As he spoke, the one-eared Black Ghost raised his hand, aimed his firearm at Zhang Beixing, and pulled the trigger.
"BANG!"
With a muffled crack, the bullet shot out of the chamber, flying towards Zhang Beixing.
Almost at the same instant,
"WHOOSH—"
A cold gleam from Zhang Beixing's spear flashed, slashing downwards in front of him.
"CLANG—"
The cold gleam met the bullet with a crisp ring in mid-air.
The fierce astral wind accompanying the spear's movement sliced the bullet cleanly in half.
Then, the spear's tip swept across the one-eared Black Ghost's neck. His head was almost severed, and blood gushed forth like a pillar!
"AHHH!!!"
Even though he had seen it several times, the sight of Zhang Beixing killing someone always managed to terrify the bartender. He couldn't help but let out a shrill, ear-piercing scream.
Zhang Beixing's response was simple. He just turned his spear around.
Thrust!
"SPLAT!"
