Some of them stormed in directly through the first-floor lobby, brazenly attacking the police and pushing their way upstairs.
Others used grappling guns to shoot hooks from the opposite buildings, zipping across on cables to break in.
Still others donned wing suits and glided down from high above like flying bats, landing on the rooftop and entering through the stairwell.
Wave after wave came without end—the mercenaries were like locusts, impossible to wipe out completely.
They were all fully armed, carrying heavy weapons, truly a private army by any standard, and some even had superhuman abilities.
Under these circumstances, the police forces held out for less than ten minutes before being completely annihilated.
“Don’t worry, I won’t die. Just make sure you protect Miss Ye and Professor Huang!”
Downstairs on the first floor, in a room, Qiu Gong sat against the wall, breathing heavily, laughing with unbridled spirit.
His chest was torn open, a chunk of his shoulder was blasted away, and blood constantly bubbled from his mouth.
“This stubborn old bastard has bones of steel! I shot him once, and he’s still holding on!”
Scattered throughout the end of the hallway, various offices, and the restrooms, seventeen or eight Blackwater mercenaries took up positions—some with firearms, others with cold weapons.
Blackwater mercenaries, also known as the Blackwater Security Consulting Company, were security guards in name, but their equipment rivaled that of the regular U.S. military. They played a major role in the Iraq War and were known as the U.S. government’s off-the-books special forces.
The ones deployed this time were Blackwater’s most elite—every single one a legend on the mercenary leaderboards.
Qiu Gong held the White Ape Bone Saber in his right hand and clutched a grenade in his left, which he had taken from one of the mercenaries. He was ready to blow them all up with him if they rushed him.
He had lost so much blood—three gunshot wounds, one of which was a through-and-through in his shoulder, leaving him unable to even lift his arm.
Suddenly, with a bang, dust flew everywhere as the walls on both sides were blown open by miniature explosive devices.
Before the smoke could clear, seven or eight mercenaries burst in from both sides. Qiu Gong tried to pull the pin on the grenade, but—
Bang!
The mercenaries, tense and on edge, instinctively pulled their triggers, and bullets flew.
Qiu Gong’s wrist holding the grenade was shot and blood sprayed; he dropped the grenade before he could pull the pin, and it skittered away.
At the same time, eight crossbows aimed at Qiu Gong’s legs and fired wildly. The sickening sound of sharp metal piercing flesh rang out in quick succession.
Qiu Gong staggered backward, slumping against a pillar behind him, his pant legs soaked in blood. He let out a grim smile, radiating the tragic dignity of a spent force, and waved at the men before him, gritting his teeth. “Come on, if you’ve got the guts, face me like men!”
He refused to accept it—how could he be driven into a corner by these pack-hunting scum? It was a disgrace beyond measure.
“I have always deeply admired Chinese martial artists.”
Behind the eight men appeared a tall, well-muscled man with a handsome face, armed to the teeth, a black cloth tied around his head—sharp, efficient, and radiating cool intensity.
A foreign gentleman with an air of sophistication, yet he had a nickname that clashed violently with his looks—Satan.
Satan—the Devil in the Bible.
This man had once been the fearsome and revered chief instructor of Delta Force, a force of twenty-five hundred men. NATO’s combined forces called him the toughest creature on the North American continent. Now he was the chief consultant of Blackwater, and their most powerful operative.
“You, to the camera… admit defeat. I will not kill you.” Satan raised his pistol, his Chinese a bit rough, a look of mocking amusement on his face.
Chinese martial artists had brought him too much humiliation. He wanted to reclaim the dignity of the world’s top mercenary.
“Bullshit!” Qiu Gong roared.
Satan roughly understood what that meant. He sneered, raised his gun, and aimed at Qiu Gong’s forehead.
Qiu Gong stuck out his neck, eyes unblinking, determined to watch how he would die.
In that moment, he thought of Ye Gufeng, of the heroes of Jiangbei, of his whole tumultuous life, of Jiang Tian. A wave of sorrow welled up in his heart.
