Revenge, Part Two

Gilan returned to the warehouse and emerged again, now wearing a beige soft cap and carrying his tattered handbag.

He glanced toward the two warehouses on the right and the inner side; the iron doors were shut tight, and he figured the gang members inside were still busy brewing moonshine, completely oblivious to the commotion outside.

Seeing this, Gilan strode toward the courtyard gate.

But just as he stepped out of the doorway, Randolph and the brown-haired man who had delivered the news walked right toward him.

"Hm?" Randolph's expression froze, then his brow furrowed. "Brother Gilan, didn't you say you had something important to report? We told you to wait in the courtyard—where are you going?"

"Move aside, I need to tell the boss myself." Gilan strode forward.

"You must have remembered where you put that roll of film, didn't you? You can just tell me..."

Randolph's mouth curled into a smirk as he reached out to block his path.

At that moment, the brown-haired man beside him glanced into the courtyard and noticed that the burly man who had been standing guard with him was nowhere to be seen; his expression shifted instantly.

But just as he opened his mouth to warn Randolph, Gilan, who had been walking toward them, was already right in front of them.

"Randolph! Look out!"

Almost as he shouted, Gilan erupted like a ferocious tiger!

His face was fierce, his right palm—wrapped in white cloth strips—held his fingers together like a cleaver, and he slashed horizontally at Randolph's throat!

SMACK!!

"Gah!" The smile on Randolph's face solidified instantly.

His eyes bulged, filled with sheer terror.

Gilan retracted his hand-blade, curled his fingers, and thrust forward.

The heel of his palm struck Randolph's jaw like a hammer!

CRACK!!

The massive impact shattered Randolph's jaw and nasal bone, sending a mouthful of teeth flying. His head snapped backward, pressed against his spine, and his entire body flew backward before slamming into the ground.

After his feet twitched twice, he went completely still.

If a coroner were to examine the body, they would be shocked to find that Randolph's brain had been reduced to a pulp.

The brown-haired man was stunned by the scene; from the moment Gilan struck to Randolph's death, not even a second had passed. He glanced at the corpse on the ground, then at the expressionless blond youth, feeling a chill run through his entire body.

"D-don't come any closer!"

The brown-haired man tremblingly pulled out the Borchardt Pistol from his waist, but just as he tried to raise his hand to aim, Gilan was already upon him.

The cloth-wrapped fist struck the brown-haired man's abdomen with blinding speed.

THUD!!

The instantaneous, agonizing pain caused his brain to shut down on the spot, and the gun fell from his hand.

The next second, Gilan's right elbow swung out like a demolition hammer, slamming directly into the brown-haired man's face.

CRACK!!

The sound of a fracturing skull echoed as the brown-haired man fell backward heavily, his features caved in and his face a bloody mess.

"If you want to harm me, you deserve to die."

Gilan glanced at the two corpses on the ground and said indifferently.

He bent down to pick up the Borchardt Pistol the man had dropped, scavenged all the ammunition, and stuffed everything into his handbag.

He then walked over to Randolph's body, retrieved his own Luger Pistol, tucked it into his waistband, and walked toward the Oak Gang's headquarters building without looking back.

The warehouse district was not far from the main building; they were practically connected, separated only by a narrow alleyway.

Gilan walked straight into the front courtyard of the building, where four or five gang members were still sitting around, drinking and playing cards, enjoying themselves immensely.

"Hm? Gilan?" A man in a straw hat, chewing on tobacco, turned to look at him with a suspicious expression. "Weren't you hiding in the warehouse? What are you doing here?"

The other men turned their gazes toward him as well.

Unlike Randolph, they didn't know about Lucas's schemes and assumed Gilan had simply been told to hide in the warehouse to avoid a search by Bobby and the police.

"I have something important to report to the boss."

Gilan looked up, a brilliant smile on his face beneath the beige soft cap.

He kept walking toward the building as he spoke.

"Whoa, something important? Did those Bobbies at the station poke your ass or something?" another fat, bearded man joked from behind him. "Worried about getting pregnant? Ooh, boys can't get pregnant, you know!"

