On the first floor, there were a total of seven enemies and three vicious dogs, quickly plunging the scene into chaos. Dennisen had wanted to bring twice the manpower, but this required approval from his superiors—a legitimate reason he lost due to his dealings with the assassins. Since entering the house, he had fired only one shot, hitting one enemy, and then had to switch to his backup sword as he couldn't create enough distance to choose targets. Moreover, although residents of Queens were accustomed to sudden nighttime fights, continuous gunfire would provoke strong resentment—gangs found it hard to get guns and avoided excessive use to maintain factional balance. Incidents where residents besieged and angered Security Bureau members had happened before.Dennisen dodged a sword swung from the front and then severed the opponent's arm. Adventure was always his approach, not mine. Moreover, Panthonia even preferred to venture alone. If his estimation was correct, he was upstairs facing Salvaney alone. Dennisen didn't know what was happening upstairs, but he hoped his partner would successfully subdue Salvaney and bring the culprit downstairs, thus nearing the end of the mission without any losses.That hope was not fulfilled. The last surviving vicious dog lunged forward, biting a Security Bureau colleague's sword-wielding arm. An enemy slashed into the colleague's neck, causing him to fall.In front of Dennisen, the enemy with a severed arm was not giving up. He picked up a fallen knife and charged again. Dennisen didn't need to dodge, he simply struck first and killed the enemy, but this did not boost his confidence. Excluding Panthonia, they had five people left. The enemies on the first floor also numbered five. The issue wasn't that they killed one more, but that no one from the Security Bureau should have died. Move faster, partner.Another colleague, more impatient with the chaos, seized a moment when no one was watching and ran from the edge of the room to the stairs leading to the second floor, ascending. This violated the prearranged plan as it might draw more people to Salvaney. Dennisen wanted to shout for him to come down, but it was too late. The figure disappeared at the junction of the stairs and the first-floor ceiling; seconds later, he tumbled down, his face a mangled mess. Dennisen didn't know what happened; his mind was filled with simple numbers. Two of them were dead. Two of us were dead. Excluding Panthonia, four of us remained. Excluding those upstairs, they still had five. Why did the colleague who rushed upstairs die so quickly? Because the opponent had spare strength...Panthonia didn't see how the colleague died. He was entangled with the assassin, vaguely noticing Salvaney turning and swinging an iron rod. Salvaney seemed in no hurry to attack him, just standing there watching. This was the right choice, as attacking together in a not spacious room would only hinder each other, especially since both Salvaney and the assassin were better at solo combat. However, from the occasional glimpse of Salvaney's eyes, Panthonia felt something else brewing.He had no chance to expand on this momentary speculation. Anyway, being able to face the assassin one-on-one was beneficial, as the attacks were fierce. After several exchanges, Panthonia was uninjured but unable to mount an effective counterattack. Maybe it was an illusion, but the opponent's moves reminded him of Jorach —someone who, when they first met, had far more comprehensive abilities than Panthonia. But a crucial difference was the confidence in the opponent's eyes—Jolachi always replaced confidence with caution. This assassin believed his strength and speed couldn't lose to the Security Bureau investigator in front of him. After another round of offense and defense, Panthonia retreated to the window. The assassin did not immediately pursue.
"Don't worry, Salvaney," he said. "I only need one of his hands. His head will be yours."
After saying this, he stepped forward, swinging his blade. Panthonia used his left hand to pull down the curtain behind him and swung it forward, then ducked. The curtain obscured the assassin's vision, covering his knife-wielding arm, making him miss his opponent's speed. Panthonia circled behind, placing his dagger below the assassin's neck. Just a pull, like he had done hundreds of times, and he could face Salvaney alone, closer to killing one more, closer to victory, closer to becoming the leader of the intelligence agency. But he couldn't kill the assassin; he felt a sharp impact on his right rib. The hit affected both, and they fell almost simultaneously.It was Salvaney who swung the iron rod, hitting both.
"I want both your heads," he said. "What Ravenholt, a bunch of trash. I'll smash as many heads as come."
