Chapter 176 Suppression and Killing
Chapter 176 Suppression and Killing
At the end of the corridor stood a solid blast-proof iron door, ten centimeters thick.
Leo stopped in his tracks, slowly exhaling a white breath tinged with gunpowder.
Without even a glance at the complex security lock, he raised his right leg and, with the force of a thousand pounds—like a maddened elephant—slammed it into the iron door.
BOOM!
An earth-shattering crash echoed through the corridor.
The blast-proof door, capable of withstanding C4 explosives, was torn clean from the wall by Leo's single kick.
Through the swirling dust.
In the underground hall, three Japanese swordsmen gripped their gleaming katanas with both hands, staring at the doorway like they were facing their executioner.
Their bodies were covered in vicious black dragon tattoos. Each one radiated an aura several times more deadly than the assassins in Ichii's study.
"Who the hell are you? How dare you force your way into the Black Dragon Society's forbidden territory!"
The lead warrior in the center glared with bloodshot eyes, veins bulging on his hands as he gripped his blade. Through gritted teeth, he snarled in broken French, "I don't care who you are—if you take one more step, we'll tear you to pieces!"
"Tear me to pieces?"
Leo slowly drew a large-caliber handgun from inside his trench coat. His eyes, deep as an abyss, flickered with the cold mockery of someone looking at corpses.
He stepped over the wreckage of the iron door, advancing slowly. The suffocating pressure of the Reaper made even these elite warriors break into a cold sweat.
"You three guard dogs think you're qualified to say that to me?"
Leo raised the gun barrel, his lips curling into a bloodthirsty smirk. "Go ask Death himself in hell."
Before the words even finished leaving his mouth, the three Black Dragon Society warriors roared in unison and lunged like bloodthirsty wolves from three directions simultaneously.
Their katanas sliced through the stale basement air with a bone-chilling whistle, every strike aimed at Leo's vital points.
Yet, facing this devastating killing formation.
Leo did something no one expected.
Not only did he not fire—he calmly holstered the large-caliber handgun at his waist.
"Using a gun on trash like you would be an insult to the bullets."
A cold gleam exploded in Leo's deep-set eyes.
First move.
He shifted his body slightly, dodging the descending blade as casually as taking a stroll in the park.
Then his right hand transformed into a blade, carrying a violent gale, and slashed brutally into the throat of the nearest warrior.
CRACK!
His throat bone shattered completely. The warrior didn't even manage a scream—his eyes bulged as he collapsed like a sack of potatoes.
Second move.
The warrior on the right turned pale with shock. He pivoted his blade, slashing horizontally at Leo's torso.
Leo didn't even look. His left hand caught the razor-sharp blade barehanded, gripping the spine with crushing force.
With a sharp CLANG, the katana forged from hundred-times-folded steel snapped in two.
Leo swung the broken blade back like lightning, driving it straight into the warrior's heart and pinning him to the concrete wall behind.
Third move.
The last warrior was trembling with terror. He screamed and thrust his katana at Leo's face in a final, desperate struggle.
Leo's right leg whipped out like a world-splitting axe, tearing through the air with a sonic boom. It struck first, slamming into the warrior's chest.
BANG!
The warrior's ribcage caved inward. He flew backward and crashed into the iron door wreckage, dead on impact.
Three moves.
Just three moves.
Three of the Black Dragon Society's top swordsmen lay dead in grotesque positions, utterly crushed by Leo's bare-handed combat.
"Monster… you're a monster!"
Just then, the guard captain who'd been hiding in the stairwell corner finally snapped.
Trembling all over, he drew his sidearm and aimed desperately at Leo's back, his finger squeezing the trigger frantically.
But his speed was laughable compared to the Reaper's.
Leo moved as if he had eyes in the back of his head. His form slid backward like a phantom, closing the distance instantly.
His rough hand cut through the air in a blur, effortlessly snatching the gun from the captain's grip. In one fluid motion, he reversed it and shoved the barrel into the captain's gaping mouth.
BANG!
