“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

a furious grit of his teeth,

He hammered the trigger!

few steps. They saw their boss’s murderous intent. At this

Jagoan was about to be

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

He’d only exerted a minuscule amount of energy, enough to render his opponent utterly defenseless. The black man’s hand

grain of rice.

bewildered, still had power in his arm, yet his fingers

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

drawing pistols in their panic, preparing

sneered, seizing the black man’s wrist and swinging him

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

five bodies lay wailing in

suffered the most. His right arm hung by threads, cheekbones, ribs, and leg bones shattered.

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

and battered, they

never imagined an ordinary person could wield such incredible power. They knew, deep

the

refuge in the

beaten half to death already, and now all

delivered

throughout the roast goose

huh? And the Burning Angels… Who came up with such a ridiculous name? Look at that grizzled mug of

and plead with Jagoan. “I’m sorry, truly sorry. I had no idea you knew kung fu, please, let us go,

his brow and

sound grated on the eardrums of the

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