Go! As long as we don't kill them, it doesn't matter if they lose an arm or a leg!"
The young man in the floral shirt finally dropped his disguise and roared with a ferocious expression.
"kill!"
Forty or fifty burly men wielding knives let out a low roar and charged towards Ryuzaki Makoto like a black torrent bursting its banks.
Ryuzaki Makoto stood there, watching the blades rapidly magnify in his pupils, his smile gradually turning cruel.
Just as the first long sword was about to strike his shoulder, Ryuzaki Makoto advanced instead of retreating.
The asphalt road beneath his feet cracked slightly due to the immense force of the impact, and Ryuzaki Makoto's body instantly crashed into the crowd.
"Bang!"
A dull thud resounded.
Ryuzaki's fist landed squarely on the face of the man charging at the front.
The immense force caused the man's nasal bone to shatter and collapse, and blood mixed with teeth exploded in the air.
Before the burly man, weighing 180 pounds, could even scream, his body flew backward like a kite with a broken string, knocking down the two people behind him.
At the same time, two long swords stabbed at Ryuzaki Makoto's ribs from the left and right sides respectively.
Ryuzaki Makoto's body suddenly sank, his legs rooted to the ground as if they were planted there, and his upper body twisted slightly, just managing to avoid the blade.
Then, his hands instantly gripped the wrists of the two knife-wielding men.
"Snap!"
The sound of bones cracking is sickening.
With a blank expression, Ryuzaki twisted his wrist, breaking both of their wrists.
The long sword slipped from his hand and fell to the ground.
Ryuzaki Makoto seized one of the longswords that was still in mid-air, and with a flick of his wrist, a silver streak flashed through the air.
"puff!"
One of the thugs, who had attempted to sneak up on someone from behind, collapsed to the ground screaming in pain as he clutched his bleeding thigh.
He didn't kill anyone, but every slash and every punch precisely rendered his opponent unable to fight.
It could be a comminuted fracture or a knife wound that severs tendons.
This is the outlet he needs right now.
Just two minutes later, seven or eight members of the believers' association were lying on the ground, groaning in pain.
Not a single drop of blood touched Ryuzaki Makoto's body.
He held the stolen Japanese longsword in one hand, the tip pointing diagonally at the ground, blood slowly dripping down the groove.
He raised his head, his eyes filled with the purest brutality and coldness, and looked at the crowd that hesitated because of fear.
"Keep going, I've just finished warming up."
The glow of the setting sun shone on his profile, making his face, half of which was hidden in shadow, look like a demon.
"He...he's a monster!"
I don't know who shouted that.
But the shout did not deter the thugs; instead, it fueled their ferocity.
"Everyone, attack together! He's all alone! Let's wear him down!"
The person in the floral shirt was making a loud noise from behind.
The remaining people swarmed forward again.
Ryuzaki Makoto snorted coldly and hurled the long sword in his hand. The sword turned into a streak of light and pierced through the shoulder of one of the thugs, pinning him to the back of the car door.
He then rushed into the crowd.
This is the most primitive form of violent aesthetics.
The dull thud of a fist smashing bones.
The sound of a knee hitting the abdomen.
The sounds of screams rising and falling created the cruelest symphony under the setting sun.
...
The sun had completely sunk below the horizon, and the few remaining rays of light stained the clouds on the horizon with a dark red scab.
The air on the suburban avenue was filled with a strong smell of rust, a unique odor of blood mixed with dust.
Ryuzaki casually tossed the already chipped Japanese longsword aside, its blade striking the ground with a crisp sound that broke the suffocating silence.
Clang!
The ground was littered with groaning bodies, their severed limbs starkly visible in the dim light. Some tried to struggle to their feet, but their broken bones could not support their bodies, and they could only groan in despair.
The young man in the floral shirt collapsed onto the asphalt road, his legs giving way. His eyes were vacant and unfocused, and his expensive silk shirt was soaked with cold sweat, clinging tightly to his back.
He witnessed a massacre firsthand.
Just minutes ago, he threatened to cripple the man in front of him, but now, none of the dozens of elite soldiers are standing.
Footsteps drew closer.
"Da, da, da."
The leather shoes made a steady, rhythmic sound as they stepped on the asphalt road.
The woman in the floral shirt instinctively tried to back away, her legs trembling, her upper body shaking uncontrollably, and her teeth chattering.
Ryuzaki stopped in front of him. His tall figure blocked out the last ray of sunlight, casting a huge shadow on his pale face in the floral shirt.
The man in the floral shirt could only look up at the man who seemed to have walked out of hell.
Ryuzaki Makoto's face didn't show much expression. There was no ecstasy, no anger, only a terrifying calmness, a calmness that was even more chilling than his previous tyranny.
He looked at the floral shirt.
The man in the floral shirt's pupils contracted sharply, and he almost stopped breathing.
Ryuzaki Makoto stretched out his right hand, which was still stained with sticky blood.