He was never one to fear death—but the thought of never seeing those familiar faces again filled him with aching reluctance.
“A general’s fate is to fall before the enemy. I’ve lived a full life. No regrets.”
“The only pity is, Master Jiang, I couldn’t hold out to the last as you ordered. Next life, I’ll still be your loyal follower, and we’ll create endless glory together…”
Qiu Gong raised his head, waiting for death.
At the office entrance, two mercenaries stood guard. Suddenly, a sharp whistle rang out, and they turned instinctively.
A blur was already right before them, like a ghost. Stunned beyond belief, they didn’t have time to fire before a razor-sharp arc of light, faster than the eye could follow, slashed through the air.
The two mercenaries stood frozen, their eyes slowly losing focus as a thin red line spread from the top of their heads down to their groins.
In the next instant, that red line burst wide open—splash!
Both bodies split cleanly in half from the middle, steaming entrails spilling across the floor.
A wind-like figure charged into the room like a phantom, sending countless blades of wind slashing wildly in every direction.
Blade after blade came in rapid succession, like a dragon made of wind, with no gaps between them.
The seven mercenaries who had shot Qiu Gong fell to the ground one by one, dead on the spot—their helmets and body armor torn open.
“Transcendent Grandmaster—Jiang Taichu!”
Satan barely dodged the wind blades at his limit, staring in horror at Jiang Tian. He hadn’t expected him to attack so fast.
“Heh. You managed to dodge my wind blades—you’ve got some skill.”
Jiang Tian smiled coldly, and without even letting Satan raise his pistol, he sent seven or eight more wind blades flying straight at him.
“Ahhh!”
With a piercing scream, Satan was blasted into the air by the wind blades, slammed into the wall, and slid back down, covered in blood. Even his custom-made, gold-plated Desert Eagle was sliced clean in two.
“Chinese martial arts… truly formidable…”
With those last words, Satan’s pupils slowly faded. His head drooped, and he was dead.
“Master Jiang!”
Qiu Gong froze for a moment, then threw his head back against the wall and laughed wildly, tears shining in his fierce eyes.
Utter despair, then suddenly hope—watching Master Jiang descend like a god from above. The emotional whiplash was too much for this iron-willed martial artist to bear; he wanted nothing more than to weep freely.
“Qiu Gong, how does it feel to walk through death’s door?”
Jiang Tian crouched down, pulling out the arrows and bullets from his loyal ally’s wounds and pouring a whole bottle of Black Jade Regeneration Ointment over them.
“Honestly, I’ve felt nothing for a long time. The day I stepped onto the martial path, I foresaw this day.”
Watching Jiang Tian carefully tend to his injuries, Qiu Gong’s eyes glistened with tears of gratitude.
He leaned against the wall, laughed up at the sky, full of unyielding pride, and lit a cigarette. “If I really had crossed that threshold—well, in eighteen years, I’d be a hell of a man again!”
He had fought his whole life, tough and seasoned even in old age, tempered by countless brushes with death. He had long since grown numb to dying.
“Live well. If you die, what about your wife and kids?” Jiang Tian said with a smile.
He finished treating the wounds quickly, cast a few healing talismans, and then charged back upstairs.
Qing’er arrived as well, sweeping through the floors below. Screams rang out in a chorus as enemies fell one after another. The couple fought side by side, nearly a one-sided slaughter.
Ten minutes later, they met up in the CEO’s office. Jiang Tian smiled and said, “I killed fifty-three. How many for you?”
“Fifty-eight. Don’t forget to make breakfast tomorrow!” Zhao Xueqing replied with a smug grin, pushing open the office door.
“Mr. Jiang is here!”
“We’re saved!”
When they saw Jiang Tian and Qing’er enter, Huang Zhihui, who had been pale with fear and muttering prayers, along with all the senior and middle management, burst into cheers of joy.
