The wild grass by the roadside.
The dismembered bodies of three security guards were strewn about the wild grass like discarded trash.
The security team of the Bright Group certainly had its strength, but their biggest advantage lay in the brand they carried.
Without the brand, their actual strength was still lacking compared to the White Masks.
At the edge of the grass, three White Masks sat casually with minor injuries, like they had just finished a picnic and were chatting idly with full stomachs.
They waited for a long time, but the man with downturned eyes hadn't returned.
One of them, chewing on a grass stalk, impatiently asked:
"Why hasn't that guy come back yet? How far did he chase? Has he gone crazy?"
Another snickered:
"He's probably caught the target and is toying with them slowly. You know what he's into."
The babyface silently trimmed his nails.
