Palon was jolted awake by the intense gunfire.
At first, he thought he was having a nightmare and decided to have another drink and go back to sleep.
But as he picked up the glass, the continuous gunfire and screams made him realize the truth.
They were under attack.
He was so scared that the bottle slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor. He himself crawled under the bed, closed his eyes, and began to pray, lacking any will or courage to go out or fight.
Fred was praying too; as a second-generation immigrant, he still retained some Old Continent habits.
Like the worship of the old gods.
Their family worshipped the Sun God of the Old Continent, which was the most common old god belief among immigrants from the Fengcui Region.
Legend has it that the Sun God shines upon everything, can save all from suffering, and protects everyone from harm.
But now it's nighttime, still several hours until sunrise.
Fred was praying out of habit, or perhaps to muster some courage?
He truly didn't expect Ethan, that punk, would dare to attack tonight.
Complete madness.
Does he not know that I would gather a large number of people to defend?
He knows, but he still did it.
Just like tonight at the Beihai Star, when he suddenly fired a shot at Joan.
Recalling Joan's shattered head and his unclosed eyes, Fred couldn't help but tighten his clasped hands.
"Boss, they've broken through the outer defense and are in the garden. I've woken the others; we can use the house for a counterattack."
His subordinate walked in to report.
Fred nodded; he had to admit, Ethan picked the perfect time to attack—3 AM, when vigilance is at its lowest and people are most tired.
Let alone his subordinates, even Fred himself was in a half-asleep state before the gunfire rang out.
Many stationed outside probably didn't even have time to draw their guns before they were killed, right?
The youngest son of the Bolita family, everyone underestimated him.
Indeed, Fred felt he was even more ruthless and decisive than Old Alberto.
"Go find someone to bring back Palon, don't let him run off."
Fred took a deep breath, forcing himself into combat mode.
In the garden, Ethan had already fought his way through.
This was partly because the Cabreya family's garden was small, just a few steps, and barely anyone was stationed to guard it.
Ethan had anticipated their positions, executing rapid strikes, and the survivors had retreated into the house.
He couldn't help but marvel at the power of authority—it was overwhelming. You couldn't feel it when killing Joan, but this nighttime ambush brought its strength to the fullest.
That sense of malevolence was incredibly useful, marking shooters hidden in the darkness like being branded with red marks, giving them nowhere to hide.
Coupled with Ethan's steady control of firearms, he was hitting live targets. Not to mention, he had specifically chosen the moment of greatest human weakness and fatigue.
Virel and the others following Ethan felt a rush of excitement.
Having heard the confirmed news of Joan's death and trusting Anya, Virel believed in Ethan's strength.
But seeing it firsthand was entirely different.
In Ethan, Virel saw the shadow of Alberto.
"Virel, you stay here and hold them off. Anya and I will find a way in from the side."
Ethan said, already identifying a breach.
To him, the night posed no hindrance, his vision and hearing had mutated, and seeing in darkness was just one of the traits.
"Be careful, young master."
Virel wanted to say 'let me go,' but Ethan's words were undeniable.
Besides, only Young Master Ethan could execute this breakthrough perfectly.
"Cover me with gunfire."
Ethan said as he moved, leaving Virel to lead the remaining crew in firing wildly at the house.
Ethan's target was a window on the left side of the house; he could sense the malevolence there, clearly someone was guarding it.
Racing to the window, Ethan leapt and fired before the armed guard inside could react.
Switching to the hand cannon used on Joan, the large-caliber firearm from Margonan Company shattered the glass, blasting a large hole in the guard's head.
The sudden assault startled those inside the house, but Ethan had already flipped inside. After taking down a gunman coming to reinforce, he pulled Anya in as well.
Outside, Virel was not only firing blanks; realizing Ethan's entry, he advanced quickly with his men, preventing those inside from dispatching many against Ethan.
"Anya, find an opportunity to open the door so Virel's team can break in. I'll handle Fred."
Anya said nothing, just nodded.
They were in a washroom, with the door already half-open, and the second reinforcement gunman was lying dead at the entrance.
More footsteps could be heard outside, but they were cautious.
Ethan simply opened the door and shouted, "Fred, I've come for you, face me. You know we must resolve this, you and I."
Fred heard it; he was in the hall.
He and his men were initially holding the front door.
His plan was to hold out for a while until reinforcements arrived and then Ethan would have to retreat.
He had already made several calls; Ethan's attacks were fierce, but he hadn't cut the phone lines, which was good.
Yet again, his plan was thwarted.
Ethan, that punk, truly is...
Overbearing!
"Give me a drink," Fred rubbed the gun in his hand, saying to his men.
"Boss, let me go," his subordinate volunteered.
"No one can match him but me. Give me a drink." Fred's words were undeniable.
So his subordinate poured him a glass of gin.
Drinking it down in a single gulp, Fred suddenly stood, gun in hand, heading towards the washroom.
In that moment, it was as if that ruthless young man from years ago returned.
"Ethan, I'm here. Come, let me see how much of your father's skills you've learned!"
"Boom—"
A gunshot.
Ethan stood in the hallway outside the washroom, opposite a not-too-distant door, blowing it open.
He knew there were several people behind the door, but standing there, gun in hand, he was an unyielding force.