Chapter 224
Giving up the idea, Zhan Long picked up his pistol and headed toward Wu Yekai. The distance between them wasn’t far, but it wasn’t close either. Countless people from both sides were fighting fiercely, with blades flashing everywhere; a single careless cut could result in serious injury. Zhan Long pushed and kicked his way forward before finally reaching Wu Yekai from behind. Seeing him swinging a steel knife wildly, enjoying the killing, Zhan Long patted his shoulder and said with a smile, “Brother, enough!”
Suddenly feeling someone pat his shoulder, Wu Yekai was startled. He couldn’t hear what the person behind him said, so without thinking, he instinctively swung his knife back. Zhan Long reacted quickly, ducking to avoid the strike. His eyes flashed coldly as they met Wu Yekai’s astonished gaze. He said coldly, “You deserve to die!”
Was that not Zhan Long?! Wu Yekai’s heart turned icy. He raised his hand to swing his knife again, but just as he lifted it, Zhan Long fired his gun. A knife isn’t as fast as a gun—it depends on the user. Unfortunately, this time it was Wu Yekai with the knife and Zhan Long with the gun. Zhan Long’s gun barrel was already pressed against Wu Yekai’s abdomen. The moment Wu Yekai raised his knife, Zhan Long pulled the trigger.
With a “bang,” a hole appeared in Wu Yekai’s stomach. Yet he was still fierce—his body trembled, his teeth gritted, and he continued swinging his knife, though with much less force. Zhan Long quickly reached out, grabbed his wrist holding the knife, and pulled the trigger repeatedly. Amidst the bursts of gunfire, Wu Yekai’s eyes turned white as he collapsed weakly against Zhan Long’s body. Zhan Long stepped to the side, his white clothes stained red.
Wu Yekai was shot dead by Zhan Long. The other three leaders saw it clearly from behind. It happened too fast—or rather, Wu Yekai died too quickly—they didn’t even have time to intervene. What an amazing Zhan Long! Truly living up to his reputation! The three were terrified and exchanged glances. Without needing to speak, they all started retreating. The three leaders were reluctant to leave but didn’t dare run too fast, fearing it would attract Zhan Long’s attention. With Wu Yekai dead, the fighting spirit of the North Hongmen vanished instantly, like a deflated ball. Without that fighting spirit, there was no longer any fight. Those in front retreated, while many behind didn’t understand what was happening and pushed forward desperately. Back and forth, the North Hongmen became a chaotic mess.
Zhan Long glanced around, smirked coldly, and put away his gun. He thought he no longer needed to fire, as the opponent was just a bunch of ragtag scoundrels. It was strange, though, that Xie Wendong had such people under his command. Just as he felt proud, dots of light appeared at the end of the road behind him, with yellowish lights forming a long line. At first, Zhan Long didn’t notice, but the growing roar made him feel something was off. When he turned around, he was shocked. What was this? He stared intently for a while before realizing they were motorcycles, with riders all dressed in black, holding shiny steel knives slung across their sides. Even from such a distance, Zhan Long could sense the chill from the knives, making his hair stand on end. The enemy hadn’t arrived yet, but their momentum already pressed down like raging waves.
Zhan Long felt this pressure, as did his men, and even the three panicked thugs who had fled felt it as well. The three stopped without agreeing beforehand and stared into the distance for a long time. Fang Guodong blinked and murmured, “It seems like our own people!”
“Nonsense!” The other two brothers rolled their eyes at the same time. Though they said that, their anxious hearts finally settled, and they sighed in relief, thinking, “We’re finally saved!” Their souls, which had almost been scared away by Zhan Long, returned to their bodies, boosting their spirits. They shouted in unison, “Our own people have arrived! Brothers, fight back!”
The men below had already steadied themselves. After a brief pause, they started shouting and charged back. Some had thrown away their knives while running, and it was too late to pick them up now. Instead, they grabbed two bricks from the ground and joined the charge, screaming wildly.
