The iron chains in the basement rattled.
A real estate tycoon, covered in blood, was hanging from a roof beam, three ribs broken, each breath accompanied by bloody foam.
Dawood nestled in a leather sofa, twirling a revolver between his fingers. In front of him lay an asset transfer agreement, the transfer price of which was listed as 1 rupee.
"Sign it, and your wife and kids will be able to walk out alive." Dawood raised his eyelids slightly, leisurely puffed on his Cigar, and exhaled a smoke ring towards the other person.
The businessman gritted his teeth and spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva. "Please, leave me some money, I'll go bankrupt without it."
Dawood smiled and snapped his fingers.
Two burly men immediately dragged in a wailing mother and child, with one of the men stepping on the little boy's leg.
The crisp sound of bones cracking, mixed with the child's screams, instantly shattered the merchant's last glimmer of hope.
"I'll sign! I'll sign!" the businessman roared in despair, tears mingling with blood.
The moment he signed the papers, Dawood pulled the trigger.
A bullet pierced the businessman's skull, and blood splattered onto the pristine white agreement.
"The men are drowned in the Ganges, the women are sold to the red-light district of Kolkata, and the children are sent to factories that process additives."
Dawood threw the gun on the table, wiped his hands, as if he had just crushed an ant.
The subordinate quickly stepped forward, bowed, and reported, "Boss, the $5 million from Europe and America has arrived."
"Our men have intercepted Vikram's daughter and the target of their kidnapping; they're already on their way."
Dawood grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth.
He glanced at the photo, which clearly showed Fu Haoran and Anya.
His gaze lingered on Fu Haoran's face for a second before being immediately drawn to Anya.
He was born a Shudra, and as a child he was beaten and scolded like a dog by his Brahmin lord. He would even have his hand broken if he touched the shadow of a higher caste.
He now controls smuggling, enhancement drugs, and human trafficking businesses in five states along the Ganges River, with a core armed force of over 30,000 men. The political, business, police, bandit, and military are all his people.
He has been wanted by the US and India for over a decade, but they haven't even been able to find his hiding place. He is truly the uncrowned king of the India underworld.
This time, someone in Europe and America offered an exorbitant price: to kidnap this University of Tokyo, force him to hand over certain items, and then he could do whatever he wanted with the rest.
Seeing the value of the fat sheep, Dawood knew he had encountered a very fat sheep.
"However, it's impossible for someone of this level of wealth not to have a security team."
"Hmph, whatever, I have plenty of men. Even if the military and police come, they won't be able to take him back!"
Of course, there was also that beautiful Brahmin daughter. As a low-caste Shudra, one of Dawood's favorite things to do was to force himself on high-ranking Brahmin women.
The higher the Brahmin's status, the more he wanted to trample him underfoot.
Watching those women who wouldn't even glance at him when they were young cry and beg for mercy beneath him is the greatest pleasure of his life.
Looking at the Brahmin women who used to ignore him when he was a child, now begging for mercy beneath him, Dawood felt like he had become the master.
However, the high-caste women he had been with in the past were nothing compared to Anya.
Anya was the most beautiful woman Dawood had ever seen; none of the Bollywood actresses could compare to her.
"A woman like this is worthy to be my woman, Dawood's woman." He stroked his chin, his eyes filled with greed and a morbid possessiveness. "Once I'm tired of her, I'll sell her to the red-light district, so that all the lower castes can taste the flavors of a Brahmin."
Dawood stood up and dusted himself off.
"Get the equipment ready; when the guests arrive, treat them well."
"Oh, and clean the floor-to-ceiling windows in the top-floor reception room. We'll let Miss Sharma have a good look at her future home later."
The convoy rolled over the potholed dirt road and headed deeper into the stronghold.
Anya had somehow gotten up and was sitting right next to Fu Haoran, and even though they were only separated by a thin sari, she didn't seem to mind at all.
She stole a glance at the man beside her. Fu Haoran remained expressionless, observing the dilapidated slum outside the window with great interest.
Only when she sat beside him could her wildly beating heart find a little peace.
The convoy came to a stop, and the rusty iron gate slowly opened.
A dozen or so burly men with guns stood at the door, their eyes fierce, their gun barrels sweeping across the car door intentionally or unintentionally.
Fu Haoran got out of the car first, reached out to help Anya who was following behind him, and said, "Stay close to me."
Anya's heart skipped a beat, and she instinctively gripped Fu Haoran's sleeve tightly.
The surrounding thugs burst into laughter upon seeing this.
"You can barely take care of yourself, and you still dare to pick up girls here?"
