A Desperate Fight to the Death

Another message came through the communicator—Xie Xu's order: "Tubin is the Snake King. Capture him."

As the message faded, gunfire erupted outside the villa, relentless and unbroken.

"Bang bang bang! Bang! Bang bang..."

Tu Ran and Ding Naiqing exchanged a glance, both seeing shock in the other's eyes.

Who was firing?

The gunfire drew closer, and soon the shots echoed through the villa's empty corridors, deafening, the floor trembling beneath their feet.

Screams rose higher—the maids were scattering in panic through the hallways, their footsteps a chaotic scramble.

The woman on the bed cowered in fear, her shoulders hunching, her already pale face losing every trace of color.

Ding Naiqing raised his machine gun and crept toward the door.

Tu Ran also aimed her gun at the entrance while carefully moving closer to the bed.

She positioned herself behind Ding Naiqing, on the other side of the woman.

The two of them flanked the bed, surrounding it between them.

If the woman on the bed was an aberration, this formation would let Tu Ran spot any abnormality immediately. If she wasn't, Tu Ran could still protect her.

The woman curled up, asking Tu Ran in despair, "What's happening outside?"

Tu Ran shook her head. She didn't know either.

She had already called the other members through the communicator, but no one had reported to her about the situation outside yet.

For now, all she could do was stay alert while racking her brain: now that Tubin knew their conversation had been monitored, what would he do first?

Would it be a desperate fight to the death?

She didn't know.

Everything was still uncertain.

With a thunderous crash, the ornately carved door was slammed open from the outside without warning.

Tubin had barged straight in.

He was still wearing the coarse servant's clothes, but his body seemed even more massive. As he stepped inside, the room felt smaller. In Tu Ran's memory, he hadn't been this tall at first.

In each hand, he gripped a slender blade.

For a moment, Tu Ran was stunned. Knives? A ninja? What era was this to be using blades?

But the next moment, she couldn't laugh anymore.

Tubin swung his blade horizontally at Ding Naiqing. The movement was so fast that Tu Ran only caught a blur—a speed no human could match.

Ding Naiqing didn't even have time to fire before the blade arced toward his head. He had to throw himself backward in a desperate dodge to avoid having his skull cleaved off.

The two engaged in close-quarters combat.

Ding Naiqing discarded the cumbersome machine gun and, seizing the right moment, snatched one of the blades from Tubin's grasp. The two clashed blade against blade, trading blows back and forth, the sharp edges slicing through the air with piercing whistles.

Ding Naiqing was clearly no match for Tubin. He could barely parry the assault, forced into a steady retreat as wounds accumulated on his body.

Standing to the side, Tu Ran raised her pistol, trying to take aim at Tubin.

Because the two fighters kept shifting positions, the difficulty of aiming increased dramatically. And with her lack of firearms training, the muzzle kept adjusting angles, unable to fire for a long time.

She was afraid of hitting Ding Naiqing.

Tubin leaped into the air, bringing his blade down across Ding Naiqing's arm. The combat suit tore open, and a line of blood arced from the blade, splattering across the pristine white bedsheet.

The woman cowering in the corner shrieked at the sight.

Ding Naiqing's arm buckled in pain, and the knife slipped from his grip, clattering to the floor.

Tubin pressed his advantage, raising both blades high to bring them down on him.

The situation was dire. Tu Ran knew that if she hesitated any longer, no one would survive.