Yanjing time, exactly twelve o'clock noon.
A call from Huadu came through on the Judge's number.
A hoarse voice rang on the phone: "Brother, it's done."
"Thank you for your effort, brother." The Judge spoke into the phone, paused, and explained, "You're closest to that place, otherwise I wouldn't have sent you; excessive killing will only harm you both mentally and physically."
"I like killing, brother."
On the phone, the voice of Shura was as calm as water, as if the frenzied slaughter thirty minutes ago had nothing to do with him.
"Sigh..." The Judge sighed heavily.
The call was disconnected.
The time went back thirty minutes ago —
ding ding ding —
A volley of bullets rained down like a slanted downpour.
Shura propelled his wheelchair with both hands, dodging each bullet at an insane speed.
More than thirty assassins were shooting madly at him simultaneously.
Soon after, flashes of cold light flickered, splattering large amounts of blood with each glint.