Although Zhan Long was frightened, he was experienced and quick to react. He sent some men to hold off the three thugs’ counterattack while organizing the rest to prepare for the motorcycle riders coming from behind. He drew his gun and counted the bullets he had left. The earlier battle had consumed many, leaving him with less than two magazines. He wasn’t sure how many enemies there were, so this fight didn’t seem easy. Zhan Long mused internally, thinking of a strategy. The only way to win was to shoot down the enemy’s leader with a single shot, but he wasn’t sure how likely that was.
The motorcycle riders were extremely fast. By the time War Dragon considered his next move, they had already closed to within dozens of meters. The distance between the two sides kept shrinking, yet the speed of the motorcycles didn’t slow down at all. One after another, they rushed toward the crowd like arrows leaving the bow. War Dragon mustered his courage and acted without hesitation. He raised his gun and fired—the motorcycle overturned. The rider on the lead motorcycle had his helmet pierced by a bullet and fell, but the bike’s speed didn’t decrease as it continued into the crowd. The members of the Nan Hong Men screamed and tried to dodge, but some were still knocked down.
War Dragon fired two more shots, toppling two more motorcycles. Yet, with the enemy outnumbering him, one gun was no match. In just a moment, several motorcycles rushed into the crowd, causing chaos and cries of pain. Those who tumbled off the motorcycles fought together with the Nan Hong Men members.
At first, War Dragon’s men still maintained some formation, but as more motorcycles crashed in, the two sides merged into a chaotic mess. War Dragon held his gun in both hands and fired left and right, killing many with his shots. Just then, a motorcycle sped past him, and a steel knife extended from it, aiming straight at the back of War Dragon’s neck. Before the knife could reach him, a gust of cold wind hit him first, causing goosebumps to appear on his neck. His experience kicked in, and he rolled to the side reflexively—the blade whistled past his head. With a screech, the motorcycle stopped, and the man on it jumped down, swinging the knife at War Dragon, who was trying to get up. The knife was made of steel; though not long, it was wide and heavy. With the man swinging it with full force, the downward strike was as powerful as a mountain pressing down.
War Dragon was just about to get up when this strike forced him back down. He had no choice but to drop his gun and push himself backward with both hands. Meanwhile, as he rolled, he picked up a knife from the ground. When his movement slowed slightly, he swung it with all his strength. War Dragon’s counterattack was still quite powerful—the knife, swung mid-roll, moved at incredible speed. With a flash of light, its blade reached the man’s legs, somewhat catching him off guard. But the man was highly skilled; without even bending his legs, he leaped high and brought the knife down in a diagonal strike. War Dragon was at his limit and could no longer dodge. He grabbed the knife handle with both hands and pushed back against the man’s strike. There was a clanging sound, and instantly, War Dragon felt a tightness in his chest, his vision went dark, and his arms, from his fingers to his armpits, felt as if they had been struck by electricity.
The Battle Dragon was powerful, but still inferior to that giant. Moreover, the giant had an advantage of being at a higher position, concentrating all his strength on the blade. Even with his full effort, the tip of the blade still deviated slightly. Though it didn’t pierce his vital organs, it stabbed beneath his shoulder and collarbone, sending a chill through his body. The Battle Dragon let out a painful cry and, using the force of the giant’s strike, rolled into the bushes by the road. The intense pain in his shoulder made him stagger, and blood dyed half of his clothes red. Anyone else with such severe injuries would likely have collapsed long ago, but the Battle Dragon was one of the Eight Heavenly Kings of the South Hongmen—how could he be compared to an ordinary person? Now, he couldn’t even worry about whether his subordinates were alive or dead; whether he could escape alive was itself a question. The presence of that giant posed the most direct and deadly threat to his life. Clutching his wound, the Battle Dragon ran deeper into the bushes.
With his first strike successful, the giant wasn’t about to let him go easily. Seeing him try to escape, he immediately chased after him with his blade.