Ye Ziwei, who had been struggling to keep her composure, finally let go—her mind relaxed, and crystal tears streamed down her face.
“Honey, tonight we took down thirty-two waves—over a hundred mercenaries and assassins from different organizations, all fallen. That should be enough to deter most of the powerful figures in the dark world, right?”
Standing shoulder to shoulder with Jiang Tian by the floor-to-ceiling window, Zhao Xueqing had regained her calm. She gazed down at the glittering nightscape and smiled radiantly.
These killers and mercenaries were all renowned names on the Assassin King List—enough to intimidate the dark forces coveting the Jiang family.
“No. Not enough.”
Jiang Tian stood with his hands behind his back, gently shaking his head. A sharp glint of killing intent flashed in his eyes as he said coldly:
“We still need one true giant. Kill him, and those forces will truly be cowed. Only then will they understand what it costs to offend the Jiang family.”
“Who?” Zhao Xueqing asked, puzzled.
“The overseer of this operation—one of the seven giants of the Big Circle, the Sun God, Apollo.”
Jiang Tian smiled.
The moment the words left his mouth, Jiang Tian’s overwhelming spiritual sense erupted to its limit, surging like a raging sea straight into the heavens, then crashing down and spreading in all directions, blanketing the entire city of Jinling, with its millions of people.
Under the immense power of his Spirit Forging Art, the vast city became transparent to him—nothing could escape his perception.
“Found you.”
A cold smile tugged at the corner of Jiang Tian’s mouth. His spiritual sense had locked onto a blazing sphere of light, brilliant and incandescent like the sun itself—powerful, fierce, and unmatched.
Jiang Tian pushed open the window, shot out like a bullet, and in an instant landed on top of a skyscraper over a hundred meters away.
“Honey, let’s go together!” Qing’er shouted, quickly activating her movement technique to follow.
“They’re… jumping off a building? No—they’re flying!”
Everyone stared in stunned disbelief, witnessing a sight they would never forget.
“Qing’er has become a cultivator too—and she’s so powerful!” Ye Ziwei was utterly astonished.
“Sigh. Lady Jiang is truly a phoenix among people, worthy of Jiang Tian. My daughter… how could she ever compare?”
Watching this, Huang Zhihui was left in a daze after his initial shock, a bitter ache settling in his heart.
…
Yuhua Stone Park, late at night.
Pitch black, deserted.
“The operation actually failed? Over a hundred mercenaries, including Golden Scorpion? This Jiang Taichu is terrifyingly strong!”
On the Yuhua Terrace, amid the dense woods, a handsome young man with blond hair and blue eyes held a jade-plate-like artifact, his expression grave.
He wore a tailcoat, carried a walking stick, and sported leather shoes handmade by an old Italian cobbler—every inch the old gentleman.
In his hand was a life-indicator artifact, crafted by an ancient mage from Western Europe.
It was inlaid with over a hundred tiny rubies. As long as the monitored targets were alive, the rubies would keep flashing. Once they stopped, it meant the target was dead.
Just in the past half hour, those rubies had all gone dark, leaving the entire jade plate shrouded in a chilling gloom.
“The air is so thick—is it going to rain? Terrible weather.” Apollo, handsome as he was, looked up at the sky with a sigh of frustration.
“Hm?”
Suddenly, Apollo felt a jolt. Gazing into the depths of the night sky, he frowned.
“Such powerful mental energy! I didn’t expect China to have someone with spiritual power this terrifying. I thought they only knew martial arts.”
“Jiang Taichu is indeed impressive. But… you made one grave mistake—you shouldn’t have provoked the Big Circle.”
The next moment, however, Apollo chuckled softly. His eyes blazed with intense, searing light, brilliant as the sun itself.
His gaze pierced through the void, staring into the distance, as a dreadful killing intent surged from him in waves. He snorted coldly, “Since you’ve come, I’ll just kill you. That saves the Big Circle five hundred million in bounty fees.”
