activa-t Chapter 86 Draw a circle
Chapter 86 Draw a circle
Chapter 86 Draw a Circle
Behind him, the police officers were already in position. Upon hearing the order, they pulled the bolts of their guns without hesitation.
"Bang!"
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
"Da da da"
Gunshots exploded in the sealed basement, deafeningly loud! Flashes of light!
Without warning, without any unnecessary words.
Long guns fired in bursts, and short guns roared.
The burly man who was hit first had three or four bloody holes burst open in his chest almost simultaneously. He was sent flying backward and crashed heavily onto the stone platform.
Two thugs were beside him; one of them had his skull blown off by a bullet, and red and white substances splattered on the painting of a deity on the wall.
Another person was hit in the abdomen, screaming and curling up on the ground.
The bullets pierced through the lights and smoke, penetrating the bodies of the thugs with precision and ruthlessness.
Screams, curses, the dull thud of bullets piercing flesh, the thud of bodies falling to the ground, the clatter of spent cartridge cases hitting the floor—all these sounds intertwined in an instant.
The thugs were caught off guard. In the past, when they encountered the police, they would stand shoulder to shoulder and press forward, and most of them would retreat.
But they never expected that the group on the other side would be so decisive and ruthless.
They were fierce and brave. But how could mortal flesh outrun a bullet?
Before the knife was even raised, the man was already down. Some tried to hide behind the wooden frame, but bullets pierced the thin planks, killing them instantly. Others lunged towards the stairs to escape, only to be riddled with bullets by crossfire.
In less than ten breaths, more than half of the twenty-odd elite thugs had fallen, blood flowing all over the ground, and the air was thick with the stench of blood.
The two warlock leaders were stunned, then flew into a rage!
"court death!"
The sorcerer hid behind the altar, brandishing his bone staff and chanting incantations. A sudden gust of cold wind arose, and the oil lamps flickered violently.
Another leader roared, his muscles bulged, and his skin turned an unnatural bluish-black. He was not afraid of ordinary bullets and charged directly at Zhou Xing!
It moved extremely fast, carrying a foul stench.
Zhou Xing did not move an inch.
Hans took half a step forward, raising his Winchester shotgun.
"boom!!"
With a loud bang, steel balls shot out in a fan shape, hitting the leader's chest at such close range.
The man's momentum faltered, a cloud of blood erupted from his chest, and his dark blue flesh could not withstand the violence of the shotgun shells, causing him to stagger backward.
Hans took another step forward, flicked his wrist, and reloaded.
"Bang!!"
The blood mist exploded again.
At this moment, the sorcerer's incantation was about to be completed, and a faint green flame emerged from the tip of the bone staff.
Zhou Xing glanced at it and said to the Chinese constables who were still firing, "Focus fire on the altar."
The four Chinese constables turned their guns on the altar and emptied their magazines.
"Bang bang bang bang——"
Bullets rained down like a storm.
A hazy, gray light enveloped the altar, deflecting most of the bullets that hit it. However, the light also fluctuated violently, its brightness constantly shifting.
"Continue," Zhou Xing said.
Several more guns joined in, and the bullets became even denser.
The protective shield finally gave way and shattered with a "poof." Subsequent bullets penetrated the altar without hindrance, sending debris flying everywhere.
The altar shattered, and bullets pierced the warlock's withered body, spraying out puffs of blood mist.
The sorcerer, holding his bone staff, lost his flame, made a gurgling sound in his throat, and fell backward.
The gunfire stopped.
The basement was deathly silent, save for the lingering smell of gunpowder and blood. The oil lamp still flickered.
More than twenty thugs and several evil sorcerers were all wiped out. The whole thing took less than a minute.
The police officers remained expressionless, skillfully ejecting spent cartridges and changing magazines, their guns still warily pointed at the remaining corner.
His movements were clean and efficient, carrying a cold sense of professionalism.
Zhou Xing then stepped forward, treading over the pool of blood, and walked to the edge of the altar. He glanced at the still-breathing bone staff sorcerer and asked, "Who gave you the guts to take bullets with your bare hands?"
Then his gaze shifted to the altar, where, besides the evil artifact, there was also a rough wooden box, perfectly preserved.
Inside, there were various spellcasting materials: hair, nails, strips of cloth covered with incantations—and an inconspicuous old silver bracelet, mixed in at the very bottom.
He picked up the bracelet.
It feels slightly heavy when you hold it. The style is very old-fashioned, with round garlic-shaped pieces, no patterns or decorations, and the surface is dull and scratched due to its age.
The instant they touched, a blazing, powerful, and unyielding vast will crashed into their sea of consciousness!
[Huo Yuanjia's Obsession: To eradicate evil witchcraft and Japanese samurai, and to uphold the spirit of Chinese martial arts!]
Huo Yuanjia's obsession!
Zhou Xing remained unfazed, clutching the silver bracelet tightly in his palm. The icy touch and the burning will within it seemed to merge into one.
He silently slipped it onto his wrist.
A murderous intent surged within him, chilling as frost.
