Vol. 9: Life Hanging by a Thread

Jiang Xueming wanted to ignite the anger in Maquire Copenhagen's heart and expose the murderer's true colors.

Upon arriving at Saladin's medical clinic's residential area, he strode swiftly toward Maquire's house, knocking loudly on the door in the still of the night.

"Maquire! Maquire, I've come to find you! Maquire!"

Oscar, confused about the priest's purpose, quickly stepped forward to stop him. "Hey! Doctor! Keep your voice down, the neighbors are all asleep."

Jiang Xueming persisted, pounding on the wooden door until the paint changed color. Maquire finally rushed to the door, opened it, and answered, "Who is it?!"

"I'm your father," Jiang Xueming cursed.

A crack in the door let in some light, and Maquire saw the person who had come in. He was both surprised and furious, never expecting that this ungrateful priest would actually come to his door.

"You're fucking asking for it!"

Like a quarrel between shrewish women, Maquire retorted, immediately pulled out his gun, and prepared to give the priest a lesson in chivalry and combat skills, and to tell the militiaman a story about self-defense when breaking into a private residence at night.

Hearing the sound of the magazine turning, Xue Ming quickly moved to the door, entering a blind spot in the firing range.

Maquire raised his gun too late, just in time to see Oscar's wolfish kiss, and was startled again.

"VIP?! What brings you here?"

"Oh!" Oscar saw light coming from inside the doorway, looked closely, and made out the outline of a.357 Python revolver. He immediately raised his hands in surrender. "Oh! Oh! Oh! Big brother! I'm not a criminal!"

Xue Ming's reckless actions showed he completely disregarded Oscar's safety.

He never believed Maquire possessed the power to kill the Blue Gold Werewolf. With bullets of that caliber, unless they hit Oscar squarely between the eyebrows, even if Maquire blew half of Oscar's head off, Universal Elixir could save him.

Maquire lost the initiative and gradually calmed down, suppressing all his bloodlust and welcoming the two "guests" in.

"Well, about this matter," Oscar followed Doctor Maguire into the living room, his eyes glancing at Xue Ming every now and then, like he was bringing a child to see their homeroom teacher, "How should I put it, hehe."

The werewolf brother interlocked his fingers, a defensive gesture, and placed his hands on his knees, looking rather embarrassed.

"It was Dr. Zhang Congfeng's fault, Doctor Maguire. You two are both from medical institutions, you shouldn't have made things so tense, right?"

"Although I don't know the details of this carjacking, key theft, and hostage exchange,..."

"But... but if you ask me..."

Jun-ge perked up and started gesturing.

"Now that the criminals have been caught, you two are like good brothers to me, helping those in need. We still have about fifty days to go. If fate is unkind and winter is long, it could be at least a hundred days. From now on, we brothers will work together to help the hunters solve their problems—there's no need to get worked up over a car."

"Right?"

The wolf poked Jiang Xueming's armpits, its powerful elemental energy filling the werewolf's arm with strength, causing Xue Ming to tilt to one side.

Xue Ming didn't speak, staring intently into Maquire's eyes.

Unable to get an answer, the wolf then looked to the other side, near Doctor Maguire by the fireplace.

"You agree, right, Doctor Maguire? It's no big deal. If you two are unhappy, I'll each send you one! How about it?"

Maquire remained silent, staring intently at Zhang Congfeng.

The spirit of Berloberg began to haunt again. When Zhang Congfeng came outside, the spirit in Maquire's mind started chattering incessantly, speaking obscure and difficult-to-understand ancient texts, interspersed with strange sounds of Latin origin that were of unclear meaning.

Could it be that Zhang Congfeng also possesses this kind of spirit?

Maquire didn't understand; he didn't get it.

Why did Berloberg choose Zhang Congfeng? This guy helped criminals; in the gunsmith's eyes, he should be a heinous accomplice. Helping evil is equivalent to being evil!

If it weren't for VIP Oscar being sandwiched between the two, Maquire would have already made his move. He was confident he could kill the unarmed man before him. Ever since he started practicing knightly combat techniques, he hadn't been able to find a suitable opportunity to test his abilities—and now he was itching for a fight.

"How about this? I'll go get some mutton?" Big Wolf's mouth watered as he mentioned eating meat and drinking. "There's a butcher shop at the intersection of Xiyuan Second Road, open until 2 a. m. along with a fruit stand. I'll go get something to eat right now. How about we have a barbecue in your yard, Doctor Maguire?"