--
"Kid, we'll break your legs later so you can watch our boss play with your woman!"
A bald thug rolled up his sleeves, grabbed a steel pipe without saying a word, and smashed it hard against the back of Fu Haoran's head.
Fu Haoran seemed to have eyes in the back of his head; without turning around, he grabbed the steel pipe with his other hand.
With a casual pull, the thug was dragged flying towards him.
Fu Haoran raised his foot and precisely stepped on his chest.
Click!
The sound of bones breaking was clearly audible.
The thug coughed up blood and flew backward like a tattered sack, crashing into the wall and falling silent.
The rioters, who had been laughing, froze instantly; their smiles, which hadn't even faded, turned into terror.
Before they could react and reach for their guns, Fu Haoran had already pulled Anya along and walked into the building without looking back.
The door to the top-floor reception room was pushed open.
Dawood sat in the main seat, with more than twenty thugs standing behind him, all of them burly and strong, some of them carrying AK rifles.
The moment Dawood saw Anya, his eyes widened. He completely ignored Fu Haoran, who was walking ahead of him, stood up to greet her, and reached out his left hand directly towards Anya's face.
Anya screamed in fright and quickly hid behind Fu Haoran.
"Miss Sharma, I've heard so much about you. You are indeed as beautiful as the rumors say." Dawood wasn't annoyed, his tone greasy and nauseating. "It's beneath you to be associated with a squinty-eyed University of Tokyo."
"Stay by my side, and I guarantee no one in all of India will dare lay a finger on your entire family."
As he spoke, he reached out his left hand, trying to push Fu Haoran away.
Seeing that Dawood was about to reach out again, seemingly trying to push him away, Fu Haoran was somewhat annoyed.
You're a perfectly healthy person here, and you actually have the nerve to flirt with girls right in front of me.
Also, is that your left hand? I remember you India use your left hand to wipe your bottom?
How disgusting!
"If you dare to reach out that hand again, I'll make sure you say goodbye to it forever," Fu Haoran said indifferently.
Dawood withdrew his hand, his smile vanishing completely. He looked Fu Haoran up and down as if he were a fat sheep waiting to be slaughtered.
"Oh, if you hadn't said anything, I would have almost forgotten about you, this fat sheep."
He chuckled, sat down on the sofa, and crossed his legs.
"Mr. Fu, you probably don't realize your situation."
"The last person who dared to raise their voice at me, I chopped them up and fed them to the wild dogs."
"Do you think your bones are harder, or a wild dog's teeth?"
Dawood leaned forward, making a blatant threat. "I won't beat around the bush with you. Someone is paying you to hand over all of Warhammer Group's shares and technology, then get back to your University of Tokyo and never show your face again."
"My demand is simpler: give me a ransom of $2 billion, and I can guarantee you'll leave India alive."
"As for whether you're half-dead or barely clinging to life, that depends on your performance."
"Oh, by the way," he licked his lips, his eyes sweeping greedily over Anya, "This Miss Sharma will have to stay and keep me company."
Anya was so frightened that her face turned pale, her legs went weak, and she clung tightly to Fu Haoran's back.
Her chest pressed tightly against his, her full breasts pressing against his shoulder blades through the thin sari, rising and falling with her rapid breathing.
She was completely unaware of how suggestive her posture was; all she knew was that the man in front of her was the only one who could shield her from the bullets.
Fu Haoran felt the soft touch on his back and shook his head.
It feels really good, but unfortunately now is not the time to appreciate it properly.
"I also have a suggestion, you can listen to it," Fu Haoran said.
"Tell me the information about your employer, and I guarantee they'll come down with you, all in one place."
"Of course, you can also choose to compensate me with 700 million US dollars, and I might consider letting you live for another week."
Dawood was stunned for a while before he came to his senses.
"Are you threatening me?" He laughed as if he had heard the biggest joke in the world, pointing at Fu Haoran and shouting, "A University of Tokyo dares to threaten me on my turf?"
"What else? Tell you jokes?" Fu Haoran looked at him like he was an idiot.
Dawood's smile vanished instantly, replaced by a ferocious expression.
"You little rascal, looks like you won't learn your lesson until you're faced with death."
"Don't worry, as a treat for today, I'll spare your life for half a day."
"I'm going to have my way with your woman right in front of you, and then I'll smash every single bone in your body."
Fu Haoran smiled.
There aren't many people who can make me laugh, but you're one of them.
"As a reward, all of you will work for me, and you'll never have to worry about food or clothing for the rest of your lives."
Fu Haoran paused, his tone calm yet chilling. "No, from now on, you won't need food or clothing at all."
