Humanity Forbidden Island [Full Text] - 18

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Chapter 246: Street Fighting in the Rainy Night.

The bullet fired by Xuan Ya instantly shattered the prostitute's left breast. The impact sent her staggering backward, sprawling onto the carpet. Blood quickly spread from beneath her, seeping everywhere.

The prostitute couldn't survive. Even though she had drawn the curtains, posing a significant disadvantage to us, Lian Qiutong would still kill her to silence her.

"Damn it, not like a man at all." Xuan Ya didn't want to kill an innocent woman, but Lian Qiutong forced him to. He didn't even have a chance to injure the prostitute; Lian Qiutong ultimately wanted to silence her, so Xuan Ya gave the woman a quick death. But he was furious.

I was secretly pleased. Lian Qiutong and Xuan Ya had no prior grudge, but now it seemed Lian Qiutong had finally given Xuan Ya a reason to kill him.

"Use your phone to call the police for Lian Qiutong." My eyes remained glued to the sniper scope, not missing any opportunity to shoot my opponent.

Upon hearing my words, Xuan Ya was initially taken aback, but after a moment's thought, a sinister smile crept across his veiled eyes. He then dialed the police.

The rain was quite heavy; for the Beirut Hotel, it was merely a broken window. Even if someone heard the sound of breaking glass, at this hour, they wouldn't bother, let alone call the police. Unless, of course, Lian Qiutong, posing as a guest, stood in the hotel corridor loudly complaining.

After the glass shattered, bullets flew into the room again, hitting the wooden bed covered with thick quilts, the noise barely audible compared to the moans coming from next door. Lian Qiutong killed the hotel prostitute who screamed and tried to rush out of the room precisely to prevent a commotion that would attract the police.

Since he was among the eight legendary assassins, his intelligence must be extremely high, and his precognitive abilities extraordinary. Therefore, he wouldn't be foolish enough to get into a police car and blow my head off on the way to the station. Besides, someone like him couldn't be verified by the police.

What Xuan Ya and I needed to do was force him out, to prevent him from lingering at the Beiru Hotel until dawn. If we delayed until then, Xuan Ya and I would be hampered, and Du Mo would become suspicious when he woke up.

Five minutes later, a line of police cars with sirens blaring and lights flashing rushed to the entrance of the Beiru Hotel along the deserted street. Lian Qiutong, hiding in his upstairs room, should have realized that his opponent had called the police.

"Hmph! This guy has a lot of strength," Xuan Ya said coldly, still aiming at his sniper rifle. Through the sniper scope, the large bed that Lian Qiutong had just tumbled over was moving towards the door, undulating.

He wanted to use the bed as cover to escape from the room, because the police would be coming soon. Lian Qiutong's weapon was hidden in the bathroom. He wrapped the rifle in a sheet, finally climbed out of the room, and turned into the corridor behind the concrete wall.

“Let’s go too. The police will soon find the source of the attack on the mountaintop. If we get surrounded by these guys, it will delay our pursuit of the Child Lover.” With that, Raven quickly crouched down and expertly packed his weapon into his backpack.

We split into two flanks, running in a zigzag pattern towards the Beiru Hotel, hoping to find the Child Lover before he crawled out of the building. We had to kill him tonight.

Facing the light drizzle, I gripped my rifle sling and ran down the hillside. Reaching the foot of the mountain, the raindrops began to patter, the current growing stronger. Although the sound was familiar, the lush jungle was gone.

I was now running through a concrete jungle, chasing a very dangerous man. Fortunately, with Raven’s help, our chances of victory were much higher. But I knew all too well that if Raven and I were careless, or if we had extremely bad luck, the Child Lover could very well kill us both.

I sprinted, quickly leaping over the guardrails of the mountain road. The relentless rain soaked through my hood and shirt. My feet splashed through the puddles, sending bubbles bubbling down the curb towards the drains.

Soon, I reached the city. The misty, rainy night seemed to have plunged the city into hibernation; aside from the dim streetlights, few windows were lit.

Reaching the east side of the Beirut Hotel, I quickly scaled the low wooden fence, circled around to the back of a dilapidated six-story building, pushed open the emergency exit secured with wire, and rushed up the stairs to the roof.

Now, I couldn't use binoculars anymore, as my opponent was also carrying a sniper rifle. Crouching low, I carefully crouched and crouched to a corner of the roof, pulled out my sniper rifle from my backpack, and slowly placed it on the rain-drenched concrete ledge.

I gently extended my right hand, lifted the cap from the scope, and began scanning every street near the Beirut Hotel.

Through the long-barreled sniper scope, a hazy, yellowish light gathered in a circle, within which countless tiny drops of water swirled. "God, the lost lamb, wanders the rainy streets, appear quickly, this is your path back to heaven." I silently recited the Bible, rain streaming down my chin.

Only the puddles on the roadside flowed towards the sewers, but I couldn't see the frantic figure of the Love Prisoner running past.

I thought, he must know that snipers might be lying in ambush on the high buildings near the hotel, hunting him down.

"Bang." A faint gunshot pierced through the layers of rain. On a rainy night like this, no one but us snipers would care.

The Love Prisoner must have been ambushed by the Hanging Crows on the other side of the Beiru Hotel. The towering concrete buildings blocked the view; I quickly put away my sniper rifle and ran back into the street.

The attackers didn't know the exact number of people attacking him, but the sudden, unexpected assault had caught the Love Prisoner completely off guard. As I turned onto a street, a shirtless, bald man, carrying a sniper rifle, disappeared into the misty rain at the end of the road.

"Clang, click, clang." I simply raised my Barrett rifle, estimated the direction he might run in, and rapidly fired two bullets side-by-side, hoping to kill him by chance.

Chasing after a killer like Lian Qiutong is extremely dangerous; he could easily lie prone in the middle of the pouring rain and blow the pursuer's head off. Therefore, the only option is a flanking maneuver, quickly flanking him to create another opportunity to fire.

Xuan Ya must be on Lian Qiutong's left flank, chasing him in the same way. "Clang, clang." I quickly pursued across the street, and two more heavy sniper rifle shots rang out ahead. Xuan Ya was at my 10:30 position, relentlessly pursuing his opponent. "Clang, clang."

Two more rapid gunshots rang out. It wasn't hard to tell that Lian Qiutong and Xuan Ya were exchanging fire in the vast rainy night, two top snipers shooting at each other. When escaping from the hotel room, Lian Qiutong deliberately concealed his weapon, preventing his sniper from seeing it.

Now, from the two shots he fired in his first return fire, both Xuan Ya and I recognized that the other was using an ultra-long-range sniper rifle.

I accelerated again, crashing through the dense raindrops. The people of this city were dreaming sweet dreams in their dry, comfortable homes, unaware that in the dark night, with the rain pouring down outside their windows, three assassins were locked in a life-or-death struggle. The

highly penetrating bullets could fly into any window or door, taking away the souls of those in their sleep.

Chapter 247: The Prisoner's Totem on Human Skin

I threw off my soaked hood and shirt, my long, wet hair hanging down from my forehead, swaying from side to side as I ran. My worn-out military boots splashed water everywhere I stepped on them.

The night sky was pitch black, rain pouring down. The wind in the alleyway, combined with my running, pushed the zipper of my shirt down, revealing my muscular chest. Raindrops pelted my strong muscles, instantly shattering.

Lian Qiutong had already discerned from the gunfire that two snipers were simultaneously pursuing him. Therefore, Xuan Ya couldn't provoke him into retaliating too much, delaying him until I surrounded him and blew his head off with a single shot.

"Clang, clang." The harsh gunfire echoed continuously through the deserted streets of the rainy night, bullets weaving through the coastal city like shuttles on a loom. Lian Qiutong knew he might be flanked from the right, and he ran with considerable speed.

This opponent, a formidable figure among the eight legendary assassins, possessed exceptional acumen and combat tactics. To evade bullets flying in straight lines, he maintained an irregular running and jumping trajectory, his speed steadily increasing.

As a result, our chase and battle gradually moved away from the city's blurry neon streetlights, and a mountain road appeared not far ahead.

I couldn't be sure if the terrain beyond this mountain road was the same as the one at the foot of the hill. If it also had a hill full of tall trees and large rocks, this battle might truly drag on until dawn, and the danger would increase significantly.

The rain-drenched road surface gradually sloped down. The Raven on Lian Qiutong's left flank continued its rapid sprint, locked onto its target. He too realized that the terrain for urban warfare was about to change, and the flanking formation needed to be altered.

"Clang, clang," the Raven fired two more bullets, the gunshots very close together. Lian Qiutong couldn't possibly be running in a straight line; it seemed the Raven had scouted ahead and knew the terrain of the mountain road ahead.

So he fired two shots into the rain, relying on instinct to catch the child lover, even though the chances of success were pitifully small. His real purpose was to scare the child away, forcing him into a corner. And I, from the gunshots, understood his implication.

The child lover, clutching a sniper rifle, wearing only disposable pajama bottoms provided by the hotel, fled the Beirut building in a panic. His bare upper body, covered in prison bars, was tattooed with countless severed fingers gripping and shaking them. His terrified and desperate faces twisted and contorted with screams, as if the prison cages were on fire, and they were about to be scorched.

I had never seen such horrifying tattoos before, especially not from 800 meters away through a sniper scope. He was an artist-infused killer; his unique tattoos were enough to suggest his danger.

This guy was bald, his shiny scalp contrasting with his white skin, giving him a greasy look. The tattoo extended all the way to the back of his neck.

This man had a peculiar face; long eyelashes covered his narrow eyes, and his straight, drooping nose seemed to press against his thin lips, resembling the shape of an anchor head.

When I reached the mountain road on the city's outer ring, Love Prisoner and Hanging Crow had already chased after me into the lingering, dim rain. A long coastline stretched before me, many massive reefs slumbering in the chaotic rain.

I quickly avoided the halo of the mountain road lights, taking cover in the inky shadow cast by a low mountain wall.

The ground beneath my feet was still higher than the coastline before me. I straightened up, raised my sniper rifle, and assumed a K-shaped firing stance. The continuously falling raindrops shattered on the cap at the front of the scope.

The T-shaped crosshair followed the barrel, focusing on the long coastline, slowly scanning and moving. In this world of voyeurism, a few isolated lighthouses stood sporadically on the coastline, like flames about to be extinguished, emitting a pale, yellowish light, preventing the darkness from fully spreading.

Unable to see the Love Prisoner or the Hanging Raven, only the spray from the crashing waves vanished on the dark, wet rocks. A muffled gunshot rang out, piercing the dense rain. Another volley followed.