There have long been rumors that a Japanese quack doctor poisoned Huo Yuanjia, and it seems there is some truth to it.
He turned around: "Seal everything off. Tie up anyone who's still breathing."
"Yes, Captain!"
sunset.
Zhou Xing led the last batch of evil beings, leading a long line of more than twenty dejected prisoners strung together with thick hemp rope, to the main street of Chahuadi.
Behind the line, the prisoners, chained together like a string of grasshoppers, dragged their chaotic footsteps and suppressed sobs across the floor, creating an eerie and terrifying scene.
On this day, the air in the flower arrangement area was filled with the crisp sound of slaps and the metallic clang of gun bolts being pulled back.
Both ends of the long street were blocked off.
On one side were Japanese samurai ronin led by Yagyu Muneaki, who outnumbered them and had their swords half-drawn.
His gaze swept over the dozen or so guns still held steadily behind Zhou Xing, and the long line of prisoners, and his eyelids twitched slightly.
On the other side, Du Bang, the deputy commissioner of the French Concession Police Department, along with several French police officers and Annamite police, blocked their way with grim expressions.
Yagyu Muneaki stepped forward, his tone cold and hard: "Detective Zhou, this farce should end. Today's actions have severely disrupted the rules and balance of the interspersed area. These people and things must be left behind for our and the French to deal with jointly."
DuPont's face was grim. He shouted, "Zhou, your special search powers have been temporarily suspended. You are hereby ordered to immediately hand over all seized items and personnel, and return to headquarters with me for questioning! This is an order!"
Rules, diplomacy, and orders from superiors—several mountains of pressure pressed down at the same time.
Zhong Ding's face was deathly pale. Chen Qi's hand holding the pen trembled. Although the Chinese constables still held their guns, their morale had diminished. Hans looked at Zhou Xing.
DuPont's move to undermine Renault suggests that Renault's ambition to take over has threatened the interests of others in the French Concession.
Power struggles are truly an enduring phenomenon.
Zhou Xing listened quietly, then suddenly smiled.
He took a few steps forward and stood on the flattest stone slab in the very center of the long street. Then, under everyone's gaze, he raised his right foot.
The soles of the boots scraped heavily across the stone slabs.
"Sizzle—!"
A piercing sound rang out. A white circle, about five feet in diameter, crooked yet exceptionally clear, appeared on the stone slab.
Zhou Xing stepped into the circle, raised his head, and glanced at DuPont first: "Mr. DuPont, I am now directly under the jurisdiction of the Renault Inspector. If you want to freeze my authority, you should use official documents."
He then looked at Yagyu Muneaki.
"Mr. Yagyu,"
His voice carried clearly through the silent street, "The essence of Bushido lies in courage."
Yagyu's eyes narrowed sharply.
"Today, I will not discuss the regulations of the concession, nor will I heed orders from my superiors."
Zhou Xing pointed to the white circle at his feet, "Let's talk about this circle."
His gaze swept over the gathered crowd: "I'm standing right here in this circle. Before nightfall, every single one of you Japanese samurai may come up. Use swords, knives, hidden weapons, dirty tricks—use them all."
His voice suddenly rose, tinged with provocation: "As long as there is someone who can make me walk around, with both feet off the ground, or with either foot stepping out of this circle."
He pointed outside the circle, his expression resolute: "I immediately resign from my post, taking all my people with me, and get out of this place right now, never to return!"
If not—
He abruptly changed the subject, his contempt evident in his words, "If you Japanese Bushido don't even dare to enter this circle—"
He stared at Yagyu Muneaki, a slight smile playing on his lips. "It's simple. You, Yagyu Muneaki, will represent them and say in public, 'I, dare not.'"
"As soon as those words are uttered..."
Zhou Xing surveyed the growing crowd of Chinese and foreign onlookers and declared loudly, "I, Zhou Xing, will turn around and leave immediately, without a second thought!"
Quiet.
Absolute silence.
The prisoners, bound by long ropes, were too frightened to utter a sound. The Chinese constables raised their guns even higher.
All the pressure, attention, expectations, and anger were hurled at Yagyu Muneaki alone.
The ronin behind him had bloodshot eyes, were breathing heavily, and were gripping their sword hilts tightly, but none of them dared to make a move.
DuPont's deputy director stared wide-eyed, stunned and speechless by Zhou Xing's utter disregard for orders and his barbarity that completely disregarded rules.
Yagyu Muneaki gripped the hilt of his sword, the veins on the back of his hand bulging. The calm on his face finally crumbled, his eyes flashing as he struggled violently.
If we do not fight, the dignity of Japanese martial arts here will completely collapse, and we will become a laughing stock.
If you accept the challenge, the opponent will trap you in their own self-imposed prison, leading to your own demise. Even if you win, it will be an unfair victory; if you lose—
The setting sun slanted across the crooked circle, illuminating the tall, spear-like figure within it.
The wind rises, stirring up dust from the street corner.
Inside and outside the circle, it is a battleground for dignity and survival.