“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.”

the trigger, yet Jagoan remained unfazed. Fear tinged the edges of his bravado,

furious grit of his teeth, he spat, “Chinese man!

He hammered the trigger!

saw their boss’s murderous intent. At this point, revulsion painted their faces, anticipating the

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

he struggled to pull the trigger, he muttered, “What’s happening… Why can’t I…

to render his

grain of rice.

still had power in his arm, yet his fingers were rebellious. In his panic, Jagoan reached out and wrenched the

and confidently inspected the sleek Italian M9 pistol, “If God wants to

drawing pistols in their panic, preparing to fire

sneered, seizing the black man’s wrist and

a massive, dark force slammed into them from the side. Before they could

an instant, five bodies

hung by threads, cheekbones, ribs, and leg bones shattered. Countless fractures

other four didn’t sustain as severe injuries, the sudden and powerful impact felt like a high-speed

battered, they lay

imagined an ordinary person could wield such incredible power. They knew, deep down, that they’d encountered a master. Perhaps this was a

the five, his expression

their refuge in the

beaten half to death already, and now all traces of his former fierceness had vanished.

stared at him and delivered a

reverberated throughout

Burning Angels… Who came up with such a ridiculous name? Look at

man’s cheek was explosive, but all he could do now was cry and plead with Jagoan. “I’m sorry, truly sorry. I had no idea you knew kung fu, please, let us go, we’ll never

brow and

on the

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