Two ultra-long-range sniper rifles, like dragons rising from the sea, roared and fought fiercely. Bullets striking the rocks sparked, pinpointing the locations of the Hanging Raven and the Love Prisoner.

My sniper rifle had absolute kill range, but it couldn't reach the target behind the reef. I zipped up my jacket, slung the rifle behind my back, and sprinted towards the right side of the mountain road.

My legs pounded, I didn't dare slow down, grabbing the guardrail with my left hand, leaping over two obstacles over a meter high, quickly reaching the sea.

I continued running diagonally to the right, avoiding the lighthouse's glow. The outer edge of the mountain road was deep, some sections tens of meters deep, others less than ten meters. These steep cliffs, like the front of a bulldozer, sloping low into the sea.

Using the house-sized rocks for cover, I crouched low, weaving through the jumbled stones. The rain pounded harder, tiny droplets constantly splashing onto my face. The lighthouse's glow on my left was no longer within reach.

I pulled a condom from my pocket, carefully tore open the packaging, and covered the already cooled sniper rifle. Then, I took off my sweatshirt and stuffed it into a crevice in the rocks.

My muscular upper body was instantly exposed to the icy rain. I parted my long, dripping hair and tied it behind my head, bent down, grabbed the sniper rifle leaning against a large rock beside me, and ran towards the vast sea.

The frigid seawater reached above my knees, causing my calf muscles to contract sharply. Gradually, the cold seeped into my ribs and waist. I gritted my teeth and endured it, hunching over so that only my neck remained above the water. My sniper rifle was held horizontally above my head, and my feet, bracing against the soft sand, propelled me forward to avoid being knocked over by the rising and falling tide.

I had to hide as deep as possible, especially avoiding the halo of light from the lighthouse. Hanging Raven and Love Prisoner were locked in fierce combat. Seeing that I hadn't appeared, he naturally assumed I was acting alone, not going back to the hotel for a nap.

Love Prisoner also anticipated this danger, but we had cornered him on the coastal rocks. If it weren't for Hanging Raven, he probably would have already plunged into the sea and swam away in the dark water.

But now, Love Prisoner couldn't afford to take the risk. He knew that if he walked through the dim lighthouse halo, his head would be shattered into pieces before he even reached the water.

I dared not act rashly either. Since Lian Qiutong couldn't see me, he would naturally keep a close watch on my back. Once the lighthouse's glow faded from the darkness...

Chapter 248: The Choice on the Reef

"Clang, clang!" Sparks flew from both ends within a hundred meters. The bullets fired by Xuan Ya and Lian Qiutong struck the reefs protecting their bodies.

The icy, bone-chilling seawater constantly churned me, causing my center of gravity to shift. Seeing the fierce battle on the reefs, I feared Xuan Ya might make a mistake. If Lian Qiutong shot him, my turn to be killed wouldn't be far off.

Pushing my way forward a little further on the shallow sand, the lighthouse's glow appeared in the churning waves of the nearshore waters. I had to move deeper into the sea. If I wasn't careful and was pushed into the glow by a wave, Lian Qiutong would instantly smash my head. With his sniping skills, he could definitely do it.

I stretched out an arm, pressed it against the sniper rifle above my head, and began to push off the sand, swimming into the open sea. The damp sea breeze rushed into my ears. I frantically paddled around the area illuminated by the lighthouse's glow, afraid of accidentally revealing myself.

"Clang, clang, clang..." The small canvas bag of the Raven must have been filled with bullets. He kept firing at the Imprisoned Child, both to suppress his opponent and to allow me to see where the enemy was returning fire.

The Imprisoned Child was very cunning. The more the Raven fired, the more discreetly he returned fire, because he could decipher the coded messages between us. The Imprisoned Child fell silent. He completely concealed himself, ceasing all further fire, like a man who had run out of ammunition, loading his empty gun with a bayonet, waiting for the enemy to search.

Clearly, when this guy fled the Beirut Hotel in such a panic, besides being disheveled, he probably didn't even have enough bullets—perhaps only twenty. Because, when sniping the pirate king trapped in Somalia, there's only one chance to fire. There's absolutely no chance of firing a second shot. Of the eight legendary assassins, none dared to provoke the target guarded by the Water Spirit.

Gradually, I swam past the shallow waters touched by the lighthouse's halo, paddling towards the dark sands. The moment my feet touched the soft sand, I quickly hunched over, leaving only my nose and upper body above the surface to breathe.

I slowly moved towards the shore until one knee could rest on the muddy sand beneath the surface, then gently removed the sniper rifle from my head, pushed open the scope, and began peering towards the dark, wet, rocky shoreline.

This time, Lian Qiutong would never have imagined that the assassin chasing him would appear on the open sea. (16k novel wàp.16k.cn text version first published)

I magnified the scope of my sniper rifle, bringing all the life I could capture along the coastline into my world of domination. "Come, let my bullets, in place of God's hand, caress your gleaming head; come, let the souls within those totems on your skin be free..."

My lips trembled, the salty seawater constantly washing over my taste buds, like licking fresh blood. On the rugged coast, the light was extremely dim. Because the rocks were large, the child could burrow into the crevices like a crab, camouflaging himself. Moreover, he changed positions within a small area after each shot, constantly wary of me sneaking in to kill him in the dark.

"Clang." Something I never expected happened. As the crow ran between a trench-like reef, his back arched too high, attracting a blazing streak of fire that pierced through the rain and struck his back. This shot was absolutely fatal; the crow slumped to the side.

"Clang." At the same time, a similar streak of fire shot out from the dark sea. The "T" reticle in my sniper scope moved backward along the line of fire from the shot that killed the crow. With lightning speed, I spotted an arm trying to pull back from a cluster of unusually well-hidden rocks.

The boy, Lian Qiutong, had pulled the trigger with his right hand and supported the rifle with his left. Just as his right hand, dragging the barrel, retracted behind the rocks like a snake's tail, the scorching bullet instantly shattered the back of his hand. His five fingers were nowhere to be found, but they were certainly scattered under nearby rocks.

"Ah!" A muffled scream echoed from the pouring rain on the shore. "Clang." Before the opponent's scream could reach its peak, I fired another bullet, striking his right ankle, which he stretched out in agony.

The night was too dark; only the screams of the wound revealed the gruesome image of blood. Lian Qiutong was finished. The injury to his right hand was far worse than a cleaver severing his wrist; the bullet's concussion was enough to fracture his entire forearm.

His right ankle, which had been curled up with his body like a baby in a placenta, was exposed behind a crevice in the rocks due to the sudden pain, and was then bitten a second time by the powerful sniper rifle.

I thought, he still has a pistol, at least his left hand can still pull the trigger. Now is far from the time to draw a dagger, load it into a bayonet, rush ashore, and plunge it into the enemy's heart or slit his throat.

"Clang, clang, clang..." I pulled the trigger repeatedly, the spent cartridges jumping into the water like little frogs.

Although I had firmly suppressed the seriously wounded child lover, the intense pain made him curl up, and I could no longer tear his flesh and bones through the cracks in the rocks. The rock face above his head was hit by a series of powerful bullets, and the shattered rock fragments and even pebbles were brutally slicing through the skin of his bare upper body.

"Ah! Ah! Ah..." Heart-wrenching screams echoed through the dark, chaotic rainy night. I ignored them, only furious at the death of the Crow. This meant I would once again be alone in battle, facing the remaining six assassins and the true and false Pirate Kings.

The Child Lover had been hit by two bullets, one in each hand and foot shattered. Even though I couldn't see him now, it wasn't hard to imagine him clutching his head, struggling desperately and enduring the slicing of stone fragments, too afraid to emerge from the pile of rocks to die.

There were three sniper bullets left in the magazine. I knew he wasn't dead yet, so I locked the sniper rifle tightly on him.

Now, the Child Lover had only two choices: either stand up and let me give him a quick death, sparing him some physical pain; or hide in the pile of rocks and bleed to death.

Of course, I'd prefer him to choose the first option, sticking his head out so I could blow it to pieces. But I knew that in his life, he had shattered countless heads, yet now, when it was his turn, he was so stingy and hesitant. He wouldn't survive the night.

A long whistle echoed from the right side of the shore. On the beach, a dark figure with a sniper rifle slung across his shoulder sprinted towards the pile of rocks where the lover was hiding, as if in a race.

My heavy heart immediately leaped with joy. He truly lived up to his name, Nine-Lives Raven; he was still alive! The flame of hope for the women's salvation, like a seedling caught in the wind, shone brightly again.

"You forced me to kill innocent women, making me take the blame for your sins? I'll tear you to pieces now..." Raven's extreme excitement was tinged with rage. I kept my target locked, providing cover for Raven. If the lover dared to rise and fight back, bullets would be fired instantly.

"Fuck you!" With a shout from the lover crouching behind the rocks, a burst of fire erupted as the grenade Raven had thrown exploded. This time, the lover would have no chance of retaliating.

Chapter 249: The Sadistic Cage Demon

"Splash... splash..." The seawater was too cold. I quickly got up, grabbed my sniper rifle, and waded through the seawater on my knees, running towards the shore.

When we arrived at the spot where the Sadistic Child had been blown up, the dark, shiny rocks were covered with sticky blood, rotten flesh, and bone fragments stuck together with blood and flesh

. At the top of that huge rock, several sticky intestines had broken off, slowly sliding down with the rain. "Heh, ptooey!" The raven spat angrily at the Sadistic Child, whose belly and skull had been blown apart. "His misdeeds didn't extend to his wife and children. This bastard had a penchant for kidnapping the victims' wives and children after killing their employers' targets. He considered these women and children his trophies, imprisoning them in unknown forests or islands. As for the child fetishist, he would visit them regularly like a zookeeper, feeding them cruel torture and abuse until their playthings died, giving him a slave-owner-like pleasure."

The description by the raven sent a chill down my spine. The rotting human corpse before me suddenly seemed like the remains of a demon. This "child fetishist," with his terrifying name and eerie human skin totem, had perished on the vast sea.

The seawater surged and churned, gently washing against the shore. A heavy sense of guilt welled up within me, a deep feeling of helplessness for the innocent lives he had taken.

The child fetishist possessed a high talent for hunting, but in reality, he had gone mad, like someone with powerful magic ultimately corrupted by evil intentions.

Some psychopathic hunters, after killing cheetahs on the grasslands, will take away their cubs and skin their mothers alive for pleasure. The Child Lover is a monster devoid of humanity, not a true killer; no wonder the Raven hates him so much and holds him in such contempt.

"Chase Horse, remember, don't approach the enemies you've shot easily. I only threw one grenade." I nodded, indicating I accepted the Raven's warning.