Maquire continued, still staring at Zhang Congfeng: "Of course, VIP."

"Five minutes! No, no, no! Three minutes! I'll be right back! You two have a good talk!" Jun Ge had almost run out the door in the blink of an eye, and as he leaned against the doorframe, he brought up the barbecue agreement with the two men. "Let's have a drink, and that'll be the end of it!"

Oscar had barely stepped out the door when Maquire immediately went to grab his gun.

"What do you want to do?" Jiang Xueming immediately shouted, "Shoot me with this gun in your own home?"

Maquire froze halfway, but knightly combat skills had taught him that an epitaph should never state that the other party was entirely responsible.

He gripped the python revolver, and as he aimed the muzzle horizontally, he felt his body become unresponsive; the firing motion, practiced hundreds and thousands of times, had become distorted.

Only three minutes! Only 180 seconds! Kill this troublesome priest before Oscar gets back!

The corpse has no final say; it cannot speak out and accuse the murderer.

The next second, the carpet beneath his feet suddenly shifted two centimeters to the side. This mere two-centimeter change caused Maquire to lose his balance and become unsteady. The python's gun barrel could not be positioned for a moment, and he dared not pull the trigger rashly.

The hammer of a revolver has a very long travel, and it takes time to fire, unlike a semi-automatic pistol which is lightweight.

Looking at Jiang Xueming's expression, his movements as he dragged the carpet were effortless. He watched Maquire stumble and lose his balance, his eyes fixed on the revolver, showing no sign of underestimating his opponent.

--This guy has a really stable lower body.

Xue Ming intended to trip Maquire with the carpet, but he didn't expect Maguire to have such excellent coordination. His gun handling was also very professional, not at all like a novice. His body swayed, and the moment he regained his balance, he would aim again. His fingers didn't make any unnecessary movements, and there was no risk of accidental discharge.

He calculated the distance precisely to grab Maquire's gun, but was surprised to find that the process of disarming him was not as easy as he had imagined.

At a distance of only seventy centimeters, an arm's length, Xue Ming first moved sideways to approach the other person. Maquire immediately became alert and retreated repeatedly the moment he regained his footing, hiding behind the tea cabinet next to the fireplace.

Xue Ming moved forward, turning sideways to reduce the area he was hit by bullets, trying to close the gap. But as he saw Maquire's nimble footwork, he became increasingly surprised—this guy knew knightly combat techniques! It was part of his knightly combat technique course!

Maquire was like a drunkard, retreating very quickly, his body tilting left and right to maintain a delicate balance, unable to make a move to raise his gun and fire. Zhang Congfeng's hand was always on his waistline, and if he raised the muzzle, the gun barrel would be caught by the other party.

However, Xue Ming didn't dare to lower his gun. The moment he looked down, he would lose his lock-on and no longer be able to see Maquire's eyes, so he naturally couldn't discern the other's main intentions—there were so many weapons in this house that could kill, and he wouldn't give up the initiative in the next round.

From the tea cabinet to the area below the painting, the hallway in the living room became narrower and narrower, with more shoe cabinets blocking the way. Maquire hardly looked back to scout the terrain; he was very familiar with his own home. He retreated while trying to raise his gun to force Zhang Congfeng to back down.

Jiang Xueming insisted on going in, and the speed of chasing head-on was definitely much faster than retreating. He first kicked Maquire's wrist, but it didn't feel solid, like kicking soft cotton. Maquire didn't fight back, and his wrist joint felt like it had been bitten by a poisonous snake. Just as he was about to raise his gun to shoot Zhang Congfeng's leg, his shooting range was suddenly cut off.

He gripped his weapon tightly, his gait faltering, panting heavily, and his conviction grew stronger—this priest must be possessed by the spirit of Berloberg, otherwise where would he have acquired such ruthless disarmament and CQC skills?

Looking at their positions, they arrived at the stairs, marking the extremely dangerous final round of the cat-and-mouse game.

Maquire needed to go up to the second floor; the stairs would give him some height, allowing him to slightly raise his gun to find an angle to shoot the priest in the lower body. In that instant, Xue Ming once again pinned his hopes on the carpet—

He stomped his feet on the carpet and tugged at the wool fabric with the teeth of his leather shoes, trying to make Maquire, who had just stepped onto the stairs, fall down.

