The stairwell was already heading into a death spiral.
Leo listened to the increasingly close, chaotic, and heavy footsteps from below, his eyes as cold as frost.
He leaned the instrument case against the wall, gripped his glock 19 with both hands, took a deep breath, and waited silently like a predator merging into the shadows.
"Upstairs! Quick!"
"Catch him! The boss has a big reward!"
Several of Ding Qing's subordinates, brandishing Pistols and machetes, rushed up from the stairwell corner. They were just ordinary thugs, relying on their numbers, with no tactical formation whatsoever.
Leo moved!
He emerged like a ghost from behind the stair railing on the floor above, his arms steady as a rock.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
A rapid three-shot burst! The gunshots were deafening in the enclosed stairwell.
The three people at the front fell in response, blood blossoming from their foreheads or chests, and tumbled down the stairs without a sound.
Those behind were startled by the precise and deadly Shooting, their charge abruptly halting as they frantically searched for cover.
Leo used this brief interval to move quickly down several steps like a nimble cat, gaining a more advantageous Shooting angle.
His movements were silent, his steps precise, always using the stairwell's structure to avoid potential return fire.
"Siba! Shoot! Shoot back!" Someone below roared.
Sporadic Pistol bullets flew wildly, hitting the concrete walls and metal railings, splattering debris and sparks, but they couldn't even touch Leo's clothes.
Leo calmly leaned out again, bang! Bang! Two more shots, and two thugs who tried to peek out and shoot fell screaming.
Magazine empty! Click!
The crisp sound of the slide locking back echoed.
Almost simultaneously, the remaining people below thought they had seized an opportunity and charged up, howling!
Leo showed no panic; his movements to eject the spent magazine and insert a new one were swift. His thumb pressed the release, the empty magazine fell freely, a new one was drawn from his waist, inserted, and slapped into place—the entire process took less than a second!
His right thumb then pushed forward to release the slide, and the slide returned to battery!
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Bullets whistled out again, taking down the two closest chargers!
Seven or eight people already lay in the stairwell, blood staining the steps, and the sounds of wailing and the stench of blood filled the air.
But more people were surging up from downstairs, and there might even be people flanking him from upstairs.
Pistol bullets were also running low.
Leo's eyes sharpened, knowing he had to act quickly and force a breakthrough!
He suddenly hurled his empty Pistol into the crowd below, and while they dodged, he drew a dull, black tactical dagger from his boot and pounced down like a leopard!
Pfft!
The dagger precisely sliced across a thug's throat, releasing a gush of warm blood.
He sidestepped a cleaving machete, grabbed the opponent's wrist with his left hand, and twisted it backward!
Crack!
The sound of bone breaking was clearly audible, but to Leo, it was like music! His right hand's dagger then plunged into the opponent's ribs, burying itself to the hilt!
Elbow strike!
Knee strike!
Every flash of the dagger's cold light was inevitably accompanied by a grunt or a scream!
He danced a dance of death in the stairwell, his movements efficient, ruthless, and without excess. Every dodge, every attack precisely utilized the environment and human weaknesses.
The dagger parried attacks, sliced tendons, and pierced organs!
Occasionally, a stray opponent got close, and he would use extremely vicious close-quarters combat techniques to instantly neutralize their fighting ability, twisting necks, crushing throats, or gouging out eyes!
Fists met flesh, blades met blood!
His white suit was quickly splattered with crimson, like cruel plum blossoms blooming in the snow.
But his face remained expressionless, only his eyes were terrifyingly focused, as if he wasn't killing people, but completing a work of art.
The demeanor of a top assassin was fully displayed at this moment. He brutally carved a bloody path through the crowd, moving to the lower floor.
In the top-floor conference room, Ding Qing received an urgent report from his subordinate.
"Boss! The assassin is temporarily cornered by our men in the stairwell between the 7th and 8th floors! But that guy is too strong; our casualties are heavy, and we can't hold him much longer!"
The furious expression on Ding Qing's face subsided slightly, replaced by a cold killing intent.
He looked at Johnny.
Johnny nodded, not speaking.
He subconsciously checked his glock 34, confirmed it was in good condition, then turned and walked unhurriedly towards the elevator.
His steady pace formed a bizarre and stark contrast with the bloody slaughter happening in the opposite stairwell.
It was as if he wasn't going to participate in a life-or-death pursuit, but an event.
He pressed the down arrow for the elevator, the elevator doors opened, and he stepped inside.
The mirrored elevator walls reflected his stern, unperturbed face.
The numbers slowly counted down:...10...9...8... The elevator stopped on the 1st floor.
The doors opened, Johnny stepped out, adjusted his collar, and walked towards the building opposite.
He didn't move fast. When he reached the bottom of the building, he saw several low-ranking members fleeing down the stairwell, panicked and terrified.
They looked at him as if he were their backbone, but were also intimidated by his cold aura and dared not approach.
Johnny ignored them and walked directly to the stairwell fire door.
Inside the door, faint sounds of intense fighting, screams, and the impact of bodies were ceaseless.
Johnny gently pushed open the fire door.
Blood was already dripping from the stairs, and bodies and wounded lay scattered on the steps, blood almost covering the walls and stairs.
The remaining three or four thugs were blocking the stairwell above, facing the white-clad man who was covered in blood but still had eyes as fierce as a wolf, yet they cowered, not daring to advance.
Leo had just twisted someone's neck, breathing heavily, and drops of blood continuously dripped from his dagger. He heard the door open and sharply looked down.
Johnny stood at the doorway, light streaming in from behind him, making him appear somewhat backlit. He calmly surveyed the gruesome scene inside, his gaze finally settling on Leo above.
Their eyes met.
The air seemed to solidify at that moment.
The clamor of the fighting seemed to instantly recede, leaving only the silent clash of auras between two top assassins.
Johnny slowly spoke, "It seems you've run into a bit of trouble."
"Need help?"
Leo wiped a smear of blood from his face, a cold, battle-ready curve forming on his lips.
"Just finished warming up."
"Oh? So, the main course is just beginning?"
"Of course!"
In this stairwell, filled with the strong scent of blood, battle intent was on the verge of erupting.
But who was Johnny?
He wouldn't play any samurai duels.
He raised his Pistol and pulled the trigger!
Pfft!
"Siba! You son of a bitch! Despicable and shameless!"
Leo had already guessed that Johnny wouldn't engage him in a samurai duel, but he hadn't expected the guy to just open fire without a word!
Fortunately, he had already noticed something was wrong and raised his forearm in advance, but the shot still grazed the edge of his right shoulder!
A stinging pain slowly spread, and he gasped, adjusting his breathing, "Can I say, as expected of Night Owl? He really holds grudges!"
He was referring to the time he had tracked and attacked Johnny before; he hadn't expected Johnny to be so vengeful.
"Of course, I've always remembered!"
Johnny's lips curled, revealing his white teeth.
His other subordinates had already retreated. They knew their place, understanding that it was best for them not to be present in such a situation, as their work was already done.
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