"Diamond Leg! You call that Diamond Leg?!"
Inside the private room, gunshots rang out amid Hammerhead's bloodcurdling screams.
Du Mu didn't stop until he'd emptied the magazine, then reluctantly put away the Golden Desert Eagle.
He had a lousy memory, so whenever he had a grudge, he preferred to settle it on the spot.
The sight of Hammerhead's arrogant, taunting face from earlier was still fresh in Du Mu's mind. A mere NPC had dared provoke the Fourth Calamity. He was practically begging to die!
By now, Hammerhead's legs were a horrific sight, riddled with bullet holes. Blood soaked his trouser legs until they were dark brown, spreading across the carpet in a glaring stain.
It was hard to imagine what kind of inhuman torment he'd endured in such a short time.
Hammerhead lay sprawled on the floor, his eyes unfocused as he repeated, "I know Iron Head, not Diamond Leg. I know Iron Head, not Diamond Leg..."
Wesley, who had been huddled beneath the sofa the whole time, watched the bloody, brutal scene. His Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty.
That was too brutal!
Wesley prided himself on having spent years in the criminal underworld. He'd seen every kind of situation!
But he'd never seen anything like this!
One man had nearly wiped out the entire Maggia, and had toyed with a famous crime boss like Hammerhead as if he were a plaything.
This couldn't even be called a fight. It was a one-sided slaughter!
Wesley had never believed in gods, but now he did. He silently pleaded with every deity he could think of, begging them not to let this demon notice him.
Perhaps the gods had heard his prayers.
Du Mu didn't seem to notice Wesley in the corner. He dragged Hammerhead out of the room by the ankle like a dead dog.
Only after the footsteps faded did Wesley feel his heart start beating again.
"Hallelujah!"
He crossed himself, then crawled out from under the sofa on his hands and feet. Forcing himself to look away from the bodies and pools of blood scattered across the floor, he immediately made a call.
"What is it?"
A deep, oppressive voice came from the other end of the phone.
Wesley took a deep breath. "Mr. Kingpin, something's happened. The Maggia are finished, and Hammerhead's been taken!"
"Hmm?"
A clear note of surprise entered Kingpin's voice. "Was it the Demon Gang? Or the Russians?"
"No! Neither!"
Wesley's voice trembled. "It was a man I've never seen before. He took out the Maggia all by himself, and Hammerhead was no match for him. From what he said, he seems to be with the NYPD."
Kingpin: "?"
Since when had the NYPD gotten so formidable?
Meanwhile, Du Mu was dragging Hammerhead, who had passed out from the pain, through a dark alley.
As for the little fry who'd escaped notice in the private room, he couldn't be bothered with him. He wasn't a red-name target, and killing him wouldn't earn any rewards.
"System, why can't I use the map to teleport quickly?"
Du Mu complained in his mind. Walking around while dragging a grown man was a real hassle.
[Map teleportation cannot transport living beings or objects weighing more than 10 kilograms.]
"Got it." Du Mu glanced at Hammerhead by his feet. "I'll just chop him up and take ten kilos of meat."
[...]
Just as Du Mu and the system were arguing, a sharp whistle cut through the air!
A dark red baton shot down from above at an angle, like a venomous snake, aimed straight at the wrist of the hand dragging Hammerhead.
Bang!
A gunshot rang out almost at the exact same moment the baton came flying!
Du Mu didn't even turn all the way around. He simply flicked his wrist, and the Golden Desert Eagle spat flame. A bullet struck the baton dead-on in midair, showering it with sparks and sending it clattering to the ground.
Then he raised his head and looked toward the source of the attack.
Atop a tall streetlamp above the club entrance stood a mysterious figure.
He was wrapped from head to toe in a tight, dark red leather suit and wore a half-face mask with two pointed horns. Below the mask, his stubble-covered cleft chin was visible.
Against the backdrop of the yellow streetlight and the endless darkness behind him, he looked like a bat demon descending from the shadows, radiating a cold and dangerous aura.
That's right. He was the dark guardian, Bat... Daredevil!
"Hand him over."
Daredevil's voice was low and hoarse as he pointed at the unconscious Hammerhead at Du Mu's feet.
Du Mu grinned. "You say hand him over, and I do? That'd make me look pretty weak."
Seeing Du Mu's flippant, casual attitude, Daredevil's brow furrowed beneath his mask. "He should face justice in court, not have you take the law into your own hands."
"Funny you should say that. I'm a New York cop." Du Mu shrugged.
"No, you're not."
Daredevil denied it without hesitation, his voice growing more grave. "A real cop wouldn't act like you. I can smell the overwhelming stench of blood on you!"
As the saying went, when God closed one door, He left a back door open.
And Daredevil was clearly a man who'd entered through God's back door.
Though blind, he possessed senses far sharper than those of ordinary people. Aside from his sight, all his other senses had become extraordinarily sensitive.
His hearing let him easily detect the beating of a human heart, even the sound of blood flowing through someone's body.
With his sense of smell, he could distinguish each person's natural scent, memorize it, and recognize them no matter how hard they tried to mask it.
And on Du Mu, Daredevil could smell blood so thick it was practically tangible. It wasn't the kind of stench one picked up from killing a dozen people or so.
It reeked of someone who'd slaughtered hundreds—perhaps even thousands!
"You... how many people have you killed?"
Daredevil couldn't help asking.
Du Mu still wore a cheerful smile. "Do you remember how many pieces of bread you've eaten in your life?"
The breezy yet merciless reply made Daredevil's breath catch.
As a devout Catholic, he held fast to one principle he would never violate: he would not kill.
To Daredevil, Du Mu's slaughter, his treatment of human lives like weeds, was an unforgivable desecration and evil.
"Those are living human beings!" Daredevil shouted, his voice rising with anger.
Human beings?
Du Mu seemed to hear a funny joke and scoffed as if it were obvious. "They're just a bunch of data. They don't really die."
He paused, casually lowering his gun toward Hammerhead at his feet.
"Like this!"
Bang!!
As Daredevil watched in shock, the Golden Desert Eagle's muzzle flashed with deadly fire. The bullet tore through Hammerhead's neck in an instant!
Apparently, Hammerhead hadn't managed to train his Iron Head technique down to his neck. Blood gushed from his severed carotid artery like a fountain.
His body convulsed violently, then fell completely still.
Du Mu looked down at the corpse and shook his head with mild regret. "What a shame. Bringing him back alive would've improved my mission rating, but dragging him around was too much trouble."
Daredevil stood frozen atop the streetlamp as an icy chill shot up his spine.
He'd ended a life just because it was too much trouble!?