He simply placed his blood-stained hand gently on the brightly colored lapel of the floral shirt.
Wipe left, wipe right.
With gentle and slow movements, he carefully rubbed the bloodstains from between his fingers and in the lines of his palm onto the other person's fabric.
The man in the floral shirt stood stiffly, too afraid to move, and could only let the other person treat him like a rag.
As Ryuzaki Shin wiped his hands, he stared into the eyes of the man in the floral shirt, a slow smile playing on his lips, his voice calm and somewhat languid.
"See, I told you long ago that your charitable association president is impolite."
"One must follow the rules in life and work. If he had been more polite and had come to invite me in person, or at least made the scene more respectable, things wouldn't have turned out this way, right?"
He stopped what he was doing, seemingly admiring the glaring blood-red pattern on his floral shirt.
"Look at how ugly this looks now, with dozens of people lying on the ground sleeping. If word gets out, it will damage the reputation of your Buddhist Association."
The man in the floral shirt looked at the man smiling at him, and his inner defenses completely crumbled.
This is not human.
This is clearly a ferocious beast in human skin.
This is Ryuzaki Makoto. Rumors about him have been circulating in the underworld for a long time, such as taking on an entire street by himself or fighting a hundred people single-handedly.
I used to think that floral shirts were just rumors, exaggerated claims made to create hype.
It wasn't until today, until those bloody three minutes just now, that he realized the rumors were far too conservative.
Those descriptions of violence are not even a fraction as terrifying as the man before them.
He felt a shiver from the depths of his soul, the instinctive fear that a lower creature feels when facing a predator at the top of the food chain.
Killing him would be easier for this person than crushing an ant.
The man in the floral shirt struggled to control his facial muscles, managing to force a smile that looked worse than crying. His voice was dry and hoarse, with a distinct sob in it.
"Sir... what you're saying is true... it's because we don't know the rules."
He could only obey and beg for mercy.
"We never expected you to be so...so powerful...we were blind and offended you. Please...please be magnanimous."
"Hahaha!"
Ryuzaki Makoto suddenly threw his head back and burst into laughter.
He slapped the face of the man in the floral shirt hard, making a crisp "slap slap" sound. Although it wasn't loud, in this atmosphere, each sound was like a gunshot hitting the man in the floral shirt's heart.
"You're a good kid, you know how to talk and you're quick-witted. I won't hit you today."
Ryuzaki Makoto withdrew his hand, somewhat disheartened.
If this had happened a few months ago, when he was just starting out in Huya, he would have knocked out all the teeth of the person in front of him, broken all his limbs, and thrown him into the sewer.
Because at that time he needed to establish his authority, he needed to use the most ruthless means to tell everyone that he was not to be trifled with.
But things are different now.
Now in a high position, he controls vast resources and connections, and his vision and perspective have undergone a complete transformation.
He is now a businessman, a tycoon who is about to take control of the development rights of Wuming Street.
Stepping on a few ants brings him no sense of accomplishment; it might even dirty the soles of his shoes.
These thugs lying on the ground, including the terrified leader in front of him, were nothing more than insignificant nobodys in his eyes, not worthy of his continued time.
Rather than crippling this piece of trash, it's better to keep his mouth open and let him go back and spread today's fear.
Sometimes, the fear of being alive is more intimidating than the fear of a dead body.
Ryuzaki Makoto slowly stood up, giving the floral shirt on the ground one last glance from his elevated position. Turning around, he didn't head towards the end of the street, but instead walked straight towards the black sedan in the middle of the previous Zenshinkai convoy.
Since the start of the battle, the car's engine has remained running, and the windows are tightly closed with dark black tinted film, making it impossible to see inside.
But Ryuzaki Makoto's keen senses told him that there was a gaze watching the battlefield from inside the car.
He strode over the mess and walked to the black Mercedes-Benz S-Class.
Ryuzaki Makoto reached out and grabbed the door handle of the rear door.
"Click".
The car door opened with a click.
He ducked down and crawled into the back of the car.
With a muffled thud, the car door slammed shut, partially shutting out the strong smell of blood from outside.
The air conditioning was on inside the car, making it very cold, and the leather seats emitted a faint leather smell.
On the other side of the back row sat a middle-aged man in a dark suit.
Even though such a brutal fight had just taken place outside, his posture remained unchanged, except for a slight twitch in the muscles at the corner of his eye.
Ryuzaki Makoto settled himself in his chair and leaned back in a relaxed manner, as if he hadn't been the one who had just experienced that fierce battle.
He then rummaged in his blood-stained suit pocket for a while and pulled out a cigarette that was already somewhat flattened.
He put a cigarette in his mouth, turned slightly to the side, and moved a little closer to the stiff-looking middle-aged man.
The carriage was eerily quiet, with only the faint hum of the air conditioning vents audible.
Ryuzaki Makoto smiled and spoke calmly.
"Could I borrow a light?"