A muffled shot.
The back of the guard captain's skull exploded in a spray of blood that splattered across the wall.
Leo released his grip expressionlessly, letting the headless corpse slide limply to the floor.
He pulled out a pristine white handkerchief and methodically wiped the blood from his hands before tossing it aside. Then he continued walking in his long strides toward the deepest part of the underground prison.
The further down he went, the heavier the air became—thick with mold, dampness, and despair.
Most of the cells along the corridor were empty. Occasionally, dried bones lay scattered in corners, silent witnesses to the human tragedies that had unfolded here.
Finally, he reached the end of the hallway—a specially reinforced cell at the very back.
A heavy iron lock hung on the door.
Leo raised his handgun and fired two shots into the keyhole.
BANG! BANG!
He kicked the heavy door open. A wave of oppressive, musty air hit him in the face.
In the dim corner of the cell, on a shabby single bed, huddled a thin figure.
It was a woman.
She wore a tattered gray prison uniform, her hair hanging in disheveled strands.
At the sound of the door crashing open, she trembled violently like a startled deer, clutching her knees tightly and burying her head between her arms.
"Talia Martineau?"
Leo stopped, his low voice echoing in the deathly silent cell.
Hearing that long-forgotten name, the woman in the corner jerked her head up.
It was a pale, haggard face—but still faintly pretty beneath the sunken eyes and the terror and disbelief swimming in them.
"Who… who are you? What do you want…" Her voice was sandpaper-rough, saturated with fear.
"You're safe now."
Leo looked at her, the violence in his deep eyes softening just slightly. His tone was calm. "Your uncle Marcel sent me to rescue you. The Japanese stronghold has been eliminated. You're free."
"Uncle… Marcel?"
At those words, Talia's eyes instantly reddened. Tears poured down her cheeks like a broken dam.
She scrambled off the bed, stumbling, not even bothering with shoes—her bare feet pressed against the freezing floor.
"Twenty-five years… a full twenty-five years!"
Talia broke down sobbing, her voice shrill and desperate as she poured out the torment of her endless captivity. "I thought I'd die in this hell! I thought my uncle had abandoned me… every day was just endless darkness. I was so scared… I was so, so scared…"
Still crying, she lurched toward Leo.
Leo didn't dodge. He let the poor woman, imprisoned for twenty-five years, collapse into his arms. He even raised one hand and patted her back stiffly, offering a clumsy attempt at comfort.
"It's over now. Everything's over."
However.
In that single second while Leo held her.
The tears and despair in Talia's eyes vanished without a trace, replaced by a viper-like gleam of cold, venomous killing intent.
A specially designed diamond-shaped dagger slid silently from her sleeve into her palm.
Pressed tightly against Leo's chest, she suddenly raised her arm at a vicious angle, driving the blade straight toward the spine at his back.
But—
CRACK!
The expected sound of steel piercing flesh never came. Instead, there was the sound of bone snapping.
"AHHHHH!!!"
The woman let out a bloodcurdling scream. The poisoned dagger clattered to the floor.
Leo remained in the same embrace position, but the hand he'd placed on her back now clamped down like an iron vice on her wrist—and snapped her entire right arm backward.
He shoved hard. The woman slammed into the wall like a heap of garbage, writhing on the ground, clutching her broken arm.
"How… how is this possible…"
The fake Talia was drenched in cold sweat, her features twisted in agony. The eyes that had feigned despair now held nothing but pure shock. "When… when did you figure it out? My disguise was flawless!"
"Flawless? Don't insult the word."
Leo looked down at her from above, his gaze dripping with bone-chilling mockery.
"A woman imprisoned in a sunless dungeon for twenty-five years—even if she didn't go insane, she'd absolutely have tried to hurt herself or end her life out of sheer despair."
Leo glanced around at the surrounding walls, his voice cold and analytical. "This cell's walls don't have a single scratch mark from fingernails. And your wrists, your neck—your skin is smooth. No old calluses from being shackled. No scars from suicide attempts."