The Child Lover also carried grenades; before he died, he might have laid detonating fishing lines under the rocks, making it easy for me to accidentally fall into them and die when I examined the body.

The Raven's grenade also detonated the one next to the Child Lover, resulting in severe mutilation of his body.

"Didn't you see God?" I asked the Raven with a long sigh of relief, teasingly. "Hmph, God said he doesn't need inflatable dolls." As soon as the Raven finished speaking, I immediately understood everything that had just happened.

His small green canvas bag actually contained an inflatable doll, folded up and tucked inside unnoticed. When needed, he would blow air into it or squeeze the handle, and the silicone doll would instantly inflate.

The Raven was lying in the rocky ditch, the inflatable doll bent towards him, with the rifle held horizontally in its hand. From the Child Lover's position, it looked like his opponent was hunched over in the trench.

The Raven, by simply swaying his back and pushing off with his heels, would propel the inflatable doll forward. The Child Lover couldn't resist the trap; the Raven knew exactly how much exposure of the disguised doll would most provoke the opponent's desire to shoot.

If the Raven had simply lifted the doll onto the rocks or deliberately exposed its head for the opponent to fire, the Child Lover would have immediately recognized this crude trick.

However, the Raven's disguise was meticulous; only a thin strip of his back was exposed. This seemingly unintentional, brief exposure was often the most alluring and seductive to a highly skilled assassin.

The reason Lover was exposed was because his sniping skills were too precise. He fired at such a razor-thin target, but hitting him meant hitting himself. It was at that moment that my sniper rifle, which I had been lying in wait on the surface of the sea, shattered his right hand.

"Let's go, it's almost dawn." Raven picked up Lover's rifle, gripped the barrel, and shook it up and down, making two clicks. The last spent cartridge rolled into the reef.

Lover's sniper rifle was indeed out of ammunition. My and Raven's attack had completely caught him off guard, leaving him on the defensive and unable to unleash his full power before he was killed.

"I need some money after we get to Somalia." As Raven and I were about to part ways on the hilltop in the drizzling rain, carrying our rifles, I made him a request.

Jason Jody on the Sea Demon controlled my and Dumo's funds to limit my ability to resist him. “Okay, I’ll get it ready for you.” Raven agreed without hesitation, not even flinching to ask what I needed it for.

The police cars in front of the Beirut Hotel had vanished without a trace, as if nothing had happened. I loaded the rifle, clutched it to my chest, and ran towards the hotel. Passing the 24-hour supermarket, I hid the weapon behind a trash can before going inside.

I grabbed another identical sweatshirt and had the cashier, who wore pink eyeshadow, wrap it up. The sleepy-eyed cashier, seeing me soaked to the bone, asked if I needed help. I shook my head.

She was a white girl, very pretty, and her sexy lips met my gaze earnestly as she spoke French. I picked up the wrapped, brand-new sweatshirt, turned, and took a few steps when she suddenly switched to English.

“I’m about to finish work, my home is nearby, you need a hot coffee.” I paused, my brain cells rapidly assessing her intentions, wondering if she had any connection to pirates or assassins.

But then I thought, the girl meant no harm; she was just lonely and wanted to be held in the arms of a strong man as she fell asleep. Of course, before falling asleep, she needed a man's passion to relieve her fatigue after her night shift, so she could sleep soundly and have sweet dreams.

"You are very beautiful, but my wife is waiting for me to go home to eat breakfast!"

I didn't turn around, refusing the girl's offer as I walked towards the shop door. In Southeast Asian countries where women are more conservative, I would probably have thought I'd encountered a prostitute.

But in Madagascar, this beautiful country heavily influenced by European culture, such girls are perfectly normal. They are very independent and rarely place themselves in a passive position of dependence on men.

After navigating a few streets, the small hotel where I was staying soon came into view. The prostitutes and their clients, reeking of sweat, were sleeping in each other's arms. The light was about to break, and everyone, like the rising sun, would return to their unchanging trajectory, beginning a new day.

I quietly climbed back into my hotel room through the window. Before going in, I made sure to peek inside. I didn't see any prostitutes embracing the unconscious Dumo, ready to extort money from us upon waking; nor did I see any hidden traps.

Although this hotel operated as a brothel, it still adhered to basic principles. I quickly took a hot shower, changed into my new sweatshirt, and disassembled the sniper rifle, which had been soaked in blood all night, putting it back in the wooden box containing the herbs.

Then I collected fruit peels and scraps of paper, mixing them with my soaked sweatshirt and throwing them into the garbage chute at the end of the corridor.

Dumo was still fast asleep, not even snoring. His penis was sticking out of his oversized underwear, like a small umbrella. It seemed this fat kodo beast hadn't been with a woman in a long time.

I covered myself with the blankets, lay down on the soft wooden bed, and, with the tension and exhaustion of the night, slowly closed my eyes, waiting for Dumo to wake me in the afternoon.

Chapter 250: The Scapegoat for Moving Nests
Around noon, in my hazy sleep, I heard Dumo get up. He saw the clock on the wall of the guest room and seemed quite pleased with his long, restful sleep. I, however, remained asleep, my eyes still closed.

Dumo rummaged through the hotel room for some food, then went to the bathroom to wash up, moving quietly so as not to disturb my sweet dreams.

We had traveled all the way from Mauritius to Madagascar, inevitably exhausted and weary. Occasionally indulging in a late sleep felt like a small luxury.

Therefore, Dumo not only didn't notice anything amiss, but also, while I slept, quietly opened the door and slipped out.

With a soft "click" as the door closed, a slight smile appeared on my sleepy lips as I drifted back to sleep. Dumo went out; he hadn't fully explored the city the night before, and a sense of wonder still lingered within him. Or perhaps, just like last time he left the beach at night, he went alone to meet the contact person who would give him instructions for the next mission.

I was already aware of a conspiracy among pirates to seize power; now it was Jason Yodimon on the Sea Demon's turn to keep quiet.

When Dumo returned, it was already three in the afternoon. He was beaming, carrying large bags and small packages. From the labels on the groceries, I could tell he had also gone shopping at that 24-hour supermarket.

"Hehe, Mr. Chase, look what I bought for you!" Dumo flashed his snow-white teeth, his cheekbones puffed up with his smile, making his dark, hard cheeks appear even more prominent.

"Dumo, why didn't you wake me?" He dumped all the bags and packages beside my bed, still chuckling, his two dark hands reaching into the bags simultaneously, eager to show me what he had bought.

I only asked him a brief question, and Dumo brazenly replied that he hadn't woken me so I could rest more. This made him seem somewhat embarrassed.

Dumo loved meat, which explained his robust build and thick, hard skin. "The sausages you bought last night were delicious, so I bought a few more packs. Oh! By the way, I also bought four pounds of braised beef to give you plenty of whey protein. Hehehe..."

His words made my heart sink. Buying all that food would cost a lot of money, but Dumo wouldn't rummage through my pockets while I was asleep. It seemed he had indeed met with the mission leader and received his first travel allowance.

"We won't have to worry about money anymore. That bastard Jason Jodi finally got his hands on me. Look, I even got fifty euros when I accepted this mission. Now we can enjoy ourselves in this beautiful peninsula town!"

Dumo became increasingly cheerful, as if he had many ideas he had previously had but was held back by money, and now he could finally do them.

I reached out my left hand, scratched my forehead, and then let out a relieved sigh. “Here you go, Mr. Chase, this is the six euros I spent on you earlier, now I'm returning them in full. We're doing this for Jason Jody, we can't afford to spend each other

's money. Hehehe…” Dumo’s eyes shone brightly, his face brimming with joy. Seeing his insistence, I accepted the six euros. Actually, I really needed to accumulate some cash on hand.

“Here, have a sip of juice to perk yourself up.” He seemed exceptionally happy today, constantly trying to please me.

“Alright, now that we have some money, let’s get a nicer hotel.” I threw back the covers, got out of bed, and washed my sleepy eyes.

“Oh, this… uh… how about we go tomorrow? It’s already four in the afternoon,” Dumo said somewhat evasively.

I understood his thinking, because in the shopping bag he brought, there happened to be a brand new box of Durex condoms. This guy definitely didn’t just grab a box while paying; he had planned ahead, he really needed a box of human friends. This also reminded me of the cashier girl who made sexual advances towards me.

“Every euro in your pocket is enough to buy ninety girls like the one downstairs to spend the night with you. In this kind of thing, quality matters more than quantity. So, moving to a better hotel is also for your sake.”

Du Mo was sitting on the outdoor bed, munching on sausages, his appetite no longer able to replace the lust surging in his mind.

My words immediately piqued his interest; the guy practically jumped off the small wooden bed, rushed to the bathroom door, and grinned, revealing two rows of gleaming white teeth.

"Mr. Zhui Ma, do you know what I dreamed about last night? I was even hoping that a beautiful lady would knock on our room door in the middle of the night, then burst in naked, wrapped only in a bath towel, and forcefully pin me down on the bed. Oh God, I, Du Mo, am going to sleep with a high-class hotel lady tonight, hahaha..."

The guy's mouth was drooling, his eyes rolling upwards as if God were standing on the ceiling, listening to his smug words. After Du Mo finished speaking, one dark, shiny arm gripped the door frame, and he actually clutched his stomach, laughing so hard he bent over.

This guy must have already imagined many intimate scenes with hotel ladies in his mind; just thinking about those scenes made him laugh like this.

It wasn't hard to see that Dumo wasn't a vicious pirate. At least, during his daily piracy at sea, he didn't rape other men's wives and daughters much. Compared to those well-dressed hypocrites who talked about women with disdain, Dumo was quite endearing.

After I finished washing up and came out of the bathroom, Dumo had already brought out two large wooden crates, everything neatly arranged, waiting for my command to rush out of the small inn and into the arms of the hotel hostess he so desperately wanted.

I looked at Dumo in surprise. He smiled shyly, as if deliberately showing his dazzling white teeth, forcing me to look away from his awkward expression.

"Alright, let's go check out," I said, feigning helplessness. Actually, I was even more eager to check into the hotel than Dumo.

After quickly checking out and leaving the small inn near the dock, Dumo and I dragged the heavy wooden crates and quickly jumped into a taxi.

"This seaside city is beautiful. Could you recommend a few good hotels?" I said to the taxi driver before he could act. A white man with a brown goatee and tinted sunglasses glanced in the rearview mirror.

Like every local, he enjoyed hearing outsiders praise the city he worked in, despite his own complaints. He was still delighted and rattled off the names of seven upscale hotels.