But knightly combat techniques have also been taught in this way; a Saint Seiya will not be defeated by the same move twice.

Using the force of his loss of balance, Maquire tilted and fell sideways onto the suddenly taut carpet, creating a firing angle. He pulled the trigger hard, but for a long time he didn't hear the roar of the bullet leaving the barrel. There was only a crisp click.

That was the sound of the hammer striking the firing mechanism of a revolver.

Maquire's heart was pounding. This was his first time using firearms and fighting the enemy. Adrenaline was surging through his body, making his eyes bloodshot and his head spin. In this state of extreme excitement, he finally saw the attackers' movements clearly.

Jiang Xueming gripped the release button on the Python revolver with one hand, tilting the cylinder to one side, while his other hand pried the barrel open, pointing it elsewhere. His movements were far faster and far more precise than Maquire's.

The surgeon gave Jiang Xueming a considerable scare; his technique for controlling the gun, escaping, and attempting to fight back was indeed superb and skillful.

Xue Ming was a superhuman who had studied at Pancrassian Academy. Even though he was somewhat frail, Maquire's idea of killing him using Homo sapiens methods was simply a pipe dream.

"Doctor Maguire," Jiang Xueming retorted angrily, "You've studied knightly combat techniques, and you're also a student of the gunsmith?"

Maquire didn't answer. He was out of breath and, without warming up, felt several muscles in his waist and thighs were unresponsive, as if they were cramping.

"Why would you learn knightly combat skills and then go and kill your patients?" Jiang Xueming pressed aggressively, using her powerful wrist and finger strength to grip the gun barrel, attempting to take the weapon away. "Did you only learn the techniques of killing and not study the Six Arts? Or are you just a cannibalistic demon disguised as a white angel?"

Maquire was no match for the priest; Jiang Xueming's "breath control" over his muscles was far superior. Years of combat experience had honed his extraordinary abilities, including the ability to immediately engage in combat without warm-up. Adrenaline could not impair his judgment, and the training methods of the Pankrasin Palace further enhanced his prowess.

As bullets fell, Maquire emptied the magazine the instant the gun left his hand, discarded the weapon, and immediately grabbed a candlestick from under the painting to use as a bayonet.

Xue Ming reached for the bullets, but seeing Maquire charging towards him menacingly, he tossed the Python revolver outside the door. He had no intention of engaging in close combat—he didn't want to win by rock-paper-scissors; the risk of close-quarters fighting at this distance was too high. He could see Maquire's movements, but "seeing" and "defending" are two different things, and he absolutely didn't want to get hurt unless absolutely necessary.

Maquire's stabbing movements were clean and swift, like a bayonet thrusting exercise, with extremely fast thrusting and retraction speeds. He chased after the shoe cabinet, closing in on the open area in front of the fireplace in the living room.

As Jiang Xueming retreated, he searched for something to block his way, determined not to enter the candlestick's attack range. After searching for a while, he was astonished to find that there was nothing he could use. The bare table was too heavy. It seemed that Maquire had everything under his control—this guy was clever and knew how to use assassination techniques to plan the enemy's escape route.

Maquire was blinded by rage, wanting nothing more than to turn the obstructive priest into a watering can. He recalled Mr. Joris's gentle words and could no longer control his anger—such a kind and gentle psychiatrist, yet he was going to commit murder again for his troubles. Thinking of this, Maquire became increasingly irritable.

With a single, distorted thrust, Xue Ming had a chance to escape, and he strode back and dashed out the door.

Maquire tried to chase after him, but saw Zhang Congfeng pick up a revolver, stuff a bright yellow peanut into the magazine, and dazzle him with his gun-handling skills.

Xue Ming's gun-drawing motion was so fast that before Maquire had even stepped out of the door, the shooting distance of two or three steps became the boundary between life and death.

"If you go crazy again, you'll die."

The cold wind outside the door was as chilling as those words, blowing into Maquire's heart and gradually bringing him back to his senses.

"What exactly do you want, Zhang Congfeng?"

Jiang Xueming slowly retreated, gun in hand. He didn't know where Maquire's murderous intent came from, and retreated to a safe distance of more than three meters.

"I want to know your relationship with Saint Josh Joris. You have a good reputation in Saladin, so why did you suddenly start killing people? Alfons died at your hands, and I didn't have time to save him."

