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In a secret, little-known base.
At that moment, ten strong, muscular men with wolf-like gazes surrounded a bald, heavily built man. He stood like an iron tower among them.
"Kill him!"
One of the men shouted, and the other nine roared in response. Together, they launched a joint assault on the towering bald figure in the center.
The most primitive and brutal form of human combat began.
There was no magic, no fighting spirit, no superpowers—only the raw collision of fists against fists, bones against bones.
Boom!
The bald "iron tower" was unbelievably sturdy. Even in this purely physical clash, one of the attackers felt as if he had been hit by a speeding car.
He was instantly knocked back over ten meters, crashing to the ground like a cannonball and landing in a pool of blood, completely incapacitated.
Yet neither side paid attention to this "accident."
Fueled by the smell of blood, the intensity of the fight only grew more brutal.
Although the bald man was as strong as an iron tower, he was also incredibly agile.
Like a cheetah, he weaved through the nine muscular men, like a king standing at the top of the food chain.
Ah!
One of the attackers made a mistake. The bald tower seized the opening and struck like a green dragon clawing forward, raking across the man's abdomen and leaving five bloody gashes.
Blood poured out, and in an instant, the muscular man lost his ability to fight.
Kill!
The remaining eight men grew even more desperate. Today, either you die or I die.
One minute… three minutes… five minutes…
The fight was over.
Ten muscular men lay scattered across the ground, limbs broken, bones exposed in some of the most severely injured.
In the center stood the bald iron tower, covered in blood.
But unlike those on the ground, not a single drop of that blood was his.
A sharp-eyed subordinate quickly stepped forward and respectfully handed him a white towel.
This bald iron tower was no nameless fighter—it was the underground emperor who could shake all of New York with a single stomp: Kingpin.
Unlike figures like Tony Stark—extremely wealthy, connected in politics and the military, even capable of influencing presidential elections—Kingpin, in the eyes of many true power brokers, was merely a dog that could be slaughtered when needed.
The reason he was tolerated was simple: he was "sensible," paid tribute every year, and knew his limits.
But in the underworld, a single order from Kingpin could trigger a bloody storm.
Kingpin casually wiped the blood from his body and asked, almost lazily:
"What happened to business in Hell's Kitchen last night?"
His tone was relaxed, but the atmosphere instantly dropped into an ice-cold abyss. Everyone shuddered.
A man nearby forced a stiff smile and hurried over.
"Boss, we've investigated everything. According to police informants, last night's failure was due to interference from a superhero called Hawkeye."
He carefully reported everything he had found.
The failure had scared him badly before; Kingpin had been furious and directly fed the previous failure to sharks in the Gulf of Mexico.
"Hawkeye?"
Kingpin frowned.
First Daredevil, then Punisher—heroes kept interfering with his operations. Now another one had appeared out of nowhere.
Did they really think he was an easy target?
"Then—"
Seeing Kingpin frown, the subordinate immediately became nervous.
The boss was in a bad mood. He could snap at any moment.
Especially now, mentioning Hawkeye made sweat pour down his back.
"Okay?"
Kingpin said calmly. "Did Hawkeye leave any message for me?"
"Yes!"
Relieved by the tone, the subordinate quickly continued.
"Boss… Hawkeye said you must transfer one million dollars to this account within seven days, or…"
He glanced up cautiously.
"…or he will cut off your head."
"Cut off my head?"
Kingpin repeated it flatly, showing neither anger nor amusement, as if the threat wasn't directed at him at all.
The subordinate became even more uneasy.
"Get out."
Kingpin waved his hand.
The man immediately left, relieved to have survived.
After he left, Kingpin gestured, and his men approached.
"I've already lost three operations and millions of dollars. I don't want that guy seeing the sun tomorrow."
"Yes, boss."
Two suited men stepped forward.
At that moment, another man in a sharp suit entered.
Unlike the others, he was calm and composed.
"Wilson, everything has been investigated. Frank Amick is dead—killed in a heavily guarded nest. According to police records, many of his bodyguards were first shot with arrows, then killed with firearms."
"Green Arrow? Hawkeye!"
Kingpin's eyes turned cold.
"Lester, after Daredevil and Punisher, another one called Hawkeye has appeared. But unlike them… he is greedy. That will be his downfall. We can use that against him."
Kingpin immediately devised a trap.
If you like my money, Hawkeye…
Then trade your life for it.
Lester—nicknamed "Bullseye"—was Kingpin's top enforcer. A master assassin with nearly inhuman throwing accuracy.
He could kill with playing cards, teeth, even a toothpick thrown from 91 meters away.
He was one of Kingpin's strongest weapons.
Kingpin fully trusted Bullseye's abilities.
This time, Hawkeye would disappear for good.
After receiving the order, Bullseye left directly.
Neither Kingpin nor Bullseye knew the exact details of the battle at Frank Amick's lair.
If they had known that "Hawkeye" couldn't even be stopped by continuous gunfire and rocket launchers, they might not have been so confident.
At that moment, Kingpin's phone vibrated.
Seeing the caller ID—"Vanessa"—all the coldness on his face melted away, replaced by a gentle, ordinary smile.
"Will, are you not finished yet?"
Wilson Fisk's voice became warm, like spring wind.
"I'll be back soon."
If anyone had seen this side of the ruthless crime lord, they would have been completely stunned.