"Oh, let's go to the Beirut Grand Hotel then," I replied nonchalantly. The car sped along, delivering Dumo and me to the ornate glass revolving door in the blink of an eye. A waiter rushed over to open the door for us.

A city isn't a deserted island; before nightfall, the small hotel Dumo and I had stayed in would be under heavy police scrutiny. A

sniper rifle hidden in a wooden crate, a pirate, and a fugitive assassin—they'd have a hard time defending their identities. So, I had to steer Dumo away from these troubles.

Chapter 251: Meditation in the Elevator

In Southeast Asia, I've seen many similar investigative methods. They're nothing more than finding scapegoats among the foreign population, using them as cannon fodder to maintain a semblance of order, and stabilizing the public's mindset to continue creating value.

Or, they might uncover things that are usually tolerated, using them to fill gaps at crucial moments, making things look better to both superiors and subordinates. The Beirut Hotel was the scene of last night's murder, and Dumo and I checked in after the incident, essentially avoiding the suspect's blind spot.

But Dumo was completely unaware of all this, just as he still doesn't know that Jason Jody is murdering his true leader, usurping all control and wealth on the Sea Demon. A

beautiful and sexy hotel hostess led Dumo and me up in the elevator to our standard room. Dumo walked beside me, his eyes darting around, scanning the hostess's back.

A slender, graceful girl, her high heels revealing her sexy ankles, her dark blue stockings extending to the bottom of her short skirt, the hooks of her black bra prominently visible beneath her tight white shirt.

At this moment, Du Mo felt a strange tension. I stared ahead, the elevator ascending at a steady pace, inadvertently stirring up memories deep within me. In Southeast Asia, I had countless times ventured into high-end entertainment venues to carry out assassinations.

With this slight swaying sensation, I closed my eyes briefly, and my eyelids flashed like a black movie screen, displaying chaotic images: the elevator walls and the white sheets of the hotel room, all gradually stained with gushing blood.

Of course, there were also the screams of hotel prostitutes, each one exposing their genitals, incredibly alluring and seductive, yet so contemptible in the face of naked blood and power.

These women hated the world's contempt for them most, yet ultimately chose a way that made them even more contemptible, to overcome the emptiness within their own inferiority complex. Greed stems from inferiority and can corrupt the mind.

When a woman like this is lost between security and greed, she will suddenly realize when she has been enslaved by greed. Some money, the more you earn, the poorer your soul and humanity become; happiness has long since become a memory to be longed for.

The amount of material possessions has no measure of whether a soul has entered into nothingness. At least, in the eyes of assassins, this is their state. Therefore, a rational assassin will not needlessly harm the naked prostitutes nearby when eliminating their target.

A woman's screams can sometimes protect her, and sometimes push her to an unrelated death. Some assassins have extremely complex psychology; the screams of the opposite sex can stimulate their desires or hatred. Prostitutes, in particular, whose appearance matches the assassin's aesthetic standards, are more likely to die unjustly at the assassination scene.

The assassin's thinking was peculiar. He believed that every body was controlled by a soul. When a beautiful, delicate body was controlled by an ugly soul and severely defiled, the sacred lips of an angel turning into the filthy ass of a demon, he lost control . A subconscious mission arose, compelling him to kill that life, like burying a rotting, stinking peacock.

This sense of mission can extend to the political, religious, and cultural spheres. A war between two nations often stems from a sense of mission in the political instigator, using economic or political friction to ignite conflict.

God endowed women with great reproductive organs, enabling them to shower men with love, yet she has fallen into corruption, attracting men who do not love her and harming those who do. Such women stifle men's faith; they only offer opportunities for money, never for men.

Asia's largest nation possesses excellent traditional culture and virtues. In cultural strategy, dealing with such a resilient people undoubtedly requires despicable means: leading the women of this nation into depravity and undermining the faith of its men—what a hypocritical cultural germ missile!

In several rainforest countries of Southeast Asia, there once existed a kind of assassin who would brutally kill anyone who was about to have sex with their target, was having sex with them, or even slept next to them after sex. In the eyes of this assassin, prostitutes were more hated than their targets.

The child lover, perhaps having realized something, possessed a cruelty that led him to harm the innocent, but he died last night, and his inner world remains unknown. I've always tried to deduce the child lover's motives, why he would harm the wives and children of his targets. These questions have always troubled me, far more complex than those of the assassins who tormented prostitutes.

To find the answers, I even recalled many things from the past, from the era of mercenaries in Southeast Asia.

In Thailand, a merchant who colluded with high-ranking officials excessively exploited the people supported by the rulers. After several discussions, he still refused to relinquish the wealth he had embezzled from the people and was ultimately assassinated in the garden of his mansion. None of the eighteen prostitutes he kept survived.

I knew then that the mission was only for one target; the eighteen extra lives were not part of the instructions. However, the businessman was ultimately convicted, all his assets were confiscated by the government, and reinvested in basic infrastructure projects.

Similarly, the Philippines blindly adopted Western democracy and private sector development, leading many wealthy business owners to build golf courses or bathhouses and invite officials for entertainment.

The lack of a legal system allowed these businessmen to quickly amass national wealth, and when the government realized it was being manipulated, it failed to promptly demand the return of the hard-earned money of the Filipino people.

Therefore, women in this country can only work as maids in other countries. The domestic environment has deteriorated, the poor can't earn money, and have no space to survive. This is why many skilled assassins from the Philippines have flocked to Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, and Laos.

At that time, I also accepted numerous assassination missions, targeting merchants who embezzled public wealth and refused to return it.

I remember once, I was alone, unarmed, posing as a hotel room manager. After knocking on the target's door, I used my hammer-like fists to smash his face into a bloody pulp and then broke his neck.

On the fat man's bed lay two naked prostitutes. They were beautiful, around seventeen or eighteen years old. The bloody beating didn't frighten the two girls; they just watched silently, their eyes incredibly cold.

But I knew that girls like them had chosen prostitution over working as maids abroad. Even if that weren't the case, I had no reason to kill a prostitute unless she was so evil that she drove a kind person to evil.

Grabbing the white sheets from under the two girls' bottoms, I wiped my hands, stained with blood and flesh, then changed into the deceased's expensive suit, calmly walked out of the room, and entered the elevator.

"Ding!" The elevator doors opened, and the receptionist stepped out first. She stood politely outside, extending a delicate hand to invite us out.

Chapter 252: The Unmasked Crime

A straight and elegant corridor immediately came into view, its walls gleaming with glazed tiles, bathed in a dim red light, like a red cloth stimulating the eyes of a bull, arousing the desires within human nature. Stepping on the soft patterned carpet, Du Mo and I quickly arrived at the guest room.

"Please come in, sir. What service do you need? You can directly call the indoor phone to contact our front desk, and we will serve you promptly." I was about to say thank you, dismissing the pretty receptionist, when Du Mo, bewildered, spoke.

“I need a prostitute. Are you a hostess during the day and a prostitute at night? Then I want to sleep with you and have sex. Name your price.” My relaxed forehead immediately bulged with veins. Du Mo clearly didn’t understand the hunting rules of the concrete jungle.

He believed that as long as he had money, girls would drop their pretenses and climb into bed to let him vent his desires, like a hunter who thinks that if he has a gun, a wild pheasant is his dinner. Little did he know that Du Mo’s self-righteously conceited amount of money was nothing but self-humiliation compared to those big bosses who colluded with officials.

However, Du Mo’s raw, urban personality made him seem very human. Sometimes, expressing his desires directly was a form of sincerity. But this is the city, which is particularly stingy with those who don’t understand hypocrisy, and the girls here are too. Although they try their best to find sincerity, most of them fall into the trap of feigned sincerity.

“Oh, he’s just joking with you. We don’t need anything for now,” I said casually. The hostess blushed, her sweet lips pursed nervously. She wanted to tell Du Mo that they didn't offer that kind of service, only food and entertainment.

Closing the door, the room was a completely different story. Compared to the small inn they'd stayed in, it felt like a magnificent palace.

Du Mo pounced on the soft bed, unable to contain his joy. "Ah! Such a wonderful environment, it would be a waste not to have some beautiful women to play with. Wow! This bed is so bouncy; those big bosses, fatter than me, can save a lot of energy when they're having fun with pretty girls."

I carefully checked the curtains, looking for any tampering, and then for hidden cameras. "Your beauty will give you a child and love you for life. There are no beauties here, only prey and hunter," I replied to Du Mo, but my mind was already planning something else.

"That girl's really pretty. When I'm rich enough to rule the seas, I'll definitely snatch her onto my ship and have her sleep with me every day, giving me a whole bunch of little Kodo beasts," Dumo said with a laugh, but I didn't take it seriously.

Dumo came from a poor, war-torn African countryside. He'd only been on the pirate ship for a few days, and the city girls disguised as "Rouge" and "Thong" had a strong visual impact on him. He was like a child with no immunity, catching a cold instantly.

"That waitress just now, she's a new girl. When she led us around, there was fear and unease deep in her eyes. This is different from those socially adept waitresses. Their eyes always hover between arrogance and servility, and what they fear most is others seeing is fatigue."

Dumo sat up abruptly, his eyes almost flashing. "Mr. Chase, you can not only kill a person, but also a person's heart." I tossed Dumo a bottle of juice to shut him up, then pressed my ear against the wall to test the soundproofing of the room.

"Any sounds of moaning coming from next door? This hotel we're staying at, surely there are some prostitutes there?" I quickly shushed him, signaling Dumo not to disturb my eavesdropping.

"If a hotel like this didn't have prostitutes, there wouldn't have been so many girls in the corridor of that little inn. You have to understand, this kind of service spreads from high-end to low-end establishments; that's just the vine, this is the root."

After hearing my words, Dumo's cheeks puffed up further, making his white teeth gleam. "Hehehe, that's good. Otherwise, I would have gone back to that inn. I had to do it tonight. These things can't be delayed, or I'd collapse."

Gradually, I found that Dumo and I were getting along better. Sexual topics always quickly brought the two men closer, reducing the distance between us.

Dumo was increasingly fond of me, mainly because he wasn't the trump card to kill me in the end. The real trump card died last night on the coastal rocks.

"Dumo, call the receptionist and ask what entertainment options this hotel offers. I'll enjoy everything except shooting." As I spoke, I rummaged through the food bag Dumo had brought, grabbed a piece of braised beef, and heated it in a glass by the hotel water dispenser.

Since our feast at the tea plantation on Reunion Island, where we enjoyed the beef stew with potatoes made by the kind woman Camilla, Dumo knew I liked beef. It seems Dumo is a meticulous person.

Now, having tasted many delicious and novel foods in the city, Dumo no longer boasts about his culinary skills, showing he's self-aware.

