Ismael stared coldly at Hassan, his voice sounding as though it were being forced through clenched teeth:
"Hassan, let's speak plainly. I heard a collapse here exposed some ancient ruins, so I brought my men over specifically to help clear them out. Step aside."
"Help? Hahaha!"
Hassan threw back his head and laughed several times, then his expression abruptly darkened, revealing his viciousness.
"Do you take me for a three-year-old? Whatever's inside belongs to my western mountain district as spoils! Even if it's nothing but a pile of worthless rocks, they're my worthless rocks! You don't get a say here. Take your men and get the hell back to your southern district!"
Murderous intent flashed in Ismael's eyes. The Crown of Sabbac was within reach. Never mind some petty Intergang leader—even if God himself stood in his way, he would tear him apart without hesitation!
"And what if I insist on going in?"
Ismael stepped forward, placing his right hand directly on the grip of the pistol at his waist.
Clack, clack, clack!
At his movement, the dozens of men behind Ismael raised their automatic rifles in unison.
Hassan's squad opposite them refused to back down either, and the heavy machine gun on the armored vehicle swung around, its muzzle trained squarely on Ismael.
"You want a shootout here?"
Hassan clenched his cigar between his teeth, his gaze turning exceedingly dangerous.
"Ismael, we all work for the higher-ups. You'd better think carefully about the consequences before going to war with me over antiques we haven't even seen yet!"
Ismael's gaze flickered slightly, and he forced down the urge to draw his gun.
If a gunfight really broke out, bullets wouldn't discriminate.
If he happened to be killed in the crossfire, everything would go up in smoke.
The Crown of Sabbac