"Huh?" Dawood laughed even more wildly. "You want me to work for you? You must be crazy!"
He slammed his fist on the table and roared, "Break his legs! I'm going to torture him slowly!"
Two burly thugs immediately rushed forward, eager to claim the credit.
The one running in front, just as he reached Fu Haoran, saw a large, black pistol pressed against his forehead.
Fu Haoran did not pull the trigger.
"A fake gun?" The thug paused for a moment, then grinned maliciously.
Everyone had this thought.
But the next second...
Bang!
Deafening gunshots rang out in the closed room.
The RSH-12's 12.7mm armor-piercing round penetrated the first person's skull and, without losing momentum, went into the head of a second person.
Both heads exploded simultaneously, splattering red and white matter all over the wall.
The room fell into a deathly silence.
The cowardly thug immediately knelt down, so frightened he even wet himself.
They had killed people before, but they had never seen such a horrific scene. Two heads were blown apart with a single shot, leaving no intact corpses.
Before anyone else could react, Fu Haoran had already strode towards Dawood.
"Quick! Stop him! Kill him!" Dawood was terrified, grabbing the walkie-talkie and screaming frantically, "Everyone, get up here! Turn him into a sieve!"
The thugs inside then realized what was happening and rushed forward, brandishing machetes and steel pipes.
Dawood had already positioned most of the gunmen downstairs to guard the door, while most of the people inside only had melee weapons.
Just as Fu Haoran was about to exert his strength, his right arm was held back by a soft, delicate body.
Fu Haoran glanced back and saw that Anya was so nervous that she was clinging to his arm like a koala, her full breasts pressing tightly against his upper arm. Through the thin sari, Fu Haoran could even feel the soft breasts being squeezed and deformed.
She was completely unaware, only focused on burying her face behind his shoulder, her eyelashes brushing against his neck, her warm breath hitting his earlobe.
Fu Haoran felt the soft touch on his arm and gave up struggling.
That works too, one hand is enough.
Fu Haoran, holding a gun in his left hand and Anya hanging from his right, dodged the machete by sidestepping and slammed his elbow into the other man's throat.
With a snap, the thug clutched his neck and collapsed to the ground, twitching a few times before stopping breathing.
Someone tried to disarm him with his bare hands, Fu Haoran twisted his arm and broke it, then kicked another person away.
The movements were swift and decisive, without a single unnecessary action.
In just over ten seconds, only Dawood, who was hiding behind the sofa and trembling, remained of the thugs standing in the reception room.
When Anya came to her senses, she was stunned to see the corpses all over the ground.
She opened her mouth, but couldn't utter a single word.
Is this person even human?
Dawood, seeing the corpses scattered on the ground, was so terrified he soiled himself. He grabbed the walkie-talkie and screamed frantically, "Where are they?! Where are they all dead?! Come up here and kill him! Kill him!"
Downstairs, one could hear the sounds of hurried footsteps and the cocking of guns.
Hundreds of armed men, armed with AKs, charged upstairs yelling, all eager to claim the credit for rescuing the emperor.
Fu Haoran took out a handkerchief, wiped the blood from his hands, and said calmly, "Go out and deal with the people outside. Be careful not to damage the materials."
"These people are all qualified raw materials for Wetware."
Anya and Dawood were both stunned.
Who is he talking to?
There are clearly only the three of them here.
The next second.
The corner, which had been empty, suddenly became distorted.
A black giant, two and a half meters tall, slowly revealed its form.
The matte black Power Armor gleamed with a cold light, and the helmet's visor flashed red.
He was like a moving steel mountain, blocking the entire stairwell.
The excitement on their faces froze instantly.
The bald thug leading the charge held a rusty machete in his hand, his head tilted back, his mouth agape, wide enough to fit a fist.
He glanced at Ronan's matte Plasteel armor, the rivets of which were more expensive than his own knife, then looked down at his own broken knife, which was so weak it could barely cut a coconut.
Someone behind him muttered, "Is that Iron Man's dad?" The bald thug jumped, threw his machete to the ground, revealed a smile that looked more like a grimace, tossed the knife aside, and turned to run.
But the people behind them kept surging up, and the stairwell instantly became a crowded mess. Several people in the middle were so squeezed that their feet left the ground, like a group of Rat trapped in an iron cage.
Some were still shouting "Charge!", while others were already yelling "Charge my ass!" and someone muttered under their breath, "We only make three thousand rupees a month, this job should pay more, right?"
Looking at this chaotic scene, Ronan suddenly felt a little tired.
Am I using a cannon to kill a mosquito?