Chapter 253:

The Death of the Imprisoned Child in the Hotel's African Dance Romance. The death of the child greatly impacted Jason Jody's original plan. He's now going all in, and currently can only place his hopes on me. Consequently, the treatment of Dumo and me has improved significantly. In the short term, the safety of the women on the Sea Demon will also increase accordingly.

Dumo called the front desk, and the clerk told him that there was a bar on the basement floor with a voluptuous dance floor where he could watch hot girls pole dancing.

"Let's go, Mr. Zhui Ma, let's relax a bit. Maybe we'll find a woman there and bring her to our room," Dumo said excitedly after hanging up.

I nodded to Dumo while chewing on some braised beef soaked in hot water. As the elevator slowly descended, the strong, low-pitched rhythm gradually pounded in my ears. Dumo's smile widened, like a boxer warming up before a match, swinging his fists and swaying his hips.

"Ding!" The gleaming elevator doors opened, and a flood of dim, shimmering light rushed in. I shouted to Dumo, "Go dance the oldest, most unique African retro dance! You'll definitely attract a dancer willing to sleep with you!"

Dumo, like a rhinoceros, twitched his ears and his eyes lit up. I was still wearing a sweatshirt, the fabric of which was very stretchy, concealing my strong, muscular physique and making me look no different from an ordinary man.

Du Mo saw the dance floor packed with men and women, swaying to the rhythm with a twitching motion. Those curvaceous girls with exposed skin and tiny waists were swaying their shapely buttocks with irresistible allure, drawing the men's lustful gazes from side to side.

"Sir, what would you like?" A voluptuous bunny girl, carrying a tray of drinks, approached in a coquettish manner. Her protruding nipples, pressed tightly against her semi-transparent mesh bra, rose and fell with her breath, almost touching my cheek.

I sat on the soft sofa, glancing slightly at this sexy and alluring woman. "A clean, empty glass." The blonde woman frowned, gesturing with her heavily made-up lips. "I like to do it in the bathroom, come on, baby." She finished speaking suggestively, while giving me a flirtatious wink with her right eye.

The bunny girl completely misunderstood my meaning, thinking I was making a sexual innuendo, using an empty glass as a metaphor for a woman's warm, moist organ. "Oh, beautiful, you see, I do need a clean, empty glass."

With that, I took a bottle of juice from my pocket and gently placed it on the table. She suddenly leaned down and kissed my right cheek, her nipples, protruding from her bra, deliberately teasingly rubbing against my chin.

"How does it feel?" "Why don't we go to your guest room? I'll feed you with my mouth." The woman was incredibly seductive, her eyes gazing at me with a dreamy look, as if she wanted to set me ablaze with her gaze.

Dumo had already reached the dance floor and shouted to the young man in sunglasses backstage who was DJing, "Rammstein."

The young man, seeing Dumo's confident and somewhat naive tone, truly thought a master had appeared and immediately changed the music for Dumo.

The men and women on the dance floor stepped back one after another, and those slender-waisted, voluptuous young women stretched out their jade-like arms and hung around the men's necks, their heavily made-up faces showing suspicion, not understanding what this dark-skinned guy was up to.

"Oh, oh oh oh oh..., oh, oh oh oh oh..." The music began, a chanting melody reminiscent of Middle Eastern religious rituals, then abruptly shifted to a powerful and simple metal rhythm.

Standing in the middle of the crowd, Dumo initially assumed a stance like Wu Song fighting a tiger, remaining motionless. But as soon as the intense rhythm reached his ears, this plump, black kodo beast suddenly leaped into the air, landing high on his left leg.

Dumo raised his right hand above his head, making a series of pushing motions against the ceiling, while his right foot stomped repeatedly on the ground. Under the intense rhythm, he... His round, bulging beer belly resembled undulating waves.

The entire arena erupted in cheers, men whistling and women screaming. Like a rhinoceros straightening up to dance, Dumo, hearing the cheers, became even more excited. He simply took off his sweatshirt, revealing his round, shiny black arms, and began to perform whirlwind dance moves.

Every movement Dumo made was full of the flavor of a primitive African tribe, combined with his comical nature and the powerful rhythm of modern music, making him the absolute star. Those skilled dancers with their complex and varied moves paled in comparison.

"Baby, so cute..." The dancers nestled in other men's arms were completely mesmerized, blowing kisses frequently, some even pulling down their bras to reveal their ample cleavage to Dumo. In an instant, Dumo became the leader of the dance floor's hormones.

I really liked one aspect of Dumo's personality: he never considered the hierarchy between people, so he didn't feel inferior on the glamorous dance floor, thinking that those guys from the African countryside would be ridiculed in such a setting.

Now it seems that Dumo's kodo dance has already transcended the bar's usual trends, becoming a brand new fashion element.

"A man like you can't escape my eyes, with your strong, sexy muscles that drive women crazy and make them lose themselves, yet you only wear an ordinary sports shirt to this formal occasion. Ah! Baby, you're so alluring, I can't take it, tonight you're mine." "

The bunny girl finished speaking in a half-moaning tone, her eyes fixed on me. She provocatively stuck out her tongue and licked her slightly upturned, sexy red lips. At the same time, her slender, jade-like arms reached out and caressed my chest.

"Ah! Hmm!" I remained seated, feeling as if I were being electrocuted by her soft palms, her five fingers, painted with green nail polish, then tugged at my collar.

“Come on, baby, you’re driving me crazy…” The bunny girl’s eyes became even more glazed, almost moaning.

I thought she must be the manager of this bar, or she might have a large stake in the hotel. Any man who entered the bar and caught her eye would be seduced and forced into a passionate encounter.

As the music ended, Du Mo stood on the dance floor, his sweat-drenched, oily face being kissed by the dancers surrounding him. He was panting heavily, his pupils bulging with excitement. Through the throng, he gave me a thumbs-up, admiring the pickup techniques I had taught him.

The bunny girl pulled with all her might, but I didn’t budge. Exhaustion made her even more breathless, moaning incessantly, almost climbing on top of me.

Just then, a… A man in a tank top, sporting a thick green python tattoo all over his body, glared at me menacingly as he sat down on the right side of the table. He must be the bunny girl's lover, driven by jealousy and targeting me.

The fair-skinned, alluring bunny girl, as if she'd taken an overdose of aphrodisiacs, still half-closed her eyes, murmuring as she snuggled into my arms, rubbing against me relentlessly.

She even lowered her soft left hand, caressing my genitals through my pants, as if waiting only for the stimulation to arouse her so she could pull them out without hesitation. Because, all she had to do was slightly pull her thong bikini bottom aside, and her entire plump, round buttocks could sit on her completely, then slowly descend.

I could fully sense her obsessive lust, fueled by stimulation, right there on this sofa... Up there, in front of the entire bar crowd, he wouldn't be satisfied unless he sat on my lower abdomen and gave me a good, unbridled ride.

Although Du Mo had a strong sexual desire today, he didn't lose his mind. Seeing the situation beside me through the crowd, he quickly broke free from the throngs of dancers, even though they were now clinging to me like hyenas stubbornly resisting a skinny beast being dragged away. The

shirtless, gleaming black kodo beast strode to my table, his left shoulder slumped, his lower back buckled, and with a snap, his large black hand grabbed the tattooed man who was eyeing me menacingly, lifting him off the sofa and forcing his toes to the ground.

Only then did I see clearly that the green anaconda totem coiled from the man's ankles all the way to his chest. Fang looked like a mummy coiled by a venomous snake. "Cough, cough..." The guy in Du Mo's arms writhed in extreme pain, his suffocating forehead nearly bursting.

This bar did have thugs, but their eyesight was poor, far less sharp than the white beauty swaying in her arms. She, a woman, could keenly sense the presence of her sexual prey even through a sweatshirt that only exposed her neck and head, while these guys who used tattoos to represent their strength were completely oblivious to the fact that they were provoking a bloodthirsty killing machine.

In their eyes, the fat and stubborn Du Mo might look more terrifying and more destructive than I was.

Chapter 254: Two Knives on the Wooden Table

"If you glare at him again, I'll smash your head." Du Mo was full of ferocity, and after saying this viciously to the man with the python tattoo, his fat arm twitched, sending him plummeting back to his seat.

"Cough, cough..." If Du Mo hadn't let go any later, he would have suffocated. The man's face was flushed, veins bulging on his forehead, and he still clutched a switchblade in his hands, which were covering his neck.

Du Mo was, after all, a skilled pirate soldier; his lightning-fast move left the men and women present speechless with astonishment. The tattooed man, having caught his breath, saw Du Mo still standing before him, glaring at him, and hurriedly dropped the switchblade as if it were a red-hot iron that had scorched his hand.

The delicate, fair-skinned bunny girl showed no fear, presumably used to such confrontations. She straddled my lap, rubbing her buttocks against me, and even through my clothes, I could feel a large dampness.

The scene had only fueled her desire; she was now restless, constantly licking my neck with her tongue, the tip even swirling around the outline of my right ear, intensely stimulating me.

I became even more certain that this woman was unusual; she was either a shareholder of the hotel or a wealthy heiress from a bureaucratic family in the city. Her role as a playboy was purely for pleasure; her true intention was to seduce men.

"Friends, I'm in charge of this place. My friend has been humiliated by you. Although you meant no harm, I don't want this bar to be blamed, or someone coming to cause trouble later."

A muscular man, his massive pectoral muscles, thick triceps and biceps like the base of a cannon, propped up his arms so they didn't touch his ribs.

His words were clear: he'd rather offend me and Dumo than let the bar get into trouble. Therefore, he had to deal with Dumo or me to appease the guy with the anaconda tattoo.

If the muscular man had to choose between offending a group of thugs and a ruthless mercenary, he certainly wouldn't make such a basic mistake.

“Come on, some African retro dance, not bad! Making the girls willingly show you their breasts, but now, I’m going to make you embarrass yourself in front of them.” The burly man guarding the place looked Russian; he had a square face, thick, long, dark eyebrows, and the muscles on his cheeks bounced like marbles when he spoke.

Dumo met his gaze, waiting for him to come over and start a fight. The muscular man walked like a gorilla, deliberately puffing out his chest muscles to intimidate his opponent and boost his own confidence.

Dumo took a deep breath, and while waiting for the muscular man to get closer, he also gave a flirtatious look to a dark-skinned dancer. The dark-skinned dancer immediately swayed, her head spinning, and at the same time, she felt a little more worried for Dumo. The

muscular man’s thighs were thick, his savage muscles bulging the jeans with the hems cut off by a sickle, and the tank top straps hung like saturated rubber bands on his strong shoulders.

