Chapter 153: Pierre Bynum

Paris, France – District 13

Deep in a dingy underground district reeking of cheap alcohol and covered in graffiti, hidden beneath an abandoned factory, lay a gang hideout.

In the smoke-filled pool hall, seven or eight thugs in leather jackets sat around battered wooden crates, drinking cheap beer and shooting the breeze.

"Yo! You guys hear what happened? Last night, the European underworld literally exploded!"

A bald man waved his pool cue dramatically, his face a mix of shock and excitement. "The Gray Cloaks' Alpine headquarters got completely wiped out! And Nightfall's elite crew in Hamburg? Slaughtered. Every last one of them!"

"Yeah, yeah, I heard! My cousin deals black-market weapons—he said the guy who pulled off this insane hit is some American called 'Reaper.' Real name's Leo something…"

A scarred man chugged his beer, eyes filled with awe. "My God, he blew the head of the Rothschild family patriarch clean off! That's a dynasty that's ruled Europe for centuries! This Reaper guy—he's like a demon straight out of hell!"

"Man, I wonder what Reaper even looks like. If I could just meet him once, I'd have bragging rights for life!"

While these low-level gangsters spat and raved, turning Leo's exploits into mythical legend…

---

The heavy, rusted iron door of the underground hideout was kicked open from the outside without warning.

Bone-chilling wind mixed with Paris's cold midnight rain instantly flooded the smoke-filled pool hall.

The dozen or so men inside froze, then turned their heads in irritation.

Under the dim streetlight outside, a man and a woman stepped through the door, splashing through puddles.

The man wore a sharp black custom trench coat, a lit Cuban cigar clamped between his teeth.

Clinging to his arm was a woman so breathtakingly beautiful she could stop traffic.

A wine-red deep-V French coat. Voluminous waves of hair. Red-bottomed stilettos. Her seductively sculpted face and jaw-dropping curves had every man in the pool hall gawking, swallowing hard.

It was Leo and Victoria.

"Get whoever's in charge here. Now."

Leo stopped and exhaled a thick plume of smoke.

Hearing Leo's commanding tone, the street punks—used to throwing their weight around—immediately bristled.

Of course, they had no idea that the cold-looking man standing before them was the very "demon Reaper" they'd just been worshiping.

"Who the hell is this idiot, waltzing into our turf like he owns the place?"

The bald thug from earlier swaggered over, pool cue in hand.

His gaze completely ignored Leo, locking onto Victoria's barely-contained cleavage and long legs like a starving wolf, eyes dripping with lust.

"You wanna see our boss? Sure."

The bald man gave a sleazy whistle, licking his lips as he leered at Victoria. "But our boss doesn't just see anybody. Unless… this smoking-hot babe of yours stays behind and takes real good care of us! Hahaha!"

"Hell yeah! That body, that face—she's top-shelf!"

"Hey, sweetheart, what's the point of hanging around this pretty boy? Come have a drink with us in the back. We'll show you a real good time!"

The men erupted into crude, shameless laughter. A few even pulled out switchblades, smirking as they closed in, completely dismissing Leo.

Faced with this torrent of filth, Victoria didn't panic in the slightest. Instead, a pitying smile curved across her seductive face.

She lazily leaned against Leo's shoulder, her red-lacquered fingernail tapping his chest as she purred, "These cockroaches just violated me with their eyes. Aren't you going to do something about that?"

"Close your eyes."

Leo removed the cigar from his mouth, a flash of lethal cold cutting through his deep gaze. "No need to dirty yours with what comes next."

The instant those words left his lips—

Leo appeared in front of the bald man as if he'd teleported.

"What—?" The bald man's leer froze. His pupils shrank.

Before he could react—

Leo kicked out casually, slamming his boot into the man's chest.

CRACK!

A sickening crunch of ribs echoed through the hall.

The bald man flew backward, smashing through two heavy pool tables before crumpling against the wall like a broken doll.

Then—

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!

"AAAGH!"

In less than three seconds—

The gangsters who'd been spewing filth moments ago now lay scattered across the floor, unable to so much as graze Leo's coat.

Leo walked expressionlessly to the scarred man who'd pulled the switchblade earlier and pressed his black military boot onto the man's face, grinding down slowly.

"AAAGH! It hurts! My bones—they're breaking! Please! PLEASE spare me!"

The scarred man screamed hysterically, terror flooding his voice.

"I'm only saying this once more."

Leo looked down at him, eyes cold as ice. "Get your boss. Now."

Just as the scarred man thought death was certain—

"My friend, don't you think you're going a bit too far?"

A low voice suddenly echoed from a hidden door deep in the hall.

Then came the sharp, synchronized sound of guns being cocked.

Over a dozen gunmen in black suits poured out from the hidden door, surrounding Leo and Victoria in an instant.

Flanked by these elite gunmen, a middle-aged man in his fifties stepped forward.

Though he tried to conceal it, his straight posture and meticulous bearing were nothing like a common street gang boss.

Leo didn't even glance at the dozens of submachine guns aimed at him. He calmly placed the cigar back between his lips, his deep gaze settling on the gang leader.

"Too far? If I were in a worse mood, their heads would've already exploded when I kicked them."

Leo exhaled smoke, cutting straight to the point. "I don't like wasting time. Take me to the man you really work for."

At those words, the gang leader's pupils shrank imperceptibly, though his face immediately twisted into a mask of confusion and anger.

"What man? I have no idea what you're talking about."

The gang leader glared coldly at Leo. "This is 'Black Tiger' territory. I'm the only boss here. There's no 'man behind me.' You've injured my men. If you can't give me a satisfactory explanation, neither of you is walking out of here alive."

"Explanation?"

A mocking smile tugged at Leo's lips as he stepped closer to the gang leader.

"Twenty-five years ago, the Valois Manor on the outskirts of Paris was the scene of a bloody coup. The former family head was assassinated by Louis. The entire estate ran red with blood."

"On that cruel, rainy night, the former head's most loyal butler took a fatal bullet meant for five-year-old Erwin."

"Dragging his wounded body, he carried Erwin through a hidden underground drainage tunnel, shielding the boy with his life as they escaped the manor and disappeared into the slums of Paris."

As Leo spoke, the gang leader's face—still composed moments ago—drained of all color.

This secret, buried in the deepest corner of his heart, was being recited by a complete stranger.

"You… you…"

Leo stopped in front of the old man. "To protect Erwin, you changed your identity, living in hiding in these slums. You even abandoned your noble title as a butler and started from the bottom—as a common street thug."

"Over twenty-five years, you built this underground organization called 'Black Tiger.' On the surface, a street gang. In reality, you've been recruiting soldiers and gathering strength for Erwin, preparing to return to the Valois Manor and reclaim the position that rightfully belongs to him."

Leo held the cigar, exhaling a ring of smoke that drifted across the old man's ashen face.

"Am I right, former chief butler of the Valois family—Mr. Pierre Bynum?"

Pierre snatched a submachine gun from one of his men and aimed it at Leo, eyes full of wariness.

This was the deepest secret between him and Erwin.

No one else in the world should have known.

"Who… who are you?"

Pierre's eyes burned with suspicion. "Did Louis send you? Are you his assassin, here to finish the job?"