"I didn't kill anyone!" Maquire suddenly became agitated. "I didn't! There was a demon lying on the operating table! I was just acting on behalf of God!"

"Is this a mental illness? Do you need psychological counseling?" Jiang Xueming followed up with, "I don't charge for consultations, are you interested in talking to me?"

"There's nothing to talk about between us!" Veins bulged on Maquire's forehead, consumed by fear and rage. "You should be in your cell. You're with those robbers, aren't you!?"

"You don't want to talk to me?" Jiang Xueming pulled the hammer, and the revolver's trigger went into pull-fire mode.

Faced with the threat of death, Maquire's eyes became clear.

--The spirit of Berloberg in the mind finally stopped its commotion. It realized that this was not a simple bluff and frantically warned the host to speak properly and think things through before blurting out any words.

Maquire was completely baffled; where did this exceptionally skilled psychiatrist come from?

Who exactly are you?

Before Jiang Xueming could answer—

-- Less than three minutes later, Oscar rushed back.

His pursuit of drinking and eating meat compelled this blue-haired man to unleash astonishing efficiency. Carrying a barbecue grill and two lamb chops, a case of liquor, and a bag of coal dangling from his tail, he rushed excitedly toward the gate, only to be startled again when he saw the gun in the priest's hand.

"Holy crap!?"

Jiang Xueming didn't speak. Maquire didn't explain anything either, and secretly hid the candlestick next to the coat rack on the right side of the entrance.

Jun looked at the gun in Xue Ming's hand and seemed to "understand".

"Oh! Playing games, huh? Russian roulette? Hehehe!"

The cheerful Red Stone People immediately seized the gun, shouting as he pointed it at his own head.

"You two really know how to have fun! This kind of social icebreaker game is sure to get people talking! How refreshing! Me too! I'll punish myself with a shot!"

"No!" Maquire screamed, his eyes unfocused.

There was no gunshot, only the crisp sound of the hammer striking the firing mechanism.

"Uh," Jun Ge glanced at Doctor Maguire's commotion and turned to Zhang Congfeng, asking, "You didn't insert a bullet, did you? You're kidding, right?"

"It's okay if it gets stuck, just be more careful next time." Jiang Xueming made a tasteless joke, took the python, and as if by magic, pressed the cartridge release button and the eject lever. Naturally, no bullets fell out, not even the cartridge cases used to determine the winner of the game.

Beads of cold sweat the size of soybeans appeared on Maquire's forehead—he had clearly seen the priest load ammunition into the magazine, but now why had the bullets suddenly vanished? His movements were too fast! His skill with firearms was practically magic!

"Barbecue, shall we?" Jiang Xueming glanced at Maquire meaningfully, showing him the small bullet in his palm.

Maquire then realized he had been tricked.

--There are no "bullets" at all; those yellow, bronze "peanuts" are just solid models.

Maquire thought about it carefully and realized that the priest had exhausted himself trying to retrieve the gun and fight back during such a fierce attack and chase. The bullets didn't even land outside the door; they all remained in the gun-grabbing process, on the carpet at the bottom of the stairs.

The solid model was covered with densely engraved runes, and it was a small toy made by hammering, flattening, and cold-forging the cross. Although it was unknown how the priest had done it, he had just used this incomprehensible brass bullet model to thoroughly humiliate Maquire.

The three returned to their room amicably, but Maquire was filled with resentment, regretting his misstep in the game.

If he had been braver, if he had taken one more step, perhaps he could have stabbed that despicable priest to death.

Thinking this, he went to collect the bullets from the carpet, but his heart grew colder and colder.

At first, he thought he could retrieve six bullets. Since none of the bullets at points three, five, and seven had been fired, they must have landed on the stairs.

He searched the entire first floor, from the carpet on the stairs all the way to the fireplace, and found only three bullets.

Finding himself next to a chair in the living room, Maquire heard Zhang Congfeng shouting.

Stop wasting time! Come and have a drink!

Maquire tensed up as he saw three bullets lined up neatly next to a bottle in the fireplace light. They looked like they were about to burst out of a python, enough to smash his brains into a pulp and kill him three times over.

"Oh"

Zhang Congfeng carried the grill to the garden, calling out to Maquire.

"Don't just stand there! Help our Jun-ge start a fire!"

Maquire quickly put down his weapon, banishing all distracting thoughts.

"Okay, okay, I'll be right there."