The man drew closer, a smirk playing on his long lips, as if he could cripple Du Mo with a single blow, and the arrogant Du Mo was about to be utterly defeated.

A fist like a hammer, carrying the force of hundreds of pounds, hurtled straight at Du Mo's face. Du Mo, his face serious, turned his head to the left, his right hand sweeping up from under the opponent's straight punch, deflecting it with a palm strike to the right, while his left leg quickly lunged forward. "Clang!" His right knee slammed into the muscular man's abdomen.

The speed and power of the knee strike caused the seemingly impenetrable man to double over in pain. Du Mo swung his right palm high like a whip, intending to strike his opponent's neck. I quickly signaled, "Stop!"

The muscular man was in excruciating pain and powerless to retaliate. To inflict further harm on him would be a sign of cowardice. Only street thugs and scoundrels need to show strength and ferocity to warn others not to mess with them, that they are actually cowards and easily frightened.

"Wow, amazing... such speed..." The men and women watching erupted in cheers again, the adoration of the dancers surrounding Du Mo only adding to the excitement. The muscular man slumped on the sofa, clutching his stomach, unable to breathe for a long time, as if suffering from acute appendicitis.

"Take a deep breath, just hold on. He's not like the 300-kilogram barbell you lift at the gym. Don't try to outrun him, he's several times faster than you. If you want to keep your job, then outrun him in terms of strength."

I looked at the muscular man struggling in pain, knowing he was seeing black circles under his eyes and feeling nauseous. The bunny girl sitting on my lap, grinding against me, had even more moisture seeping from her ample buttocks, soaking a large patch of my pants.

This alluring and seductive woman had gained intense pleasure from the fight with the strong man, even experiencing several orgasms. If she were sent to an ancient battlefield to watch those powerful soldiers wielding short swords in their right hands and massive shields in their left, she would probably be completely dehydrated. She had indulged her sexual desires in bars for too long, and her senses had become distorted.

The dancers swarmed around Du Mo, showering him with kisses and embracing his dark, shiny head. Du Mo, his eyes rolling back, was completely absorbed in the moment.

Ten minutes later, the muscular man, slightly relieved, sat up. Perhaps not wanting to lose his job, or perhaps to save face, he stormed back to the bar's backstage area, carrying two gleaming knives.

Although Du Mo was surrounded by voluptuous dancers, he immediately noticed the two sharp blades out of the corner of his eye. He withdrew his hands, which had been reaching for the dancers' breasts, pushed the women behind him, and stood up straight, watching the muscular man approach.

As if afraid Du Mo would misunderstand and attack again, the muscular man suddenly stopped, maintaining a distance as he said to Du Mo, "Speed wins. Come on, let's have a strength contest."

With that, he thrust the two knives from under the wooden table, one on each side. The muscular man challenged Du Mo to an arm-wrestling match, but the outcome was brutal: the loser's hand would be pierced by the knives.

"Come on, come on! Scared, kid?" the guy roared, flexing his chest like before, both intimidating his opponent and bolstering his own courage.

He wanted to save face; if he could knock Dumo down and pierce his hand, he felt he had washed away the humiliation of being defeated in one move in front of everyone.

Dumo had already had his fill of glory; all he had left was to enjoy the company of beauties, pick a few to take back to his room for a good time, and satisfy his physical needs. But the muscular man's harassment annoyed him. He gritted his teeth and strode angrily toward the man, determined to teach him a lesson.

I knew that muscular savages from the gym, compared to high-ranking mercenaries and pirate warriors, inevitably appeared clumsy and slow. But in a contest of brute force, the outcome was sometimes uncertain.

To protect Dumo, I said in a low voice to the muscular man. "It must have taken you at least seven or eight years to build that physique. It would be a real shame if you lost and became crippled."

The burly man, after hearing my words, didn't back down. He thought I was giving in and, as if seizing an opportunity, shouted, "Haha, if you're scared, just admit defeat! Don't spout nonsense. You're just afraid you two will become crippled today, aren't you? Hahaha..."

He burst into laughter for no reason, as if the laughter could help him gather the fragments of his earlier humiliation. "Mr. Zhui Ma, you kindly warned me that if I lose my right hand, it's my own fault." Du Mo, unable to contain his anger at the burly man's arrogance, decided to give it one last shot and completely defeat him.

I grabbed the bunny girl's shoulders and gently straightened her limp body. "Go, get me a steel pipe as thick as a wrist." The woman, satisfied with her climax, had a charming demeanor. She slowly lifted her plump, wet buttocks from my thigh, obediently nodding, her rationality much clearer.

Du Mo was gripping his right wrist with his left hand, constantly loosening his muscles. I took the half-meter-long steel pipe handed to me by the bunny girl and yelled at the guy who was already hunched over the table,

"Hey, watch!" After saying that, I slowly stood up, assumed a horse stance, and focused my energy. The straight steel pipe between my two rough hands slowly bent as my brows furrowed.

My arms, wrapped in the sleeves of my sweatshirt, showed muscles surging like giant dragons, my pectoral muscles exerting tremendous grip, the elastic fabric bulging like a balloon being deflated by pressure.

"Clang." I threw the U-shaped steel pipe onto the wooden table with two sharp knives stuck in it. "If you straighten it, you win."

After saying that, I slowly sat back on the sofa, opened the small plastic bottle of juice and took a few sips. The bunny girl snuggled up to me again, limp in my arms, and didn't move. Tonight, this woman couldn't live without me.

The dance floor was silent, everyone's eyes fixed on the muscular man.

I had to protect Dumo, to keep him from any harm. He was my sniper assistant; his trigger finger couldn't be injured. Without him, the mission couldn't be completed, and we couldn't rescue Luya, Yiliang, Chichun, and the others.

Chapter 255: The Unusual Bunny Girl

The muscular man was still wary of Dumo. Although he had a temper, he knew when to stop and hadn't lost his mind. "Hmph!" He snorted coldly, picked up the U-shaped steel pipe from the wooden table, and squatted into a horse stance to regulate his breathing.

"Ah, ah..." The muscular man's hands were like gripping buffalo horns; the veins on his two thick arms bulged like straws for drinking purple rice porridge, running from his biceps all the way to the base of his neck.

The thick U-shaped steel pipe trembled violently, and the burly man's gasping roar intensified. Bending a straight pipe requires the pectoralis major and biceps muscles, while straightening a bent one relies primarily on the deltoid muscles.

Seemingly the same pipe, the number and volume of muscles used differed greatly. The men and women on the dance floor were unaware of this trickery until the muscular man exerted his strength, at which point they realized they had been unfairly treated.

"My lower abdomen hurts, affecting my strength. I'll rest for a day, and you can challenge me again tomorrow night," the muscular man said, his forehead glistening with sweat, his flushed face reflecting the gazes of everyone present, desperately trying to hide his embarrassment.

This guy was physically strong, his heart freed from the cloak of fat, but he couldn't shake off his thick layer of vanity. He had been in the concrete jungle for too long, forgetting to cleanse the dust from his soul. If he were to carry a rifle and run across a deserted island of carnage, he would suddenly realize that ridicule is the least effective weapon.

“I’ll give you three days to rest. If you win the wrestling match, I’ll give you three thousand euros.” With that, I picked up the bunny girl, who was limp in my arms, and headed towards the elevator. Dumo, grinning broadly, followed behind with two of his favorite dancers.

“Mr. Gale, this feeling is amazing! Look at all those envious looks! It’s making me feel like I’m floating on air.” Dumo knew perfectly well that we would leave Madagascar on the third day at dusk, heading to the real battlefield: Somalia.

I didn’t speak. The bunny girl in my arms, as if drunk, draped her arms around my neck, her fragrant forehead constantly brushing against my cheek. Her pouting red cherry lips exhaled a faint scent of alcohol, mingling with my breath.

The Raven hadn’t appeared at the bar, meaning everything was proceeding according to plan. “Ding!” The elevator doors opened, and Dumo’s grinning face, like the gleaming black toe of a freshly waxed shoe, burst forth. He had two dancers, one in black and one in white, on either side of him, and eagerly squeezed out of the elevator.

"Sir, please!" The girl who had greeted us that afternoon was standing guard at the elevator. Seeing Du Mo, whom she had flirted with, embracing two glamorous women, she blushed and lowered her head.

"Hehe, didn't you say you didn't have any? Look at this! You're so young, yet you lied." Du Mo said smugly, kissing the two dancers' faces, deliberately making loud noises for the nervous girl to hear.

The girl blushed even more, lowering her head even further.

The waitress was right; this hotel indeed didn't have prostitutes. Guests who needed women could go to the bar on the ground floor to pick up dancers, hook up with them, and then bring them back to their rooms for a one-night stand.

Of course, this required the man to be generous with his one-night stand; compared to the cheap hotel we stayed in before, this was considered elegant, even though the business was still the same.

Opening the room door, I gently placed the intoxicated bunny girl on the bed. Du Mo, impatient, pushed the two dancers down onto the bed, pressing his weight against their bodies. I glanced at him helplessly, knowing I had to remind him again. Otherwise, he really wouldn't even bother to put on a condom before penetrating me.

"The night is long, be careful not to run out of steam." After saying that, I pulled Dumo off the two dancers. Dumo squinted, a look of ecstasy on his face.

"You two go take a shower first." After sending the two women away, I grabbed Dumo's hard, dark ear and said, "Don't think that the prostitutes in high-class hotels are clean. Most of them have been upgraded from those small hotels. Go in and wash their bodies thoroughly, especially their nipples."

Dumo's eyes were glazed, a crooked smile on his lips, his inner joy completely overwhelmed his face. I grabbed his ear with my right hand and pinched hard with my thumbnail, and he immediately shivered. "Hiss!"

"You still know pain? If you keep acting like this, you'll be dead." Dumo laughed embarrassedly, revealing a row of snow-white teeth, finally controlling his expression.

"I remember all the precautions, I remember them all..." Dumo said, hurriedly pulling down his pants, looking as anxious as if someone had fallen into a river and needed his rescue.

Dumo and the two dancers frolicked in the bathroom for a while, their screams and laughter filling the air. I checked the curtains and walls again, and also checked the condoms Dumo had bought.

Finally, I tore open the box of condoms I had bought and threw three onto Dumo's white sheets.

Dumo was born on the equator in Africa, and his childhood, filled with poverty and war, had not extinguished his innate humanity but rather tempered his will. He wasn't extravagant and wanted to save some money, so he bought a box of the cheapest condoms.

Stepping out of the bathroom, Dumo saw three small red condoms scattered on the bed. Half-pleading, half-complaining, he said, "Mr. Gale, you only gave me three condoms? I wanted to use up the whole box tonight."

