Screech!
Ren twisted sharply in midair, dodging a blade that grazed past his shoulder. His Malay dagger flashed, slicing cleanly across the neck of a Bloodhand Gang enforcer.
As blood sprayed in a crimson arc, he shot upward again, narrowly evading a sword that slashed at the small propeller above his head.
He flipped his grip, driving the dagger backward into an attacker's eye socket before kicking the man away with brutal force.
The recoil sent him drifting back, widening the gap as he quickly analyzed the flaws in his previous movement—then dove once more, seeking his next kill.
Occasional bullets whizzed up toward him, striking the small rotor over his head, but a faint current of air surrounding his body deflected them with ease.
It was one-sided slaughter.
The Bloodhand Gang's elites fell one after another, twenty bodies hitting the ground in mere moments.
Blood and terror painted the battlefield, forming a macabre tableau of death.
Behind them, the blazing inferno roared higher and higher, a fiery backdrop framing the overwhelming destruction.
The difference in power was simply too vast.
Their blades could do little more than tear Ren's clothes—none could even scratch his skin.
And in terms of strength, the gap was monstrous. To them, blocking Ren's attacks felt like trying to stop a starving bear with bare hands.
Hopelessness filled their eyes—they could only wait for death.
Then, suddenly—
Bang!
A gunshot rang out.
A bullet whistled upward, slamming into the small rotor above Ren's head. Sparks burst, and the fragile anti-gravity device instantly shorted out.
The reaper of the skies lost his "wings" and plummeted to the ground.
At the same time, a wooden panel flipped open atop a nearby platform, revealing a hidden compartment.
"Ha ha ha ha! Nice shot! Mork, you really live up to the title of Hawk-Eye Sniper!"
Zagu, the Bloodhand Gang leader, climbed out laughing, a long launcher slung over his shoulder.
In the shadows behind him stood a man with a flintlock rifle fitted with a scope and a monocular targeting lens strapped to his forehead.
His hands moved deftly as he reloaded—silent to Zagu's praise.
This was Mork, the sniper Zagu had mentioned.
He had been waiting patiently, reluctant to fire until he was sure his bullet would hit something vital.
Then he noticed the strange toy-like device on the enemy's head—something Ren seemed to guard instinctively.
That had to be important—maybe even the reason the man could fly.
So, when his wind-sensing lens confirmed the air currents had faded around Ren, he seized his chance.
And the result was perfect. Now, it was time for his boss to shine.
If bullets couldn't kill this monster… what about a rocket?
"You can shrug off bullets, huh? Impressive! But let's see you handle this!"
Before Ren could even react, Zagu raised the launcher and pulled the trigger."Times have changed, bastard!"
Flames burst from the muzzle as a rocket screamed toward him.
For an instant, time froze.
A sharp sense of danger gripped Ren—his pupils contracted, reflecting the fiery projectile hurtling his way.
His instincts screamed. The Indestructible Vajra Body could stop bullets, but not something like that.
He wouldn't die—but the damage would be serious.
Guns and cannons—they belonged to different worlds of destruction.
The conclusion wasn't ideal, but not unexpected.
After all, the "Third Calabash Brother" template from the roulette, while powerful, wasn't absurd enough to tank artillery.
The broken rotor was just an added misfortune. The ambush had come too suddenly for him to prepare.
He hadn't studied the Bloodhand Gang deeply—too focused on enjoying the chaos of his earlier "warm welcome."
Naturally, he hadn't noticed the silent sniper who'd been waiting all along.
Close combat slowed him slightly—each dodge, each strike required thought and reaction time.
He wasn't a machine.
And one small lapse was all it took for Zagu to strike—an opportunistic rocket at point-blank range.
But sadly for Zagu…
"Times are about to change back."
Ren's calm eyes locked onto the incoming rocket.
Because he heard it—the sound of a blade splitting a door in two, cleaving through flames, accompanied by hurried yet powerful footsteps behind him.
He's here.
Ren whispered softly, "Zoro."
"Yeah," came the curt reply.
In the next heartbeat, a figure flashed before him—phantom-like, blade gleaming.
A single slash cleaved the air. The rocket split neatly in half, its two halves whirling past and exploding harmlessly in the flames behind them.
BOOM!
The twin detonations echoed through the hall, the shockwave rolling like thunder.
Zoro exhaled through his nose.
Ren, expression calm, flicked open his lighter and lit a cigarette.
Nicotine filled his lungs, dulling the burn of heat licking his back.
That blast had been a little too warm. His shirt was probably done for.
"Sorry, everyone," he said flatly.
Blood-soaked and unflinching, Zoro drew his second sword, his cold gaze locking on Zagu."This man happens to be my employer. If you want to hurt him, you'll have to step over my corpse first."
"If they could do that," Ren muttered, slipping the broken rotor into his pocket, "they wouldn't be down to this few."
Wind coiled around him again, rippling with invisible energy.
[Buff Active: Blessing of Arrow Avoidance!]
A rocket's still a ranged weapon.
And if it got deflected midair, the explosion would barely even scratch him.
"You… you two—"
Zagu's face shifted wildly from red to blue to pale white.
He had thought victory was within reach—only for a sword-wielding demon to appear and cut a rocket in half.
Who was this monster? Since when had the Bloodhand Gang pissed off someone like this?
In the shadows, Mork silently reloaded, his scoped rifle rising once more.
He could hit the target—but his hands trembled.
That green-haired man radiated killing intent like a feral beast.
Honestly, anyone strong enough to fight alongside the bulletproof freak wasn't going to be normal.
Before he could think further, his finger twitched—
Bang!
He hadn't even realized he'd pulled the trigger.
Like a man startled by a predator on a dark road, his body had fired out of pure panic.
And yet, even that blind shot was deadly accurate.
The bullet screamed toward Zoro's head—straight, unerring—
—and then, clang!
Zoro's blade flicked up, deflecting it effortlessly. He didn't even look fully his way, just glanced sideways.
Mork froze, drenched in cold sweat, his grip locking tight around the gun.
"Die!"
Zagu's roar split the air as he fired a second rocket.
(End of Chapter)