As soon as the man finished his business, Xiang Ri was already tightening his grip around his neck. But this opponent was far tougher than the previous guards; with a brutal instinct, he drove an elbow backwards in a powerful counterattack.
Prepared for such a move, Xiang Ri blocked the strike with his arm and deftly dislocated the man's arm, finally pulling him aside for interrogation.
"Stay quiet, or you'll regret it," Xiang Ri warned, loosening his grip just slightly.
Yet the man seemed unfazed by the threat, opening his mouth as if to shout for help. Xiang Ri's hand tightened again, cutting him off.
"I warned you there'd be consequences if you didn't listen," Xiang Ri said with a cruel smile, though in the dim light, the man couldn't see the chilling expression on his face.
With a steady hand, Xiang Ri clenched the man's now-useless wrist, his fingers digging in, producing a sickening grind of bone against bone. The excruciating pain was too much for the man to bear; though his arm was disabled, he could still feel every bit of the agony. Desperate to scream, he could only manage garbled, muted sounds as the chokehold stifled his voice.
Death itself didn't scare him, but the relentless torment broke his resolve. After barely a minute, he caved, nodding desperately as if to convey his compliance.
"How many are inside?" Satisfied, Xiang Ri stopped twisting the man's wrist and asked directly.
The man nodded, then shook his head frantically, spitting out a stream of rapid, unintelligible words.
"What gibberish are you spouting?" Xiang Ri realized, frustrated, that the man didn't understand Chinese—he must be speaking his native tongue. With a wry smile, Xiang Ri switched to English as a last resort. If that didn't work, he could always kill him. "How many people are inside?" he asked.
"Twelve." To Xiang Ri's surprise, the man understood.
"You're sure you haven't miscounted?" Xiang Ri asked suspiciously, recalling an unlucky guard who had mentioned over twenty people.
"No!" The man's response was adamant.
"But I was told there are more than twenty of you." Xiang Ri's hand flexed, his knuckles cracking ominously.
"No," the man stammered, trembling as he imagined the torture about to follow. "One group hasn't returned yet."
"What?" Xiang Ri's heart skipped a beat—had some slipped through? He pressed, "How many in the other group? Where did they go?"
"Thirteen men, went out this afternoon. Only the leader knows their mission."
"This afternoon?" Xiang Ri's thoughts raced back to the men he'd encountered at the bar. Could they have been the other group? Counting those he'd dispatched there, it added up to exactly thirteen, meaning no one had escaped. Relieved, he continued, "Did they bring in two injured men this afternoon? Are they among those inside?"
"No, they're in the villa, receiving medical attention."
"Time to meet your maker," Xiang Ri said coldly.
"No—" The man's scream was cut off abruptly as his neck twisted at an unnatural angle.
"Twelve men," Xiang Ri murmured to himself, a faint smile forming at the corner of his mouth. "I wonder if I can handle them all in one sweep." Removing the borrowed jacket, he reached behind him under his loose black shirt, retrieving the Glock 47 he'd taken at the bar. One clip was already spent, but thankfully, he had another fully loaded one. Thirty rounds against twelve unsuspecting targets—his eyes gleamed with ruthless resolve.
Silently, Xiang Ri eased open the garage door and slipped inside undetected. Around a large table, several men were feasting and drinking with abandon, oblivious to the Grim Reaper now in their midst.
He wasn't in a rush to shoot; he needed to move closer to minimize any chance of escape and spare himself unnecessary hassle.
"Who are you?" One man, facing him, finally noticed the stranger's presence and froze, bewildered.
Although Xiang Ri couldn't understand the question, he could easily guess its meaning. A soft smile spread across his face, yet his words held a chilling menace: "The one who's here to send you all to the afterlife." With that, he raised his Glock 47, unleashing a torrent of bullets.
When the spray of gunfire ceased, not a single soul remained standing. Untrusting of appearances, Xiang Ri inspected each one, ensuring there were no survivors before stepping out of the garage.
In the mansion's study:
Wu Heyan suddenly rose, looking at his younger brother. "Did you hear gunfire?"
"It's the roar of a Glock 47—a symphony of wrath," Wu Henian replied, wearing an expression of intoxicated delight.
"This is no time for indulgence! Go see what's going on!" Wu Heyan's disdain for his brother's foreign mannerisms and vices was unmistakable.
"Relax! It's just a few restless men letting off steam." To Wu Henian, it was nothing more than his henchmen venting their frustration after days without "activity" in this wretched place.
"I think you should still check," Wu Heyan insisted, his sense of unease growing.
"Brother, you're always so cautious. Not that it's wrong, but sometimes it's overkill. Do you really think anything could go wrong with my men here?" Wu Henian replied with supreme confidence.
"Better safe than sorry," Wu Heyan said earnestly.
"Don't worry! In two days, once the goods arrive, they won't be so bored anymore."
"Maybe," Wu Heyan sighed, unable to sway him and feeling a deep sense of helplessness.
"Alright, Brother. Since you're so anxious, I'll take a look, but I assure you—nothing's happened," Wu Henian said, rising and strolling leisurely out of the study.
Watching the door left ajar, Wu Heyan shook his head, trying to dispel the creeping sense of dread.
Suddenly, a terrified shout came from the hallway: "Who are you?" Followed by a heavy thud, as if something weighty had hit the floor.
Wu Heyan's heart skipped a beat. He quickly opened a drawer, pulling out a handgun.