As Xiao Feng, Old White, and Turner were savoring the burn of whiskey scorching their throats, two dilapidated trucks suddenly pulled up outside the tavern, coming to a halt beside Xiao Feng's black off-road vehicle. Moments later, dozens of fully armed Alliance soldiers spilled out with a clatter of boots and steel.
Henry, clenching an automatic rifle in one hand and a cigar in his teeth, stepped down from the passenger seat. He barked to the assembled soldiers, "Get in there. If they resist—shoot to kill!"
Inside the tavern, Xiao Feng's gaze fell upon the armed intruders. His instincts flared immediately—Locke had come to make trouble. Without hesitation, he drew the black alloy warblade from his back, while Old White and Turner pulled pistols from their waists.
To their astonishment, the fiery tavern mistress made an even bolder move. She pulled out two oversized silver handguns from behind the counter, marching toward the door while cursing, "That bastard Locke dares to disturb my business? Damn it, he's asking for death... Sit tight, all of you—I'll handle this."
Everyone watching reaffirmed two long-held truths about the tavern mistress: first, her sheer dominance; second, the notorious rumor that she had a particular fondness for "big guns"—which the size of those weapons now confirmed beyond doubt.
She stood defiantly at the entrance, glaring at Locke as he puffed on his cigar. "Captain Locke, just what do you think you're doing? Are you trying to ruin my business? I swear to you, if that's your aim, I'll fight to my last breath before letting you succeed."
Locke's face darkened. His gaze lingered briefly on her ample chest, but there was no trace of his former lecherous flattery. Today was different. The three men he came to seize were inside, and the tavern mistress had repeatedly defied him. His patience had worn thin.
Raising his rifle, he barked to his men, "Charge in! Bring them out—dead or alive!"
The tavern mistress's voice cracked like a whip. "Let me see who dares!" She raised her pistols and aimed squarely at the soldiers. Her firepower may have been limited, but if pushed to the edge, a squeeze of her trigger would surely send a dozen of them to hell with her.
The soldiers hesitated, their eyes turning to Locke.
Veins bulging, Locke roared, "Who's in charge of this zone—me or her? Get in there!"
But she did not flinch. Her pistols thundered—bang, bang... bang bang bang!—firing at the ground near the soldiers' feet. Bullets ripped through the stone, sending shards flying, the air thick with the acrid tang of gunpowder. The barrage stopped the advance cold.
Locke snapped. He stormed toward her, jamming the barrel of his rifle to her forehead. "Out of the way—now!"
But the tavern mistress didn't retreat. With deadly calm, she leveled both handguns at his skull. "Wanna see who's crazier? Let's count to three and pull the trigger. Whoever doesn't shoot is the other's bastard son!"
Locke was pushed past the brink. "Do it!"
"One..."
"Two..."
Bang!
A gunshot tore through the stillness. A bullet punched through the back of Locke's head, spraying blood like crimson mist.
The tavern mistress was yanked out of the line of fire as a symphony of gunfire erupted.
Alliance soldiers opened up in every direction. Their bursts varied in rhythm—some controlled in tight bursts: tat-tat... tat-tat... Others released a torrent of full-auto fury: tatatatatatata...
Furniture inside the tavern exploded into splinters. Locke's bloated body toppled backward in slow motion, his face frozen in disbelief, a smoldering hole in his forehead, his eyes wide and empty.
Behind the wall, the tavern mistress stood frozen, trembling. Blood—Locke's blood—speckled her stunned, beautiful face. She hadn't expected him to die. Not like this. Not right in front of her.
Xiao Feng chuckled softly, "Why didn't you pull the trigger yourself, boss lady?"
She glared at him. "Who told you to shoot, huh?! How the hell am I supposed to run a business now?!"
Xiao Feng replied calmly, "Worry about staying alive first. Hand me those pistols…" He seized the handguns from her hands, then turned to Old White. "Hold her back—don't let her out."
Old White's large hand clamped onto her shoulder, pulling her into his arms.
Xiao Feng stepped outside with both pistols in hand. The silver handguns spat fire—thirty bullets still loaded after the mistress had spent only a handful earlier.
Eyes narrowed, Xiao Feng began a precise, calculated assault. In slow motion, bullets whirled from the twin muzzles, trailing cyclones of air as they pierced into soldiers' arms and wrists. His shots were surgical—each one disabling without killing.
One after another, Alliance troops fell to the ground clutching shattered limbs.
He did not shoot to kill. He needed only Locke dead. That alone was enough.
Ten... fifteen soldiers were down in seconds. Xiao Feng stood in the storm of gunfire, both hands steady, his aim unerring—every round struck its target with ruthless precision.
The rest scrambled—some diving behind trucks, others firing wildly in return. Bullets punched into Xiao Feng's body, splattering blood with each impact.
Inside, Old White watched, horror-struck. Xiao Feng was the closest thing to a son he had left, second only to Alice. Seeing him riddled with bullets so close, like watching his own soul being torn apart, Old White let out a howl and lunged toward the door.
Turner grabbed him. "Don't! You'll die out there!"
"That's my child! I can't just watch him die!" Old White roared, breaking free with the brute strength of his enhanced abilities.
He stormed out—and what he saw next froze him to the core…