildings.

Along the way, more locals appeared, dressed and styled in unmistakably disreputable ways.

Men bared their chests and arms; women wore heavy makeup, flirting and preening.

Occasionally, tattooed individuals greeted the brown-haired man and cast curious glances at Wang Yu walking behind him.

This eased the man's nerves slightly, his eyes beginning to dart left and right—until Wang Yu's calm voice came from behind.

"If you're planning to call for help, see whether you can shout louder—or die faster."

The words struck the man like ice; his scar paled. He quickly whispered, "I dare not."

"Relax. If you lead me to the man who can forge documents, I'll let you go. But if anything goes wrong along the way, I'll kill you first." Wang Yu's voice was low, yet brimming with unspeakable cruelty.

The brown-haired man shuddered, abandoning all further thoughts.

He had heard this tone once before—from a professional killer employed by the Mao family, rumored to have taken dozens of lives, utterly without mercy.

After walking a while longer, the two arrived at what appeared to be a small bar. Outside, several burly local men lounged, chatting idly.

The brown-haired man greeted them, then led Wang Yu inside—no one stopped them.

The bar's main hall was small, barely accommodating a hundred people.

Besides a counter, the only notable feature was a circular steel pole stage in the center—empty and silent, as if still closed.

Wang Yu glanced around the hall and asked coolly: "Are you certain this place can get me documents?"

"Sir, don't be fooled by its appearance—this place's owner has exclusive channels. In all of West Iron City, only he can forge real identification documents. The price is high, though." The brown-haired man hurried to explain.

"Heh. As long as the documents are legit, I don't care how expensive." Wang Yu chuckled, gesturing for the man to lead on.

The brown-haired man led Wang Yu straight toward a thick iron door on one side of the bar.

"Knock-knock-knock."

After three rhythmic knocks, a small window slid open in the door, revealing a pair of wary eyes. They glanced at the brown-haired man, then relaxed slightly.

"It's you. What do you want?"

"I've brought a client for your boss—he needs a full set of documents." The man forced a smile, stepping aside to reveal Wang Yu behind him.

The eyes behind the window scanned Wang Yu, then his heavy cloth sack, before muttering, "Wait."

The window snapped shut.

The iron door creaked open slowly, revealing a short but powerfully muscular young man.

Wang Yu was surprised—the youth had black hair and East Asian skin, dressed in a short-sleeved tunic, a sheathed short knife at his waist, radiating raw ferocity.

"The boss just woke up—he's receiving guests. Wait inside." The youth crossed his arms and stepped aside, clearing the doorway.

"Fine."

Wang Yu stepped in without hesitation.

The brown-haired man hesitated, then followed cautiously.

The ferocious youth closed the iron door behind them, wedged it shut with an iron bar, then turned inward.

After walking five or six meters down a corridor, a small ten-square-meter hall appeared ahead, with another corridor leading deeper inside.

The hall held nothing but two chairs and a long leather sofa.

The ferocious youth moved first, blocking the entrance to the inner corridor, arms crossed.

Wang Yu smiled faintly, sitting casually on the sofa. The brown-haired man stood nervously to the side, trembling with fear.

The ferocious youth glanced at the man twice, about to speak—when suddenly, a deafening explosion erupted from the depths of the corridor on the other side of the hall.

The youth froze, then without hesitation, spun around, crouched low, and launched himself forward on all fours like a wild beast, streaking into the corridor.

Wang Yu's pupils shrank slightly at the sight.