Hearing footsteps behind him, the Battle Dragon knew the giant was pursuing. Gritting his teeth secretly, he thought this was too much. He deliberately sped up, pretending to be unable to keep going, and staggered forward. The giant was overjoyed at this and quickened his pace, closing the distance to the Battle Dragon to just three meters. With one more step, he believed he could pierce his heart with his blade. Just as the giant was feeling triumphant, the Battle Dragon seemed to trip over something, stumbled, and fell headfirst.
The giant laughed loudly. When misfortune strikes, even stones on the road seem to turn against you. Whether it was a real fall or a fake one, the Battle Dragon landed hard, covered in dirt, with several cuts on his forehead from the stones on the ground. His originally white clothes were now streaked with red and black, losing their original color. He lay on the ground, unable to get up for a long time. The giant had no intention of showing pity for the Battle Dragon, as what he wanted most now was the life of this Heavenly King.
“Accept your fate!” The giant swung his blade toward the fallen Battle Dragon. When he approached, the Battle Dragon was struggling to get up but collapsed again after much effort. With his head lowered, sweat dripped onto the ground. The giant walked back and forth in front of him, thinking to himself that this man was among the top five in the South Hongmen. To end up like this was truly the result of fate’s cruelty. No matter how high one’s status, when you fall, you’re still just a person. The giant raised his blade slightly and smiled, saying, “Battle Dragon, don’t blame me!”
Zhan Long still didn’t lift his head; he merely asked in a hoarse voice, “Are you Dong Xinlei?” The burly man laughed and replied, “That’s right!” “Good!” Zhan Long said coldly. As he spoke, he gently hooked his fingers near his feet, and a four-inch-long palm thunder appeared in his hand. It was his ultimate weapon—his first use since he began fighting, and he had even thought he would never use it again, as no one had ever forced him to. But today, he was truly at his wits’ end—the swordsmanship of Dong Xinlei exceeded everything he could comprehend.
“Good?” Dong Xinlei wondered if Zhan Long’s head was damaged. Hearing such words, he could only laugh, but his mouth stayed open, no sound coming out as he stared in shock. He saw Zhan Long lift his head, the blood on his face unable to hide his smile. Of course, that wasn’t why Dong Xinlei was stunned—he also saw the gun in Zhan Long’s hand, that deadly palm thunder. Up close, with Zhan Long prepared in advance, no one in the world could escape under its barrel. Long ago, the old man had told Dong Xinlei the same thing, advising him that if he ever fought Zhan Long hand to hand, he must strike first and use relentless attacks to suppress his swordsmanship—only then would there be a chance of winning. Earlier, Dong Xinlei had indeed done that, but now he was under Zhan Long’s gun.
Zhan Long slowly sat up, his right hand hanging limply, unable to exert any strength. He suspected Dong Xinlei had severed the tendons in his arm. Yet he wasn’t discouraged, thinking Dong Xinlei’s life was far more valuable than his arm. “I’m glad it’s you!” Zhan Long said leisurely, keeping the gun’s barrel pointed at Dong Xinlei’s forehead.
Dong Xinlei shook his head and sighed bitterly, “I really wish one of those standing here right now wasn’t me.”
The War Dragon sneered, “So, accept your fate!” He really wanted to talk to Dong Xinlei for a while longer—those who were sure of victory usually didn’t want their enemies to die too soon, at least not until they had had their fun. But the wound on the War Dragon’s shoulder was bleeding profusely, and if he didn’t receive immediate treatment, he knew he might follow Dong Xinlei soon. Enduring the intense pain, the War Dragon smiled as he prepared to pull the trigger. Dong Xinlei showed no sign of fear and said, “I’m not the kind to accept fate. Besides, I know fate will be on my side today!” The War Dragon laughed in frustration and said, “Having confidence is good, but blind confidence is stupidity. You can pray now!” As he spoke, his finger slowly moved toward the trigger.