The sound of gunfire constantly roared both inside and outside the building.
Yet in the hallway outside the lavatory and the connecting area, time seemed almost at a standstill.
Ethan stood there alone, with a gun, sealing off everything.
Only the sound of footsteps was approaching.
Fred.
He slowly walked to the end of the lavatory hallway connecting area, his several subordinates couldn't help but want to speak, but he stopped them.
He placed the index finger of his left hand on his lips to silence them, while he listened to the movements in the hallway just a wall away.
Time became still once again.
The scene almost turned into something reminiscent of the Kingdom's southwest.
There, cowboys wearing wide-brimmed high-topped felt hats would, during life-and-death conflicts, choose a main road in a small southwestern town, stand at either end, hands on their gun grips, staring at each other in the sunset, waiting.
Waiting for the wind carrying yellow sand to rise suddenly, drawing their guns swiftly.
Now the hallway outside the lavatory had turned into that small town's dueling main street, only the wind hadn't risen yet.
Everyone was waiting.
Even their heartbeat sounds seemed pressed to the lowest level.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
With a "boom" sound.
It seemed like outside, Virel used something like a homemade bomb to blast the door, shaking the whole building.
And at that instant.
The wind rose.
At the hallway connection, a figure suddenly dashed out.
Accompanied naturally by the quickest gunshot.
And before the sound even faded, yet another figure closely followed; this one was Fred.
Fred gritted his teeth, his entire state had been adjusted to the best, in the fastest speed, with the best posture, as he stood at the hallway's end after his subordinate, who he pushed forward to take the bullet, got shot, aiming his gun into the pathway.
But he saw Ethan, and his gun.
His gun hadn't released any smoke; the one with smoke rising was Anya's gun.
Anya had somehow silently stood aside, it was she who fired the first shot!
"Goodbye."
Fred saw Ethan's mouth shape the words and saw him pulling the trigger, he knew this moment was a close engagement, too late to do anything else, he could only shoot as well.
The gunfire almost rang out simultaneously.
Facing the whizzing bullets, he subconsciously tapped into the power of his true name within his body to evade the shot.
This move, over the years of his life hanging by a thread, he had become exceedingly adept at, and it had unknowingly saved him countless times.
Thus in the past, he had nearly never lost against guns.
But in the next moment, he suddenly realized the power of his true name within his body, which had once flowed like blood, disappeared utterly, vacant entirely.
At that moment, he finally understood what Joan had gone through before she died.
That fear which had caused him to hide under the table after Joan's death exploded uncontrollably again.
Even though by instinct he managed to evade by an inch, letting the bullet only graze the skin of his neck, he still screamed loudly, unable to hold the gun in his hands any longer, he turned around and started to flee.
Ethan easily evaded the shot too; under the power of the authority, the bullet's trajectory seemed to slow down, he merely tilted his head slightly, without moving his body, avoiding the shot.
"Go."
Ethan stood up, signaling Anya to move.
This little setup against Fred, he had only gotten some forewarning in advance, thus giving Anya a glance.
Anya inexplicably met his command without a shred of doubt.
In hindsight, they were frighteningly in-sync.
Even though the time they had known each other didn't add up to a day.
Once Fred collapsed, his subordinates became even less formidable, some fled with him, some stormed out trying to continue intercepting.
The one who continued intercepting, naturally, didn't have any surprises being shot dead by Ethan instantly.
Quickly moving to the connection, the distance to the hall wasn't far, but Fred's direction of escape wasn't towards the hall, he fled upstairs.
After Ethan and Anya coordinated to take down two more gunmen attempting to stop them, they split up.
Ethan went upstairs to continue pursuing Fred, while Anya headed to the hall to take it by storm, assisting Virel and the others to enter from outside.
Still, they spoke no words, they brushed past each other.
Fred's screams continued, so even if Ethan didn't use the authority to sense him, he could easily tell where he was.
Fred's psychological defenses had entirely crumbled; his screams were largely not due to the intense pain from his neck being shot, but more so because the superiority he had built over years, beyond that of ordinary people, had been thoroughly shattered.
Thus his escape was chaotic, constantly tripping and getting up—a true beaten dog.
Ethan wasn't in any hurry, he just deliberately stepped on the staircase going up, step by step, slowly.
He believed with Fred's capability, he could hear the footsteps in this noisy environment.
The fact proved it too.
Fred's cries grew louder, he kept yelling, "No!!! No!!! Don't come over! Don't come over!"
Slowly reaching the second floor, Ethan saw Fred.
He was currently collapsed on the open walkway of the second floor, in the hall downstairs, his men had been broken through by Anya.
Anya indeed was the sharpest blade left to Leonardo by Alberto, even without the power of the true name, her strength was terrifyingly strong.
The front door had already been breached, Virel and the others stormed in.
Of course, the quick failure of Fred's men was also due to the fact that Fred's condition on the second-floor open walkway was clearly visible to them.
Fred wasn't caring about anyone anymore, he's just struggling forward.
By now, he wasn't even crawling because he heard the footsteps of death approaching nearby.
He flipped over to face Ethan, laughing grimly, "I didn't expect in the end I'd die at your hands."
He had imagined a hundred ways he might die; maybe it would be Leonardo, maybe Alberto, or another member of the Bolita family, or perhaps Joan.
What he didn't expect was that it would be Ethan, the least noticeable youngest son of the Bolita family who had been studying art in the Royal Capital a few days ago.
"I didn't expect it to be me either," Ethan said, already in front of him, pushing the gun barrel against his forehead.
"A terrible era, isn't it…"
Fred didn't finish his sentence, as the bullet already pierced through his skull.
Ethan turned around, leaned against the railing, looking at the people in the hall with a touch of fatigue, he lazily revealed the emblem entwined with black mud and thorns on the ring finger of his left hand.
"Fred is dead, the hatred has ended, those willing to pledge allegiance to me, offer your loyalty now."