Dumo, with his thick, dark skin and bare feet, held two naked dancers in his arms, their large, round breasts dangling. He listened with delight. These dancers, except for God's monthly ban, were in contact with men's prostates almost daily. Dumo's boastful words, displaying his boundless energy and stamina, were a rare novelty for their bodies.

"I don't want to be carrying you when someone's chasing and spanking me!" I said expressionlessly, my tone cold and indifferent. Dumo turned his head sullenly, then suddenly burst into laughter, pushing the two naked dancers down onto the bed. In an instant, the guest room was filled with various moans and gasps.

The bunny girl was sleeping soundly. To let Dumo relax a bit, I wandered around the corridor for a while. The girl guarding the elevator came over and asked if I needed anything. I shook my head, dismissed her, and continued thinking.

Xuan Ya should also be at this hotel. I needed to inform him before leaving to maintain a safe distance.

From the waiter, I vaguely learned about the bunny girl's identity. She had a wealthy businessman father and a high-ranking official uncle. She was the object of desire for every man in the hotel—someone they dared not provoke, yet also coveted. But the bunny girl was beyond what a man could win over with just his prostate strength.

When I returned to the room, Dumo was showering in the bathroom. By now, he had calmed down considerably. "Mr. Jifeng, I'm so sorry, I'll be done showering and leave right away."

Chapter 256: A Knock on the Door

Dumo also wanted to slip away so I could have a good time with the sleeping bunny girl. I frowned, shook my head as I pondered the problem, indicating that it wasn't necessary.

Two naked dancers were picking up their underwear from the carpet, their sexy lace panties as thin as ropes. "Hey! Don't go! Let's do it again in two hours,"

Du Mo said, peeking out of the bathroom with his foam-covered head, looking questioning.

The two dancers exchanged a glance, a mysterious and helpless smile playing on their lips. "You two stay," I said casually, turning to the food bag I'd brought and tossing juice to the dancers. They carefully said thank you but didn't drink.

That night, the bunny girl crawled naked into my bed. She didn't need intercourse; instead, she nestled against a strong, muscular chest and fell asleep, releasing her deep weariness.

I stripped off my shirt, leaving only my sweatpants, and used my battle-hardened arms to support her soft, fragrant body.

Du Mo didn't rest all night; his hands caressed the two dancers' bodies almost a hundred times. As the night drew to a close, he became aroused again, using the two extra condoms he had acquired.

However, he wasn't very active and was deeply grateful for my understanding and promise.

I woke up the next morning at ten o'clock. The bunny girl had woken up early but didn't want to open her eyes. She hugged me tighter with her slender arms, wriggling playfully, wanting me to hold her a little longer.

Dumo lazily got up, sleepily picked up his boots, took out a roll of green euros, and gave one to each of the two dancers. They jumped up excitedly, kissed Dumo's dark cheeks, and then hurriedly left.

Watching the two dancers sway their hips as they left the room, Dumo couldn't help but sigh, "Money, it really is a wonderful thing." Actually, what he meant was: women, it really is a wonderful thing.

"That's why developed countries abandoned guns and cannons, using economics to strip other countries' women of their trousers." I sat on the sofa, dipping a toothpick into a cup of hot water with beef, then chewing it. While leisurely eating, I could still say this to Dumo, who was staring longingly at the dancers.

This was a good opportunity to replenish my energy, and I cherished every minute and second. Dumo, however, had physical needs far exceeding his appetite; he also wanted to cherish and make reasonable use of every dancer in the hotel.

Dumo's reflections were superficial; he was simply using money to satisfy a basic human instinct, a normal and reasonable need. Therefore, his satisfaction, lingering memories, longing, and perfect timing—this is where happiness arises.

For those evil people who use money as a tool to extract unlimited desires from their limited bodies, happiness is a station they've already passed.

Dumo was full of energy, showing no signs of fatigue. Although he had made love five times last night—an unprecedented occurrence—the sense of comfort he felt would allow him to maintain this carefree and contented state for the time being.

Dumo and I went out shopping together. When we returned, the bunny girl lazily got out of bed, went barefoot to the bathroom to urinate, took a hot shower, and left wrapped in a towel.

"That woman's weird," Dumo muttered to himself. Seeing that I remained silent, he changed the subject, discussing the food and clothing we had bought.

"Mr. Zhuima, I'll empty some of the herbs from the large wooden box to store our necessities," Dumo said, drawing the curtains and starting to bustle around.

"You even bought me a five-pound tub of protein powder! Thank you so much! It's the first time I've ever eaten this stuff in my life!" Dumo grabbed handfuls of herbs, stuffing them into the shopping bag; his affection for me was growing stronger.

In Somalia, warlordism and political instability make it difficult to purchase such nutritional supplements after leaving the wealthy country of Madagascar.

Running in the extreme heat near the equator in Africa, once the heart rate exceeds 60-70%, fat metabolism becomes insufficient, forcing the body to use glycogen and protein for energy, leading to significant muscle breakdown and conversion into protein.

Without timely whey protein supplementation, muscle loss and a substantial decrease in fighting ability occur. Against extreme predators, the outcome often hinges on the smallest details.

Therefore, supplements to alleviate muscle fatigue and maintain muscle growth are crucial and have been included in the supply list for this trip to Africa.

“Oh! It’s nothing. In developed countries in Europe and America, this kind of protein powder is readily available on supermarket shelves, just like milk powder in Southeast Asian countries. Any race that eats fresh milk and beef from a young age will have strong bones and a robust physique. But the fitness awareness in Southeast Asia is relatively weak; currently, they only recognize that ‘milk strengthens a nation.’”

I explained to the bewildered Dumo while checking to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything. Otherwise, he would only think I bought him a tub of vanilla-flavored milk powder and wouldn’t understand my good intentions. Because the further my plan with Xuan Ya progresses, the more we need Dumo’s assistance.

“Wow! Mr. Zhui Ma, look how strong this guy is, he’s as strong as you!” Dumo flipped through the instructions on the protein powder, twisting his neck to show me the product spokesperson.

In the evening, a waiter brought two boat tickets. Dumo gave him a tip and reminded him to keep his mouth shut. Tomorrow evening, Dumo and I will have to leave the Beirut Hotel, dragging our large wooden crates back to the dock, and board the Yorkro to head straight for Kismayo, Somalia. The sea voyage will take about a day and a night.

The view from the room window is beautiful; through the glass, I can see a green hill, with white waves crashing against the endless sea behind it. I can only imagine these scenes through the sniper scope I used during the rainy night, and Luya and Yiliang, whom I'm going to rescue, are on that vast ocean.

"Bang, bang, bang." The sounds of a prostitute's moans coming from next door were suddenly punctuated by three piercing gunshots, without any warning, and without the sound of breaking glass.

Dumo jumped out of the bathroom, reaching for the FN57 pistol wrapped in newspaper under his pillow. I quickly moved behind the wall; if anyone broke down the door, a bullet would shatter their skull.

"Ah! Ah..." A scream came from the corridor through the door. Judging from the tone, it was the female waitress who blushed whenever she saw Du Mo. A moment later, chaotic footsteps sounded outside. Many guests didn't open their doors to see what was happening, probably all feeling guilty, afraid of being shot in the head by a bullet from a revenge killing.

"Knock knock knock, knock knock knock..." Half an hour later, the police tape outside was removed, and the door to our room rang. Du Mo tentatively called out, "Who is it? What do you want? Open the door." After saying that, I gave him a wink and slammed a pillow against the door.

We had to be careful. I had warned Du Mo when we checked in that the door to this room was very thin; a handgun bullet could easily penetrate it and be fatal.

Chapter 257: The Flow of Disfavored Desires

"Plop," the pillow that hit the door fell to the ground; not a single bullet had penetrated. "It-is-me!" The bunny girl's sweet voice carried a hint of coquettish resentment. Du Mo glanced at me, a relieved smile spreading across his tense expression.

"Put the weapon away and let her in." I walked behind the curtains and watched as the police cars outside the hotel began to file away one after another. "Hey, beautiful, you look especially charming today." Du Mo opened the door for her and teased her in a flattering way.

The bunny girl's outfit was quite different from last night. She wore white high heels, and flesh-colored stockings on her long, beautiful legs were faintly visible through her short, narrow white skirt, revealing lace trim. Her tight-fitting, low-cut, sleeveless white top strained against her full, rounded breasts.

"Oh, I'll go ask about the plane tickets to South Africa. You two can chat." Du Mo made a pretext and discreetly slipped away. The bunny girl squinted her bright blue eyes and stared directly at me as I approached.

She gently hooked her jade-like arm around my neck, which was covered in tiny scratches, and a sweet smile curved her lips slightly. (Full text novel reading, all at www.16k.cn (16k.cn Literature Network)

"I want to thank you." I understood what she meant, and to play along with this graceful lady, I pretended not to understand and asked, "Thank you for what?" Her smile became even sweeter, and the corners of her mouth curved even more charmingly.

"I understand a man like you, sculpted by the storms of life. You're not like them, filled with arrogant arrogance towards women. Last night at the bar, you didn't need a woman's body to release your lust, yet you were very considerate of my feelings, even bringing back the intoxicated bunny girl before leaving. I can't imagine what it felt like to be abandoned on a bar sofa; how those guys would laugh at me."

Her slender, soft fingers began to caress my neck. I knew that the weathered scars on a strong man's body easily aroused her desire, and she couldn't stand this kind of stimulation.

“Dumo is right, you are indeed very charming today, full of the allure of a fashionable woman.” I gently kissed her fragrant forehead, my rough right hand grasping her soft hand, holding it slightly, hoping she wouldn’t act impulsively like last night.

She rested her head on my heaving chest, murmuring half-drunk, “I know, a man like you can’t be kept with money. No matter where you come from or where you go, I will remember you. As long as you come back, I am yours, and you are mine.”

This woman, weary of physical intimacy, finally returned to her true self. Her power and wealth could not sustain her empty soul to its end. She desperately needed genuine affection; indulgence and intoxication were not the way out.

"Here! This is a gift for you. I hope you'll always remember me and cherish the memory of the tenderness of me lying on your chest." The bunny girl pulled out a blue box, gazing at me with a tender expression.

I couldn't refuse. Her love was genuine; it didn't need time to develop or cultivate. One night of heartfelt embrace was enough.

The guest room door slammed open. I grabbed the bunny girl by the back and threw her behind me. The delicate woman gasped in surprise.

"Chase, chase, Mr. Gale, I'm done for, my life is over..." Du Mo looked terrified, his expression a mixture of anxiety and fear. He paced frantically on the blank carpet between the coffee table and the soft bed.

