“Holy hell!” The man’s fingers trembled, poised dangerously close to the trigger.

He was a tempest in human form.

Bouncing within a three-meter radius, he muttered darkly. “Ending this bastard now. Instantly! Instantly!”

A sly wink rallied his followers, who promptly sealed the goose shop’s fate.

With the door secured, the man’s gun zeroed in on Charlie’s brow, chilling intent in his voice, “Chinese love tempting gun barrels. I’ve put down many like you. One more won’t change a thing. Any final words, speak them now.”

“Final words?” Charlie jeered, disdain dripping from his words. “You’re a farce, not a threat.”

He rapped the table with a smirk. “Jordan, my meal. Chop chop!”

Jordan rushed from the kitchen, clutching a bowl of roast goose rice, his words a jumble. “Mr. Wade… Here’s your rice…”

In one Swift motion, the black man sent the entire meal scattering, “You’re thinking of a feast at death’s door?!” he thundered.

He swung his weapon towards the fallen bowl, squeezing the trigger. The gunshot rang out, shattering the plastic container and sending Jordan into a quaking fit.

Hogan, on the sidelines, remained unfazed. He was aware that these men were nothing more than insignificant specks compared to Charlie.

The Burning Angel?

A sideshow compared to him.

The Joules family, a powerful dynasty in New York, had no influence as Charlie mercilessly shot Patrick Joules right in front of them.

Who in the Joules clan would dare oppose him? When Charlie asked Patrick’s father, grandfather, and great-grandfather Joules whether they were convinced that he killed Patrick, who would dare to say no?

Now, a few gang members who knew nothing about the world dared to jump in front of Jagoan with guns, and Jagoan would never let them have an easy time.

The leader locked eyes with Jagoan, who showed no fear. Instead, he turned to Jordan and said, “Bring me another bowl. This swill’s a waste. I’ll make him kneel like a dog, licking every grain off the floor.”

He’d pulled the trigger, yet Jagoan remained unfazed. Fear tinged the edges of his bravado,

of his teeth, he spat, “Chinese man!

He hammered the trigger!

a few steps. They saw their boss’s murderous intent. At this point, revulsion painted

was about to be shot, the black man’s eyes

trigger, he muttered, “What’s happening… Why can’t I… Why can’t

minuscule amount of energy, enough to render his opponent utterly defenseless. The black man’s hand had

grain of rice.

fingers were rebellious. In his panic, Jagoan reached

to see me, he’ll have to come to me,

men behind him scrambled, drawing pistols in their

wrist and swinging him

four could draw their weapons, a massive, dark force slammed into them from the side. Before

bodies lay wailing in

most. His right arm hung by threads, cheekbones, ribs,

four didn’t sustain as severe injuries, the sudden and powerful impact felt

and battered, they

such incredible power. They knew, deep down,

approached the five,

back, their refuge in the corner

tough guy had been beaten half to death already, and now all traces of his former fierceness

delivered a resounding

sharp crack reverberated throughout

a wry smile, “The underworld, huh? And the Burning Angels… Who came up with such a ridiculous

explosive, but all he could do now was cry and plead with Jagoan. “I’m sorry, truly sorry. I had no idea

brow and delivered

sound grated on the

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