Deacon Frost

The bystanders were eager to help. They all tried to persuade John. What grudge, what feud? As long as they talked it out, anything could be resolved. There was no need to keep fighting and killing, ruining the harmony.

One of the burly men who had previously wanted to harm Donnie stepped forward and spoke from experience, hoping to mediate between the two sides. "How big a deal is this? It's just a little grudge. Look at me—I was leading the Irish gang against the Northern Irish gang two months ago. Last month, we joined forces to take on the Scottish gang..."

The burly man was shrewd. He understood that anyone who could stand against The Mechanic was no ordinary person. Seeing how tense things had become, he stepped up to play peacemaker and give both sides a way out, so everyone could wrap things up nicely. Maybe he could even get in with one side and strike it rich.

The burly man continued persuading them. "So, stop fighting and killing all the time. We're all brothers, and there'll be plenty of chances to work together in the future..." He was already imagining a future of good food and easy living, and his tone could not have been more sincere.

Bang!

John finally could not take it anymore. Trembling, he shot the enthusiastic fellow in the chest in full view of everyone. The rage in his heart was about to burst free.

He, a dignified member of the Thompson Family, had been humiliated by a pack of blood bags!

The crowd erupted into chaos. They angrily shouted, "Who dares cause trouble on Irish gang territory?" But they only made noise and did not dare step forward.

Donnie looked at the Vampire before him with a faintly mocking smile. A Vampire who had come to demand someone and restore his family's honor had shown up in broad daylight, spat out a few threats, and planned to leave... Was he sure he was not here to be funny?

"Tell me, who sent you? Your acting is terrible. If it were me, I'd at least grab this old man and put on a show." Donnie's watch transformed and assembled into a pistol. There was something he did not say aloud: if John had truly tried to seize someone without hesitation, he would have immediately killed the Vampire. His hesitation had instead exposed that something was wrong with them.

"Even if you're a pure-blood, you'll still die if I blow you apart or drag you into the sunlight."

He was threatening a pure-blood. Either talk, or die. Every natural-born Vampire was precious. Kill one, and there was one fewer.

John's face turned livid. He realized his mistake. This guy simply did not play by the rules. Pretending to remain calm, he said coldly, "I'm only surprised that you're being so cooperative. You're nothing like the rumors." As he spoke, he moved to grab Old Bartender.

A flicker of panic passed through Old Bartender's eyes, but he still tried his best to act, pretending he desperately wanted to be taken away.

Donnie stood there without reacting, simply watching the Vampire take someone. Yet the AllSpark in his mind had long been leaping nonstop, flashing with light, while the phone and watch on his body were already restless, ready to strike at any moment.

John's expression became incomparably grim. He gritted his teeth, grabbed Old Bartender, and prepared to leave. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He could not worry about anything else now; if he delayed any longer, he might not even keep his life.

"If you leave just like that, how will you explain yourself? Won't your objective go unfulfilled?" Donnie slowly spun the pistol in his hand. "You don't want me to hand over Old Bartender. You want me to keep fighting the Vampires until one side dies. Otherwise, there'd be no need for all this trouble. Old Bartender was far away from me. You could have easily taken control of him before negotiating with me."

John Thompson was drenched in sweat as he roared, "Are you trying to bluff me? Do you really want to declare war on us?!"

He said that, but the man in front of him really would kill him. He had not lived long enough yet. He kept looking around, searching for an easy escape route.

Old Bartender wore a miserable expression. He was entirely in the Vampire's hands now, an aggrieved hostage. Given this old fox's style, he would never willingly put himself in danger. He looked pitifully at Donnie and loudly begged him to save him, telling him not to sell him out.

John was boiling with rage. He stepped forward and punched Old Bartender in the head, splitting it open.

"Who is the person behind you? Tell me, and I'll let you go. Refuse, and I'll beat you to death. You're nothing but a discarded pawn anyway. Otherwise, they wouldn't have sent you to negotiate with me. One small mistake, and I'll beat you to death."

Donnie turned his gun and aimed it at John. The other Vampires also drew their guns and aimed them at Donnie. The two sides faced off without yielding. Donnie mocked John, asking why a discarded pawn like him was so loyal. As long as he told him who was behind this, he would let him leave immediately.

John's expression shifted constantly as he weighed the gains and losses. In the end, he gritted his teeth and gave a name.

Deacon Frost, a Half-blood.

"A great family like the Thompsons, with a lineage stretching back thousands of years, is actually working for a Half-blood transformed after birth? Aren't you ashamed?" Donnie sneered, ridiculing the Thompsons for having completely squandered the dignity of pure-bloods in this generation. Their nobility had been thrown to the ground, covered in dust, and become as worthless as trash.

John clenched his teeth and said nothing more, but his subordinates were furious enough that they nearly could not stop themselves from opening fire.

Donnie fell into thought. If Deacon was the one directing them, then it was no surprise. Deacon was a notorious madman and ambitious schemer in the Vampire world. He had been turned into a Vampire after birth, yet rapidly climbed to a high position, second only to the most exalted Thirteen Clans. It was practically a legend. To lower-ranking Vampires, he was a rich bowl of inspirational chicken soup, so nourishing it could stuff them to death.

Yet this ambitious Deacon had chosen John Thompson, a young good-for-nothing. Either he regarded John as a discarded pawn, or he could not fully control the Thompson Family and could only win over a group of minor figures. It might have been a mutually beneficial arrangement, or perhaps John and the others had simply pledged themselves to him.

The internal struggles among the Vampires were even fiercer than he had imagined.

John could no longer withstand the pressure. He wanted to take his people and leave as quickly as possible. It was true that he came from the Thompson Family, but he was also an insignificant figure within it. He was beginning to suspect that Deacon had deliberately thrown him out as a discarded pawn. He wanted to live, not die.

"Kill all the other ordinary humans! Don't let a single one go!" John snarled through clenched teeth. Having lost all face, he wanted to kill people to vent his anger and keep the secret buried.

The clever ones had already fled when they saw things going wrong. The ordinary people who remained were the sort who loved a spectacle, but they had also heard some incredible things, such as the keyword "Vampire."

Many of them were confused. Their circles had not exposed them to the true nature of this world. Much information was tightly sealed away by relevant agencies and organizations, kept from ordinary people to avoid causing panic.

But they understood one thing: these people wanted to kill them to silence them.

"What kind of brat is this, acting so arrogant? I was in the underworld before you were even born!" The crowd immediately refused to take it lying down, reaching for weapons.

Most of those who remained had criminal backgrounds. Few people who came here had clean hands. Normally, they would roll up their sleeves and start fighting without wasting time talking.

But now their scalps tingled. No matter how fiercely they shouted, they could not hide the fact that these strange people could confront The Mechanic. Could they really handle them?

"The Mechanic, please help us! We'll repay you!"

The burly man who had been shot was not dead yet. He lay on the ground, clutching his wound and howling in pain as he begged Donnie for help, hoping Donnie would lend them a hand.