Chapter Thirty-Three: The Uprising (Part Four)

Just as Luo Haoran and Song Jingang magically changed their attire and slipped away in plain sight under the noses of the police, hidden among the panicked, swarming crowds, a violent explosion erupted five hundred meters behind them. A rolling shockwave, accompanied by a deafening roar, instantly swept across the entire block. The searing heat made it feel as if the very air had been set ablaze.

A police car was flung into the air by the blast, spun several times, and slammed into the ground. Moments later, leaking fuel ignited, sending flames soaring into the sky.

The entire street fell into chaos. Men and women screamed at the top of their lungs, scurrying in wild panic.

"Requesting backup, requesting backup..." Sensing the police cowering on the ground, glancing around in terror, and hearing the frantic cries for help over the police scanner, Song Jingang and Luo Haoran exchanged a glance. Merging into the chaotic crowd, they disappeared into the maze of streets along their pre-planned route.

"Such a waste of ammunition again..." Luo Haoran’s dissatisfied voice drifted faintly through the air.

***

While Song Jingang and Luo Haoran were launching their attack at the Kabuki-za, Bei Shiliang and Lang Tianyu arrived at a nightclub.

According to the intelligence provided by Li Yongzheng, this was one of the largest nightclubs in Kyoto and the headquarters for the entertainment group under the Jiaolong Association. Not only did it employ a large number of gang members as waiters, sound engineers, and security, but its massive cash flow also made it a vital channel for the Jiaolong Association’s money laundering. Over ten percent of the association's tens of billions of US dollars in black income was laundered here annually, turning it into legitimate revenue to evade investigation by police and tax authorities.

Unlike the Kabuki-za of the Inagaki Association, this nightclub, five blocks away, was clearly not open during the day. The grand, gilded hall, usually resplendent at night, now appeared dim. There were no gentle, professional hostesses at the entrance to greet guests; instead, only a few hulking men in black suits, their faces scarred and coarse, sat listlessly on loungers, staring lazily at the passersby. They wore the large, distinctive badges of the Jiaolong Association.

These men in black, however, remained well-trained. Just as Lang Tianyu and Bei Shiliang entered the lobby, one of the thugs noticed their sturdy, intimidating builds—hardly those of ordinary civilians. He walked straight up to them, cursing crudely, "Who the hell are you? We're not open!"

As he spoke, he reached out to shove Bei Shiliang in the chest.

Bei Shiliang stepped back with a look of feigned cowardice, bowed deeply, and said respectfully, "Forgive me, boss. We aren't here to spend money; we’re here to deliver a gift."

The thug stopped, puzzled, looking Bei Shiliang up and down before glancing at Lang Tianyu. "A gift? Who are you, and what kind of gift?"

"I heard that Master Fujiyama Ken from your association was released from prison today," Bei Shiliang said, a sudden, wicked smile spreading across his face. "Our Inagaki Association Chairman, Inagawa Kazuo, specifically sent us to bring his regards."

Upon hearing the first part of the sentence, the thug’s expression softened slightly, clearly satisfied with the attitude toward Chairman Fujiyama Ken. He nodded with an arrogant air, but his expression changed instantly to one of shock. "What did you say? The Inagaki Association? You..."

He never got the chance to finish his sentence. *Bang!* A bullet carved through his forehead with lightning speed. The immense kinetic energy of the 9mm round snapped his head back, and he collapsed to the floor with a thud. Even in death, his face remained frozen in disbelief, his eyes wide open, staring into nothingness.

*Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang!* The two 98 pistols fired in rapid succession, achieving a rhythm like that of an automatic rifle. The hall erupted in wails.

The fierce gunfire jolted the resting guards and Jiaolong Association members awake.

"We're under attack!" Their initial shock turned to fury. Who dared to stir trouble on their turf? Who would dare attack one of the Jiaolong Association’s most important strongholds?

This was followed by deep contempt. Tired of living? A few hundred men charging out would scare anyone to death!

But while the ideal was pleasant, the reality was cruel.

The Yakuza, who had just rubbed the sleep from their eyes and grabbed their guns to rush out of their rooms, were met with a ruthless onslaught unlike anything they had ever witnessed.

*Da-da-da—* Though the bullets lacked the raw power that the firepower fanatic Wuyun called "sissy guns," the P9 was truly formidable in a spray. Firing at over 1,000 rounds per minute, the unique, dragon-like muzzle flash illuminated the dim hall with blinding white light. Yet, amidst such heavy fire, the bullets seemed guided by eyes, each one finding its mark. Not a single Yakuza who burst through the doorway took more than two hits! And beyond their chests and foreheads, not a single bullet struck anywhere else.

Conversely, the hundreds of rounds fired by the Yakuza failed to hit their targets once. The two figures split up, moving like ghosts, their footwork strange and swift as they navigated the hall. The P9s never stopped spitting fire, and amid the screams, the Yakuza collapsed one after another.

In less than a minute, the lobby, doorways, and windows were littered with the corpses of the Yakuza.

Finally, the Yakuza lost their nerve. Afraid to charge blindly, they scrambled for cover, hiding behind walls and pillars, waiting for an opportunity to strike back.

But this did not save them. The two ruthless killers, appearing to possess a third eye, discovered them instantly no matter where they hid. No matter how fast they tried to draw their weapons, the enemy's bullets pierced their skulls or chests before they could even pull the trigger.

*Bang!* Bei Shiliang’s left-hand 98 fired, and the head of a man crouching and stealthily seeking cover burst into a spray of blood.

*Da-da!* Lang Tianyu’s P9 in his right hand delivered a double-tap. A man hiding behind a pillar, blindly firing with his hand exposed, took a hit to the wrist. His body lurched forward involuntarily, and before he could react to the agony, a 9mm bullet bored into his left temple, spinning inside his cranium as blood sprayed everywhere.

"Time's up! Withdraw!" Lang Tianyu commanded softly. Bei Shiliang quickly slung his P9 over his shoulder, pulled two smoke grenades from his coat, and threw them out. A pungent odor and thick, billowing smoke instantly engulfed the hall.

Minutes later, as the smoke cleared, the few surviving members of the Jiaolong Association climbed to their feet. The scene before them was a disaster; the corpses of their comrades lay scattered everywhere, and a thick layer of blood—bright red with a faint, dark aura—flowed sluggishly across the floor.

As for the two gods of death, they had already vanished.