After speaking, he brought the iron rod down again. Panthonia rolled sideways to dodge, while the assassin, being taller and slower to dodge, got hit on the shoulder. Salvaney didn't look at Panthonia, stepping on the assassin's chest and raising the iron rod. The assassin grabbed Salvaney's ankle with his still-moving hand, a meaningless action more out of regret than a counterattack or plea. He thought he didn't need the commission, felt he could uphold his dignity and grandeur far from the manor, dreaming occasionally of replacing Jorach. But it ended here. Salvaney drove the rod into his head and pulled it out.Panthonia used this time to dodge to the other side of the room. The reason for not immediately counterattacking was that he couldn't. In fact, after the hit, he could barely stand. His ribs were broken. If the rod's tip hadn't first hit the assassin's arm, weakening the impact, he might have died first. The fight downstairs continued, with no hope of help coming. The plan to swiftly infiltrate, create chaos on the first floor, capture Salvaney alive, and force his underlings to surrender had gone off track.
"And you, bitch," Salvaney turned around. "Panthonia, is it? No wonder that dumb woman Aretta fancied you, you're much prettier than her husband. Before hanging her, she begged for her life, offering to lure you out. I didn't agree. I never negotiate with those I'm about to kill. Besides, I don't need a stinking woman to help lure out a bitch. I always do it myself."He swung the iron rod to attack. After dodging two or three times, Panthonia realized he had underestimated Salvaney's mind. He had a reason for keeping such a weapon in his bedroom; he had considered the room's size and the rod's length, adjusting his grip to further control the attack range, preventing the opponent from getting close. Using fists in public might have been a cover.Fortunately, the rod's speed didn't exceed Panthonia's reaction, even though he was injured. He seized an opening to approach Salvaney, but in that moment, he realized it was a mistake. Salvaney swung the rod with his left hand only, and Panthonia didn't consider why in his haste. Now he knew. Salvaney's right fist struck his face. His body softened, and his abdomen took a second punch. He staggered back, falling into a corner.Panthonia heard nothing, his left vision dark. The punch hit near his eye socket, and the abdominal punch made blood seep from his mouth. This was a trap. His knife's speed couldn't match Salvaney's fist. The dagger still clutched in his hand was no longer for counterattack but for retreat through the left door to the hallway, needing better terrain and help.Salvaney lifted a chest about half a man's height, hurling it at Panthonia. He raised his hands to shield his head; the chest passed over half the room, striking him. Compared to the punches, this wasn't heavy but aggravated his rib injury. As he moved aside, he didn't notice the dagger had fallen, buried under the fallen chest. The successive hits shook something deep in his brain violently. Despite facing death many times, he had never been so embarrassed—not a single counterattack, defeated by an iron rod and furniture.Before he could stand, Panthonia vaguely saw Salvaney approaching. He pushed against the wall, avoiding sideways; the rod missed his neck by an inch, embedding in the wall. He dragged his unsteady body out of the room into the hallway. Salvaney chased, striking downward; Panthonia dodged, but lost balance and fell. The rod shattered the hallway railing, splintering wood.
"You little bitch," Salvaney's face glistened with sweat. "You look like you've done some assassin work. Sneaky tricks might work on others, but to me, they're a joke."Panthonia's hearing had recovered. He heard someone stepping onto the stairs. Then came two gunshots; the first hit the wall, the second struck Salvaney's right arm. The iron rod clattered to the floor.Dennisen was at the turn of the stairs, pulling the trigger. Anxiety and a cut on his upper arm had thrown off his aim. Someone was behind him; the battle on the first floor had ended, with three colleagues sacrificed. The remaining survivor was guarding the captured criminals.
"Don't move," Dennisen said. "This is the end for you."
Salvaney turned and ran to the end of the hallway, bursting through a small door, disappearing from Panthonia's view.Dennisen approached his partner, frowning.
"Damn, that guy's ruthless. Your left eyeball is bulging out."
"We can't let him escape. He must have others elsewhere."
"I'll go after him." Dennisen stood up and instructed the colleague behind him. "Quick, tend to Investigator Shawl's injuries."
Leaving this order, he picked up his gun and followed through the door at the end of the hallway.Panthonia sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, letting others stop his bleeding. He tried to steady his breathing. But moments later, he realized it wasn't time to rest. He kicked away the chest, retrieved the dagger from underneath, and chased in the same direction.