Mike's bullets stormed toward Karen like torrential rain.
Within moments, acrid gunsmoke filled the entire hallway.
Karen used the second-floor railing as cover. Bullets battered it with a relentless clatter, sending wood chips and metal fragments flying.
At the same time, he quickly bent down, picked up a handgun lying on the floor, and returned fire without hesitation.
For a while, gunshots rang out one after another, echoing across the second floor.
Hiding beneath the bed, Graff and his family were terrified. The fierce gunfire outside left them trembling with fear.
Listening to the relentless shots, Graff's son turned deathly pale and asked in a shaking voice, "Dad, are we really going to survive?"
Graff looked just as grim, his body trembling uncontrollably. But when he heard his son's words, he forced himself to remain calm, struggled to still his shaking, and said, "Don't worry. The man protecting us is the Black Nightmare himself. We'll be fine!"
Though he reassured his son aloud, the fear in his heart had not diminished at all. All kinds of terrifying thoughts kept flashing through his mind:
What if the Black Nightmare gets tied up fighting someone? Could someone come in and hurt us? But there's nowhere else in the house to hide!
At this point, all we can do is trust you, Mr. Black Nightmare. You have to hold out!!
In the hallway, the two men continued exchanging fire.
Relying on his agility and extraordinary reflexes, Karen kept closing in on Mike while dodging his bullets.
Mike knew that once Karen got close, he would be finished. He retreated along the hallway, firing as he went and trying to find more favorable terrain.
He still carried several spare magazines, giving him the advantage in firepower.
Bullets kept grazing walls and doorframes, leaving alarming gouges, yet none could hit the nimbly dodging Karen.
At last, Karen successfully forced Mike to the end of the second-floor hallway.
Karen secured an advantageous position and used a doorframe as cover, firing precisely at Mike. Every pull of the trigger drew a spray of blood.
Mike unleashed a frantic barrage. Dense bullet holes soon covered the walls, and wood chips and dust filled the air.
Karen swiftly loaded a fresh magazine and continued returning fire.
"Damn it, this is my last magazine." Karen frowned deeply. When the fight began, he had only managed to grab one gun and two magazines.
With little ammunition left, he had to finish Mike off as quickly as possible.
Meanwhile, Mike kept firing to prevent Karen from approaching.
After twelve consecutive shots, Mike quickly pulled out a magazine to reload.
Karen seized that fleeting opening. He swiftly shifted position and hurled his empty handgun with all his strength. Like an arrow loosed from a bow, it struck Mike squarely on the wrist as he reloaded.
Mike cried out in pain, and Karen took the opportunity to close in.
With an angry roar, Mike ignored the pain and tried to charge at Karen.
But Karen was already prepared. He swiftly drew his Cane Sword, its blade now tinged faintly red from the blood staining it.
As Mike charged, the Cane Sword struck his left shoulder again. He grunted, but stubbornly continued resisting with the Brass Knuckles on his right hand.
His left hand, however, had lost all sensation. It was completely useless.
Even if he somehow survived this time, his career as an assassin was effectively over.
Karen's Cane Sword slashed across Mike's arm, leaving deep, bloody gashes.
As he lost more and more blood, Mike's strength began to fail, and his movements grew sluggish.
Finally, after landing another attack, Karen seized his chance, swiftly redirected his Cane Sword, and struck Mike hard in the back of the neck.
Mike's body jolted violently. He let out a low grunt, then slowly crumpled to the floor.
Karen stood where he was, breathing somewhat heavily. To ensure Mike was dead, he stabbed him three more times.
Only after confirming that Mike had stopped breathing did his taut nerves relax a little.
He returned to the living room, sat back down on the sofa, and picked up his long-cold cup of tea. Gently blowing the foam from its surface, he began sipping it again.
"Finally dealt with him. That was a little tiring."
"But... I need to make sure there won't be any more trouble." He drained the remaining half cup of tea, then picked up his beloved Cane Sword and opened the villa's front door.
Fifteen minutes later, Karen opened the villa's front door again. By then, his clothes were completely soaked in blood, a glaring crimson, but not a single drop was his own.
He went upstairs and knocked on the door of the room where Graff's family was hiding. "The danger is over. You can come out now."
With that, Karen turned and left.
He took out his phone, found the leader's number, and called him.
Ring, ring, ring-click!
"Mission complete. All 117 assassins eliminated."
"Hahahaha! That's our Karen! You even took out Kugraif Mc, ranked twentieth in the world?!"
Karen's brows knitted into a dark line, and he shouted into the phone, "You knew Mike was there!!! Why didn't you tell me beforehand?! You made that fight so damn hard!!"
"But you won in the end, didn't you?" The leader chuckled. "All right, all right, I'll give you some time off. I won't assign you any missions for a month. How's that?"
Karen snorted. "That's more like it."
The leader laughed a couple more times, then continued, "There's still one loose end I need you to handle, though. Go give the War Faction a warning. The man behind this incident was Bell Mokron, deputy minister of the Ostania Ministry of State Security."
In a luxurious villa in the center of Ostania's capital, the master of the house, Bell Mokron, was flying into a rage.
Consumed by fury, he smashed vases, teacups, and other objects against the floor. The sharp sounds of shattering echoed through the room.
The servants nearby were too frightened even to breathe loudly. They stood trembling in the corners.
"Why! Why!! Why was the Black Nightmare at Graff's house!!"
"Kugraif Mc was utterly useless! With skills like that, he actually dared to charge five million dalks? He wasn't even worth as much as a dog!" He vented his rage wildly, and only after smashing the entire room into a wreck did his anger subside a little.
The old butler cautiously approached with some tea and said in a trembling voice, "Sir, please calm down and have some tea first." Bell Mokron snatched the cup, drained it in one gulp, then hurled it against the floor and roared, "A coward like Graff is still alive!!"
Half an hour earlier, he had received word that Graff and his family were safe and sound. Soon afterward, a detailed account of the entire incident had been laid on his desk.
He simply could not understand how the world's twentieth-ranked assassin, whom he had gone to such lengths to hire, had been defeated so quickly and even lost his life.
Was the gap between second and twentieth in the world really that enormous?
"No. Military force is the foundation for unifying East and West. How could dialogue alone possibly maintain peace?!"
"Find someone else. This time, someone ranked higher..."
Just then, a sharp whistle suddenly split the air.
Whoosh-
A short blade pierced the bulletproof glass like lightning and buried its tip deep in the table in front of Bell Mokron, shearing off a few strands of his hair along the way.
Bell Mokron froze, his back instantly drenched in cold sweat. He reached out with a trembling hand to pull the blade from the table, only to discover a line of tiny words engraved on its handle: "Behave yourself. Don't seek your own death."
His temples throbbed. Grabbing the candlestick beside him, he hurled it at the window. Glass fragments clattered to the floor amid the night breeze.
"This is outrageous! Outrageous!" He paced through the wreckage, the sharp crunch of porcelain beneath his leather shoes grating on the ears.
The old butler edged over along the wall, his back hunched. Only after Bell kicked over a third chair did he dare speak. "Sir, should we... mobilize our men to track down the Black Nightmare?"
Before he had finished speaking, Bell Mokron abruptly froze.
It felt as though that blade was still hovering at his neck. His Adam's apple bobbed twice, and he spun around.
"No!"
His voice came out far shriller than he had expected.
He cleared his throat to conceal his loss of composure. "Focus our efforts on a new... partner first."
Inside his clenched fists, cold sweat slowly dripped between his fingers.
I don't want to die yet...
Agent Mr. Karen Level: 100 Attack power: 2000 Intelligence: 100 Survival ability: 1000 Reliability: 50
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