The explosion wasn't just loud—it shook the ground. That kind of blast could only be from a grenade.
"What was that…?" Liang Wangba's eyes narrowed in the direction of the detonation.
"Father, could it be Lord Zhong making his move?" Liang Haotian turned to him, hopeful.
"No," Wangba shook his head. "It's too soon. Must be someone else."
He let out a slow breath. "With that boy's ability, I doubt they'll succeed. We need to be ready regardless."
"Pass my orders: the entire clan is on high alert! Any news about him—report to me immediately!"
The Liang family had already been bracing for war since learning of the Tiger Might Army's defeat. Every able-bodied man was mobilized, and Wangba had paid a fortune to hire mercenaries and killers.
The estate had been turned into a fortress. Layers of elite family guards, high-priced mercenaries, and cold-blooded assassins formed a human wall around the compound. The walls bristled with black-market military hardware—illegal, lethal, and expensive.
If anyone thought they could just stroll in, they'd be torn apart before taking three steps.
Lin Chen's off-road jeep rolled to a stop in front of the Liang estate. He didn't rush in—he simply looked ahead, eyes narrowing at the sprawling compound.
Dozens of hostile gazes locked on him immediately. Some he could see. Most he couldn't. From the dark windows, from the shadows, from rooftops—guns were already trained on him.
Through the window, Lin Chen noted the motion sensors, the trip mines, the sniper nests. They weren't just prepared for a frontal assault—they'd even accounted for infiltration.
For anyone else, it was impenetrable. For Lin Chen… it was just another door.
Instead of charging, he eased the jeep forward to a spot just beyond their range. Then, standing through the open sunroof, his voice cut across the night like a blade.
"I'll give you one last chance, Liang family!"
"Send your direct bloodline out here, kneeling before me! Confess everything that happened to the Lin family five years ago!"
Silence.
Not a sound from the compound.
Lin Chen didn't move. He just waited, motionless. The Liang estate was equally still—like a predator pretending to be part of the shadows.
As darkness settled over the sky, his patience ended.
"Fine. If you choose hell, don't blame me for sending you there."
The jeep's high beams flared to life, blazing across the iron gates. Lin Chen revved the engine, the roar building until it became a thunderclap.
VROOOOM!
The vehicle lunged forward like a rocket, smashing through the heavy gates with a deafening crash.
BANG!
A sniper's shot cracked the air, punching a hole the size of a thumb through the jeep's windshield.
Then the night erupted.
Automatic rifles, sniper fire, machine guns—hell, even a mounted heavy gun. Bullets poured toward the jeep in a metallic storm. Grenades exploded from every direction, sending shrapnel and shockwaves ripping through the courtyard.
For long minutes, the gunfire was relentless. Magazines emptied and were replaced. Gun barrels turned red-hot and were swapped out for fresh ones.
By the time the barrage faded, Lin Chen's jeep was nothing but twisted scrap scattered across the ground. Smoke and dust swallowed everything.
"Dead," one of the Liang gunmen muttered. "No one could've lived through that."
The leader waved at two men. "Go check the body."
The pair approached cautiously from opposite sides—
And froze when a calm voice spoke from behind them.
"No need to check. You failed."
Lin Chen stood balanced on the branch of a towering tree inside the compound. No one had seen him enter. None of the motion sensors had reacted.
"How—"
"Kill him!" Liang Tianhong's voice cracked under the strain. "Kill him and every man gets five million! Whoever brings me his head gets one hundred million!"
Greed flared in their eyes. Guns snapped toward Lin Chen, spitting fire.
But the night itself seemed to favor him. Shadows swallowed him whole. To the shooters, he was everywhere and nowhere at once. Bullets tore into walls and trees, some even into their own allies.
Desperate fighters dropped their guns, drawing blades and slipping into the dark to hunt him at close range.
RATATAT!
Lin Chen didn't even give them the chance. He ripped a light machine gun from one mercenary's hands and unleashed a merciless spray. Bodies fell. Screams tore the air.
One by one, the Liang family's fighters—elite guards, hired killers, so-called masters—were cut down.
Their morale collapsed. The promised millions meant nothing when death was breathing down their necks. The first man ran. Then another.
Like an avalanche starting with a single snowflake, the retreat spread until it became a stampede.
The mercenaries and assassins were the first to flee—they had no loyalty, only survival instinct. Even some of the Liang's own martial artists abandoned the fight. Those who stayed dropped their weapons and cowered.
No amount of shouting or cursing from Liang Haotian could stop the collapse.
Through it all, Lin Chen advanced, a predator in the dark. He stepped into the light at last, machine gun in hand, and looked down at Liang Haotian.
The man's will broke instantly under that gaze.
With his left hand, Lin Chen grabbed Haotian by the throat, lifting him off the ground like a ragdoll. Still holding the machine gun in his right hand, he began walking toward the central courtyard of the Liang ancestral home.