“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

wide, lips flapping without sound. With a furious grit of his teeth, he spat, “Chinese man! Since you court death, I’ll deliver you

He hammered the trigger!

eyes shut, while the black man’s companions retreated a few steps. They saw their boss’s murderous intent. At this point, revulsion painted their

thought Jagoan was about to

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

smile held steady. He’d only exerted a minuscule amount of energy, enough to render his

grain of rice.

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

Italian M9 pistol, “If God wants to see me, he’ll have to come to me, not

men behind him scrambled, drawing pistols in their panic, preparing to fire

man’s wrist and swinging him like

force slammed into them from the side. Before they could react, they

five bodies lay wailing in the

man who was tossed suffered the most. His right arm hung by threads, cheekbones, ribs,

other four didn’t sustain as severe injuries, the sudden and

and battered, they

power. They knew, deep down, that they’d encountered a master. Perhaps this was a legendary Kung Fu

approached the five, his expression

refuge in the corner now a

once been the tough guy had been beaten half to death already, and now all traces of

and delivered a resounding slap across his

sharp crack reverberated throughout the

a wry smile, “The underworld, huh? And the Burning Angels… Who came up with such a ridiculous name? Look at that grizzled mug of yours—does it have anything to do

explosive, but all he could do now was cry and plead with Jagoan. “I’m sorry,

his brow and delivered

the eardrums of the

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