"Don't rush, the concert for the Feixin Girls' band is in two days. Then we'll show this corrupt Federation that some people still fight for independence and freedom."

The powerfully built man, entirely unclothed, slowly flipped through a novel while lounging on a dilapidated deck chair, a centipede tattooed across his chest writhing up and down with his breath, as if it were alive.

Zajad.

A dazzling new star in the ranks of terrorists these past few years, he had launched multiple attacks across various states. His methods were ever-changing and unpredictable, and his brutality reached such extremes that even some of his own terrorist comrades found it unbearable.

A figure like this naturally possessed his own unique strengths and a cadre of loyal followers; otherwise, he wouldn't have managed to carve out a reputation in just over a decade.

His arrival in Hanzhou was timed for the concert tour of the Feixin Twins, Asia's most beloved girl group, being held there. Coincidentally, the theme of their concert was explicitly against terrorism and advocated for global harmony.

These twin sisters were not only beautiful and talented singers but also maintained spotless public images, free of any negative scandals. In just three years since their debut, they had become Asia's top divas.

Their popularity was such that while perhaps not universal, it spanned every demographic—from the young to the middle-aged, from lolis to the more mature—capturing the hearts of all.

To stage a terrorist act dedicated to fighting for freedom during an anti-terrorism concert—what a magnificent prospect! Zajad smiled as he imagined the reactions of the fans driven wild for the two young divas when a dazzling shower of blood suddenly erupted at their moment of peak excitement. Would the two little divas dare to continue presenting themselves as paragons of justice, preaching against terrorism in the days to come?

Those two young girls knew nothing of true freedom! Zajad hurled the half-finished beer bottle onto the floor, looked up at a man chained to a stone pillar not far away, and a sinister grin twisted his lips. "I'll defile you first, then we'll capture those two young things! Let the brothers take turns with them. We’ll film it and sell it across the entire Federation, satisfying everyone's fantasies. Then let’s see what they use to oppose the fighters for freedom."

Just yesterday, because the concert was postponed, Zajad was forced to wait, and unexpectedly, he encountered several private investigators from the Private Detective Alliance.

Private investigators, besides handling typical matters like catching unfaithful spouses or conducting surveillance, also engaged in other activities, such as apprehending terrorists or wanted fugitives to claim high bounties from the Federation.

These five private investigators truly possessed considerable skill. In the time it took to eat one meal, they eliminated two highly trained elite terrorists and stormed the fifth-floor hall, only to be defeated shortly after.

For some reason, private investigators had become the sworn enemies of terrorist organizations and criminal syndicates. With the establishment of the Private Detective Alliance, these investigators had become increasingly difficult to handle.

Many terrorist operations had been thwarted by private detectives before they could even commence.

Zajad harbored intense loathing for private investigators. Whenever he encountered one, he made it a point to capture them alive and torture them to death slowly.

"Let me die."

With his arms and legs spread wide against the stone pillar in a crucifixion pose, the private investigator's voice was raw with a tearing hoarseness. The dried, scabbed blood at the corners of his eyes split open anew as the muscles twitched from emotional agitation, causing fresh blood to flow.

Since being captured by Zajad, this sole surviving private investigator had experienced the legendary eighteen levels of hell while still alive.

"Li Xing, tell me your daughter's name and where she is, and I'll let you go." Zajad slapped Li Xing's face from behind, then suddenly thrust his pelvis forward...

Li Xing's body went rigid. Blood slowly trickled from his mouth and eyes. After countless screams and wails, his vocal cords were already shredded; even the hoarsest rock music couldn't match the rasp of his voice.

Zajad pointed to the woman groaning nearby and whispered into Li Xing's ear, "Since you could sell out your wife's location, why not tell me your daughter's location too? I promise this time I'll keep my word. Just say it, and I'll release you."

"In... in... in..." Li Xing’s hands clenched so tightly his knuckles cracked. His entire face was contorted as he whispered, his voice barely audible: "Seoul Elementary, Fourth Grade, Class Three, Li Liqi..."

"What?" Zajad slapped Li Xing's swollen face hard. "Louder, I can't hear you."

"Seoul Elementary, Fourth Grade, Class Three, Li Liqi!" Li Xing shrieked, his spirit completely shattered.

"Oh, you called me scum when you first met me. What are you now?" Zajad stepped back a few paces, circling back in front of Li Xing. "Selling out your own daughter to a piece of scum—what does that make you?"

