Daredevil (Seeking Collection!)

"Diamond Leg! So it's Diamond Leg, is it!"

Inside the private booth, the sound of gunfire and the heart-wrenching screams of Hammerhead echoed back and forth.

Du Mu did not put away his Golden Desert Eagle until the magazine was completely empty, feeling a sense of lingering dissatisfaction.

He didn't have the best memory, which was why he always preferred to settle grudges on the spot.

The arrogant, mocking expression on Hammerhead's face from moments ago was still fresh in Du Mu's mind; a mere NPC daring to provoke the Fourth Calamity was simply asking for death!

At this moment, Hammerhead's legs were a gruesome sight, riddled with dense clusters of bullet holes. Blood had soaked through his pant legs, turning them a deep brown and spreading an eye-searing stain across the carpet.

It was hard to imagine the inhuman torture he had endured in such a short span of time.

Hammerhead lay limp on the floor, his eyes unfocused, muttering repeatedly: "I am Iron Head, not Diamond Leg... I am Iron Head, not Diamond Leg..."

Wesley, who had been pressed tightly against the underside of the sofa, witnessed this bloody and brutal scene, his Adam's apple bobbing with great difficulty.

Too brutal!

Wesley prided himself on having spent years in the underworld; what kind of scenes hadn't he seen?

But this scene before him? He truly had never seen anything like it!

To nearly wipe out the entire Maggia single-handedly and then dismantle a notorious gang leader like Hammerhead as if he were a toy.

This couldn't even be called a fight; it was a one-sided slaughter!

Wesley had never believed in any gods, but he believed now, praying incessantly in his heart for every deity to ensure this god of death didn't discover him.

Perhaps the gods heard his prayer.

Du Mu didn't seem to notice Wesley in the corner, dragging Hammerhead by the ankle like a dead dog as he hauled him out of the booth.

Watching the footsteps recede, Wesley finally felt his heart begin to beat again.

"Hallelujah!"

He made the sign of the cross over his chest, scrambled out from under the sofa using his hands and feet, forced his gaze away from the carnage and pools of blood, and immediately dialed a number.

"What is it?"

A low, oppressive voice came from the other end of the line.

Wesley took a deep breath: "Mr. Kingpin, something has happened. The Maggia is gone, and Hammerhead has been taken!"

"Hmm?"

Kingpin's voice betrayed a hint of obvious surprise: "Was it the Demon Gang? Or the Russians?"

"No! Neither!"

Wesley's voice trembled slightly: "It was a man I've never seen before. He took out the Maggia men all by himself, and even Hammerhead was no match for him. According to what he said, he seems to be from the NYPD."

Kingpin: "?"

Since when did the NYPD become so fierce?

On the other side, Du Mu was dragging the unconscious Hammerhead through a dim alleyway.

As for the small fry who had escaped in the booth, he couldn't be bothered; they weren't red-named targets, and there was no reward for slaughtering them.

"System, why can't I use map fast travel?"

Du Mu complained in his mind; dragging a living person around was truly a hassle.

[Map travel prohibits carrying living creatures, nor can it carry objects exceeding 10 kilograms.]

"Understood." Du Mu glanced at Hammerhead by his feet. "I'll just hack him up and carve out 10-kilogram chunks to carry."

[...]

Just as Du Mu was arguing with the system, a sharp whistling sound pierced the air!

A dark red billy club shot out from above like a venomous snake, aimed directly at the wrist he was using to drag Hammerhead!

Bang!

The gunshot rang out almost at the exact same moment the club struck!

Du Mu didn't even fully turn around; he simply flicked his wrist, and the Golden Desert Eagle spat fire. A bullet struck the club mid-air with pinpoint accuracy, sending sparks flying as it clattered to the ground.

He then looked up toward the source of the attack.

Perched atop a towering streetlamp above the club entrance stood a mysterious figure.

The man was wrapped in a skin-tight, dark red leather suit, wearing a half-mask with two sharp horns; beneath the mask, a cleft chin covered in stubble was visible.

Against the backdrop of the dim streetlamp and the boundless darkness behind him, he looked like a bat demon descended from the shadows, exuding a cold and dangerous aura.

That's right, this person was the Dark Guardian, Daredevil!

"Hand him over."

Daredevil's voice was low and gravelly as he pointed toward the unconscious Hammerhead at Du Mu's feet.

Du Mu grinned: "You say hand him over, so I hand him over? Wouldn't that make me look pretty pathetic?"

Watching Du Mu's flippant and casual attitude, Daredevil's brows furrowed tightly beneath his mask: "He should face judgment by the law, not be subjected to vigilante justice by the likes of you."

"Funny, I happen to be a New York police officer." Du Mu shrugged.

"No, you aren't."

Daredevil denied it decisively, his voice growing heavier: "A real officer wouldn't act like you. I can smell the thick stench of blood on you!"

As the saying goes, if God closes a door on you, He leaves a back door open.

And Daredevil was clearly a man who had entered through God's back door.

Although he was blind, he possessed sensory abilities far exceeding those of an ordinary person; aside from his sight, all his other senses had become exceptionally acute.

In terms of hearing, Daredevil could easily hear a human heartbeat, or even the sound of blood flowing through a body.

In terms of smell, he could distinguish the natural scent of individuals and remember and identify them, no matter how they tried to mask their odor.

And on Du Mu, the scent of blood Daredevil smelled was as thick as if it were physical; it was certainly not something one could be stained with from killing a dozen people.

That was the scent of someone who had slaughtered hundreds, perhaps even thousands!

"Just... how many people have you killed?"

Daredevil couldn't help but ask.

Du Mu remained cheerful: "Do you remember how many slices of bread you've eaten in your entire life?"

This relaxed yet cruel answer made Daredevil's breath hitch sharply.

As a devout Catholic, he strictly adhered to a non-lethal principle that he could never cross.

Du Mu's slaughtering behavior, which treated human life like blades of grass, was an absolutely intolerable blasphemy and evil to Daredevil.

"Those were living human lives!" Daredevil's voice rose in anger.

Human lives?

Du Mu seemed to have heard an amusing joke and scoffed as if it were only natural: "They're just a bunch of data; they don't truly die anyway."

He paused, the muzzle of his gun drooping casually toward Hammerhead at his feet.

"Just like this!"

BANG!!

Under Daredevil's shocked expression, the muzzle of the Golden Desert Eagle spat out a lethal flash of fire, the bullet instantly tearing through Hammerhead's neck!

Clearly, this practitioner of Iron Head hadn't managed to train his kung fu up to his neck, and a massive spray of blood surged out like a fountain from the severed carotid artery.

Hammerhead's body twitched violently, then fell completely silent.

Du Mu looked at the corpse on the ground and shook his head with slight regret: "A pity. Bringing one back alive would have increased the mission completion rate, but dragging him along is just too much trouble."

Daredevil stood frozen atop the streetlamp, a bone-chilling coldness instantly crawling up his spine.

Just because he found it troublesome, he ended a life!?