"Hahaha! Hahahahaha!"

The men slapped the table and roared with laughter.

In the past, they had always mocked Gilan and Momir this way, using it as a source of amusement.

Tap.

Gilan stopped in his tracks.

He turned his head, his smile never wavering, and said coldly:

"You didn't have to die."

"Huh? What did you say?" the bearded man laughing the loudest shouted at the top of his lungs.

Bang!

The next second, his expression froze, and a hole abruptly appeared in the center of his forehead.

His fat body tilted backward and crashed to the ground, a pool of blood seeping out from beneath his head.

The laughter stopped abruptly.

The other men stood as if petrified, their bodies rigid, staring in terror at the gun in the blond youth's hand.

Thin wisps of smoke curled from the muzzle.

"You... you're crazy!" The man in the straw hat widened his eyes, instinctively recoiling. "Daring to kill a brother from the gang, you're dead! The boss won't let—"

The muzzle swung toward him.

Bang!

The man in the straw hat was shot in the head, following in his companion's footsteps.

"Don't shoot! Please, don't shoot!" The remaining men hurriedly raised their hands, begging for mercy. "We're sorry, Gilan! We shouldn't have made fun of you!"

Gilan's face was splattered with blood droplets, and his smile widened.

He strode forward, gripping the Luger Pistol, and shoved the muzzle into one of the men's faces, grinning.

"Laugh. Keep laughing."

"I was wrong! I was really wrong! Please..." The man was gripped by inexplicable terror, tears and snot streaming down his face.

Bang!

The gun fired point-blank, the bullet tearing through the skull.

Half of the man's face exploded, and he collapsed to the side.

"I told you to laugh, why aren't you laughing?" Gilan aimed the muzzle at the next man. "Laugh!"

The man being targeted felt as if he had fallen into an ice cellar; his entire body was bone-chillingly cold. He tremblingly squeezed out a smile, his expression looking even worse than if his parents had died.

Bang!

Gilan pulled the trigger, killing another man mercilessly, muttering:

"You actually mocked me! I hate it most when people mock me!"

His expression grew increasingly frantic as he raised his gun to aim at the last man.

The man with the crew cut and tank top suddenly scrambled up and ran desperately toward the building, screaming at the top of his lungs:

"Milo! Folk! Save me!!"

Gilan followed behind him, walking unhurriedly, and fired several shots into his back.

Bang, bang, bang, bang—click!

Four bloody holes appeared in the man's back as he pitched forward, twitching incessantly while coughing up blood.

At this moment, the two sentries alerted by the gunfire had arrived. They descended the stairs, staring in shock at the corpses strewn across the courtyard.

Gilan walked toward them, carrying a bag in one hand and a gun in the other, bathed in blood.

"Stop!" The two raised their pistols, watching Gilan nervously. "I think you've lost your mind, Gilan!"

They found it all absurd!

The blond youth before them was so unfamiliar at this moment, completely devoid of his usual cowardly and introverted demeanor, replaced instead by an overwhelming, ferocious aura.

"Stop talking! Shoot!"

One of them roared and immediately pulled the trigger.

Bang, bang, bang!

But the bullets all missed!

Before the man could fire, Gilan had bent over like a ghost, dodging left and right as he took two steps, appearing before the two of them in the blink of an eye.

He leaped up, pouncing like a hawk.

His right leg blurred, slamming heavily into one man's head.

Bang!!

The man's head tilted as he flew backward, crashing into the wall with a boom. His bones shattered, and he slumped to the ground.

Gilan didn't even glance at him. Upon landing, he reached out, grabbed the other man by the neck, lifted him off the ground, then spun around and slammed him violently into the floor.

Bang!!

The man's body was inverted by Gilan's brute force, his head striking the ground. With a crisp snap, his neck bent at a ninety-degree angle, and he was killed instantly from the impact!

Gilan stood in place, exhaling a long breath. He then wiped away the blood from a bullet graze on his left shoulder and stepped onto the stairs of the building.

"Lucas, boss of the Oak Gang..."

His cold voice echoed through the dim corridor, like the whisper of the Grim Reaper.