Savoring Li Xing’s breakdown, Zajad waved his hand. "Akavi, go fetch his daughter, and we'll put on a show for him right here. Vista, you come here! Continue attending to this hero investigator’s..."

The lecherous Zajad’s eyes suddenly flashed with sharp light. He left a solid imprint on the concrete floor with his foot and sprang towards another stone pillar with the swiftness of a leopard.

Simultaneously, seven crisp gunshots echoed through the hall. Li Xing, struggling in his bonds, tilted his head sideways as a crimson blossom erupted at his temple, ending his tragic life.

The woman underneath him died at the same moment; the man pinning her down had, at the most crucial instant, lifted her to shield himself from the fatal shot.

The terrorists engrossed in their games were not as lucky. A bullet drilled straight into their temples, concluding their journey in the middle of their game.

A terrorist eating a chicken leg rolled over and hid behind a table, believing he had evaded the deadly strike, only for the bullet to carve an arc in the air and bury itself straight into his temple, completely unexpectedly.

The other three Arab terrorists cleaning their rifles immediately dodged, narrowly escaping the lethal attack.

"Good shooting!" Zajad, hidden behind the thick pillar, couldn't help but issue a note of admiration.

If it hadn't been for his sensitive nose detecting the sudden, faint scent of an unfamiliar person in the room, that first, unheralded shot could very well have ended his life.

Zajad understood perfectly: the first of the seven bullets was aimed directly at him.

An arrival without killing intent, without any sense of presence, and without even a detectable scent—who was this newcomer? Zajad's thick eyebrows knitted together. If the other person hadn't been unable to conceal his scent, his head would truly have exploded.

What was the background of these two individuals, both capable of masking their killing intent and presence? Zajad began to calculate: how many people had arrived? Were they here with a specific objective, or was this an accidental encounter?

Apart from the totally naked Zajad, everyone else rapidly drew their firearms and aimed at the spot from which the shots had originated. They all understood clearly: if the shooter’s first target hadn't been Zajad, but one of them, they would undoubtedly be a cold corpse right now.

Although the interval between the seven shots was extremely brief, for these men, who lived under constant tension and possessed solid combat training, it was sufficient time!

Especially since the shooter’s second bullet targeted Tatafu, who was playing a game, and the third targeted someone else—this minuscule time difference was crucial!

Could the second bullet have been dodged? None of the terrorists were certain; they had never encountered such bizarre marksmanship.

Seven bullets, killing two terrorists! This kill count astonished all the terrorists.

In the silent hall, the ejected shell casings performed their final dance on the floor.

Reloading? No one dared to peek out to confirm their assumptions. They had only fired seven shots just now; this meant if the magazine held ten rounds, three were still remaining.

Were the shell casings landing a lure?

As Zajad praised the shot, an unnervingly calm and cold voice replied from the quiet hall.

"Killing—I have never done such a thing. I thought my first time shooting someone might cause my movements to falter from nervousness."

After a slight pause, Qin Fen’s voice, which sounded as if he were talking to himself, sounded again: "It turns out my assumption was wrong. You all provided me with ample justification for murder. In my eyes, you are not human at all. I am merely executing beasts. If any of you manage to escape, feel free to report me to the Animal Protection Society for cruelty to animals."

Kachak...

The sound of the magazine seating into the gun confirmed that the young man was boldly reloading with such composure.

Moreover, his voice was ethereal and shifting, making it impossible to pinpoint its source or the man's actual hiding location.

Bang!

Simultaneously with another shot, the outermost terrorist among the three who were huddled together instinctively ducked low. The comrade beside him had a bloody flower bloom on his temple.

"Boss! That... that bullet seemed to be traveling in an arc!"

The terrorist who had narrowly avoided one shot simply flopped onto the ground, shouting incessantly.

A curved trajectory? Zajad’s eyes immediately lit up. The term "Special Forces" flashed through his mind like lightning.

"Throw me the gun!" Zajad commanded, but his body accelerated in the opposite direction of the throw.

Feint to the east, attack the west! Zajad never intended to take the pistol his comrade threw. He only hoped the tumbling gun, flying through the air, would attract the attention of the sniper in the shadows, drawing a shot aimed at the trajectory of the flying pistol.

Even for a single shot! Zajad was confident he could use that infinitesimal time difference to reach a location with more weaponry.

Bang!

A shot rang out! Zajad’s body, which was about to clear the edge of the pillar, was yanked back and stopped dead. A sharp tuck of his chest and a duck of his head saved his life.