The bunny girl clung to my back, like a frightened little girl, slowly peeking out to look at Du Mo. "You comfort him. I'll come back to you tonight." She seemed to know the reason for Du Mo's fear. Her alluring blue eyes fluttered at him tenderly twice before she hurried out of the guest room.

The bunny girl's words relieved me a lot. If Jason Jody had discovered the cause of the child's death and knew that the Sky-Piercing Plan had been exposed, and was relentlessly hunting down Du Mo and me, that would be a truly devastating blow. The women on the Sea Demon would immediately be plunged into hell, suffering inhuman torture.

"Dumo, what did you see when you went out?" I stuffed the gift box the bunny girl gave me into my pocket and asked seriously. "Mr. Zhuima, I'm doomed! I really regret not listening to you! I'll regret it forever! I really want to blow that dancer's head off last night..."

While the bunny girl was alone with me, Dumo, to avoid her, paced back and forth in the corridor. He needed to figure out how the three shots had affected us, but the waitress who blushed whenever she saw Dumo told him the truth about what happened next door.

A fat, middle-aged boss, after having sex with two dancers, pulled out a pistol and shot them in the uterus, killing them instantly. The fat boss then committed suicide by shooting himself. The three naked corpses lay together, staining the white hotel sheets red.

This boss was a South African mine owner who had sex with two dancers at the Beirut Hotel while traveling in Madagascar. Three months later, he had a blood test in South Africa and learned that he was HIV-positive, indicating a decline in his human immunodeficiency antibodies.

Once people achieve a life of abundance, they become terrified of losing it. Even minor ailments or illnesses cause them a hundred times more anxiety than those suffering from hunger and cold, sometimes even leading to needless worry. They unconsciously develop superstitious beliefs in unimportant things, fearing the loss of opportunities for enjoyment.

If ordinary people are like this, how much more so a South African mine owner with tens of millions of euros in assets? His money could pile up like mountains, yet his psychological defenses were fragile, unable to calmly face life or see through its meaning.

Those burdened by material desires naturally become greedy and narrow-minded. Therefore, filled with hatred, he shot and killed two dancers who had infected him with the virus. The two prostitutes died innocently; they had no malicious intent, nor did they force men to have sex with them; they were merely cannon fodder used as sex toys. But this South African mine owner's money could no longer heal him, nor could it atone for his mistake.

When the hotel waitress in the corridor told Dumo that the dancers shot were the two he had taken home the previous night, Dumo completely collapsed, filled with despair.

This was more terrifying than a bullet striking Dumo on a battlefield. Three days in the glitz and glamour of the city had given Dumo a sense of longing; he seemed to suddenly understand the purpose of life and how far he should live. But this budding longing, barely breaking through the soil, was doused with boiling water.

Grabbing Dumo's shoulders, I pressed him down onto the pristine white bed, staring coldly into his despairing, defeated eyes.

I had to help Dumo, to get him out of this psychological turmoil as soon as possible. Otherwise, forget about cooperating with the mission; even if Jason Jody came, he would ignore him completely. At that point, besides health, what would Dumo care about?

"Dumo, it's not that bad. Try to calm down," I said, my tone softening, squeezing his thick shoulder firmly.

He felt helpless, just like those innocent victims, needing genuine understanding and help.

“Mr. Zhui Ma, I, I, I really shouldn’t have…” A strong, optimistic young black man choked out half a sentence, two streams of tears rolling down his cheeks.

Last night, the young man who won applause and cheers on the dance floor was nowhere to be seen. The applause and cheers were a thing of the past, and the roll of green euros accumulated in his leather boots seemed even more worthless.

Chapter 258: Repairing the Shaky Plan

“Now, I’ll ask you a question.” Dumo, his eyelashes wet with tears, wiped his eyes with the back of his fat hand and nodded, sobbing.

“Carefully recall every detail from last night. Did you miss any of the precautions I reminded you of?” Dumo blinked his moist eyes, lost in thought for a moment, waiting for my question.

“When you were washing their bodies, did your fingers touch the women’s genitals?” Dumo said no. He was only focused on applying foam to the two dancers’ breasts and buttocks, and when they hugged each other under the showerhead, he deliberately stuck his lower abdomen out, avoiding any contact between their genitals.

"Were your fingers clean when you put on the condom? Did you use it correctly?" I continued with my second question. Only by asking detailed questions step by step could I help Dumo overcome his psychological trauma.

"Clean. My fingers never touched their genitals or mouths." I nodded, and Dumo's uneasy eyes calmed down slightly.

"During sex, are you sure it was just a brief touch of dry lips, without any saliva coming into contact or being exchanged? Are you sure you didn't kiss their genitals or even their underwear?" Dumo pondered for a while before nodding slightly to indicate that he was certain.

"Are you sure their mouths or tongues never sucked or licked your buttocks?" Dumo nodded vigorously and said firmly, "At first, they did try to reach down and suckle, but I refused in time." "

Oh, it's not a big problem. Did the two dancers' nipples taste sweet when you bit them? If they were breastfeeding, are you sure they didn't suckle any milk?" Dumo fell into confusion again, thinking for a long time before saying he didn't remember it well and that it shouldn't have tasted like that.

I let out a long sigh of relief, which eased Dumo's anxiety. "It's not a big problem, you'll be fine." After saying that, I stood up from my squatting position by the bed and picked up the food bag to eat the beef again.

For the next three days, I needed to make sure I ate enough small, frequent meals to prepare my energy for the harsh combat environment in Somalia.

“Mr. Chase Horse, you’re not just saying this to comfort me, are you? I don’t care if I’m infected or not; I just want to hear your honest assessment.” Du Mo asked this, and I didn’t blame him. He didn’t want to be fooled because of his usefulness to me. This shiny black kodo beast hadn’t shown any fear even when he was beaten by the Iron-Faced Demon in the abandoned factory, but this time, he was genuinely frightened. I could understand his feelings at that moment.

“No, if you truly followed the precautions and your answer just now was flawless, then your probability of being infected is only one in five hundred. Of course, you have to thank the condom for its effectiveness; it’s your savior.”

Du Mo blinked, raised his arm to rub the back of his head, his face showing a mixture of relief and embarrassment. “Oh, you’re the savior. But the probability is small enough!” he said half-jokingly, also to release his inner awkwardness.

“Small? Once you’re infected, it’s one hundred percent. Don’t get too smug.” I resumed my indifferent tone, slowly chewing the beef in my mouth, and began to think about another question.

Du Mo quickly got up, went to the bathroom, and turned on the cold water to wash his tear-stained face. "Hey! By the way, Mr. Zhui Ma, shouldn't I go to the hospital for some injections to try and reduce the probability by one in five hundred? Wouldn't that be safer?" Du Mo grinned, showing his white teeth and sticking out his face,

still dripping with cold water. "What you need is a psychologist." I glanced at him, then continued thinking, interrupted by his words. "Mr. Zhui Ma, you're right. I think I really should get a few injections, just in case, just for peace of mind."

Du Mo didn't seem to care about the cost, but his persistence made me temporarily put aside my thoughts and feel compelled to say a few more words to him. Otherwise, this guy would think I was cold-hearted, only concerned with my own affairs and not caring about his feelings.

"Isn't there five pounds of protein powder for you in that big wooden box? You neither drink nor smoke, so as long as you exercise more and take some powder afterwards, your immunity will naturally be stronger than the average person, and it will be easier to fight off the bacteria and viruses that are initially implanted in your body."

Dumo chuckled. "You not only kill living people, but you also eliminate the bacteria behind the naked eye. You truly deserve to be called the perfect killer. " From Dumo's exclamation, I could sense that his confidence hadn't fully recovered.

"Dumo, you haven't lived in Southeast Asia, so you don't understand those countries. People there rarely have an awareness of fitness, let alone pay attention to the scientific intake of protein. After major surgery in the hospital, the liquid medications the doctors inject are mostly supplements, such as immunoglobulins and lactoferrin." "

After saying that, I picked up a piece of beef with a toothpick and kept chewing.

Dumo looked stunned, but his sharp mind quickly grasped the meaning of my words. "A five-pound tub of protein powder costs only twenty euros on the supermarket shelf here. If it were injected into those patients, it would cost at least eighty to one hundred euros. If it's for profit, those who understand the situation can remain silent."

"You look like an Asia expert. If you become a pirate king, you can buy houses there, marry a few traditional poor girls, live a clean and simple life, and not have to be so worried."

I teased Dumo, who shyly raised his chubby arm and scratched the back of his head. "Are you going to the bar again tonight?" I asked tentatively, startling Dumo.

"No, no, no, I'm content just lying in the guest room with this food." He had just finished speaking when he suddenly remembered something and looked at me with a panicked expression.

"Chase, chase Mr. Ma, where's the box of condoms I bought? Oh my god, damn it, poor people always have bad luck. That was the cheapest box. If it's not safe during intercourse, all the precautions are meaningless."

Du Mo slapped his forehead repeatedly, pacing aimlessly like before. "Oh, your box is under the bed. The five I gave you last night are in my pocket. But you have to give me back the whole box of this brand." As

soon as I finished speaking, Du Mo burst into maniacal laughter and jumped around. The coffee table in the guest room seemed like a bonfire, illuminating his blissful life.

"You are simply... oh! I can't describe it. You are not only a hero, but also... oh! You are my guardian angel. If it weren't for you, my life would be over."

I finished eating the beef, unscrewed a bottle of juice, and took a couple of sips. “Dumo, you’ve never been to a city before. It’s not mysterious. Compared to jungles, oceans, and mountains, it’s just full of hypocrisy and desire. You and I are just passing through. As long as your mind isn’t disturbed, this place can’t affect you much.”

Dumo knelt on the carpet, his round buttocks sticking up high, and with great effort, finally reached for the box of condoms underneath. “Look, this cheap stuff almost killed me.”

I didn’t look at what Dumo was holding, only gave him a cold glance. “Dumo, whether it will harm you or not doesn’t depend on its cheapness, but on your problem.”

“Me?” Dumo stared wide-eyed, eager to know, the whites of his eyes bulging out from under his dark eyelids.

“No sovereign nation would harm its own citizens; that would be tantamount to cutting off a piece of flesh to feed a starving person. The product you hold doesn’t have a Madagascar production batch number, which is a safety batch number. It’s clearly a counterfeit product from a small workshop, sold to consumers like you who only seek bargains but are oblivious to the risks.”

Dumo was even more embarrassed and could only tilt his head back, silently reciting prayers to the ceiling, thanking the merciful God for giving him a chance to repent.

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