Chapter Forty-Four: The Clown (Part One)

“All right, brother, there’s no need for you to keep up this act. We all know what’s really going on.” Amused to the point of laughter, Liang Jing was curious to see how far the other man would carry on this charade. When the man exchanged furtive glances with another holding a Type 56 semi-automatic rifle, Liang Jing pretended not to notice. With his left hand, he was already palming four of the eight-millimeter steel balls he’d kept earlier—more than enough to deal with these ordinary people. With his superhuman reflexes, he could fire them before the others even had time to react. Watching the sullen-faced man’s performance, Liang Jing regarded him as little more than a clown.

He signaled to those behind him, indicating they needn’t be so tense. Seeing a confrontation brewing, others from the opposing group began to draw near as well.

“Know what? I’ll make everyone see the truth. You people didn’t do anything, just lifted a finger, that’s all. You’re thieves—stealing our hard-earned reward, disrespecting our sacrifices. And now you want to take it all for yourselves, not even leaving us a scrap? Do you really think having all those guns makes you untouchable? There’s only a handful of you—you think you can eat all that beef? It’ll rot before you finish, and you won’t spare us even a little?” The sullen man, brimming with righteous indignation, raised his voice to rally the crowd, his tone swelling as though he represented the very will of the people.

“What did you ever do to help? You barely lifted a finger! We’re the ones who shot and seriously wounded the mutant bull from the start, paying for it with six or seven casualties. If we hadn’t run out of bullets and needed time to reload, would you ever have had the chance to swoop in and claim the prize?”

“Don’t be afraid of them, everyone! We can’t let them twist the facts and turn black to white. There’s no way they’d really shoot us all down just because they have guns. There’s still justice in this world—what goes around comes around. They’ll never get away with it!” the man shouted passionately. “We’ve already lost so many, with even more wounded or crippled, and so many old, weak, women and children just begging for a single mutant bull to feed them. No one’s had a proper meal in ages. If you won’t share the hard-won spoils of our blood and tears, and even threaten us with guns, you young men should know not to push things too far!” The man’s words, filled with revolutionary fervor, sounded as if he was trying to incite a peasant uprising to overthrow his enemies.

Hmph!

A low, thunderous sound shook everyone’s eardrums, so loud it caused actual pain. Liang Jing’s physical strength was many times that of an ordinary man, so even a simple hum from his throat was deafening. The crowd, flushed with anger and hatred, nearly ready to cry out, suddenly fell silent. The atmosphere went still.

Clap, clap, clap.

“Well said, very well said. Do you really believe there’s justice watching over all our actions? Then tell us, why did you and that man with the gun dash to the back of the crowd just now?” Liang Jing spoke slowly, undisturbed by the throng before him. “Was that a tactical retreat? Or was there something you could do back there to better kill the monster?” He continued, “Or did you plan to flee at the first sign of danger, using the others as a shield to slow the mutant bull’s attack while you saved yourself?”

“Go on, tell everyone why you ordered your men to block the mutant bull while you frantically pushed your way to the back, running nonstop, only returning after you saw our team kill the creature?”

“We were in tactical withdrawal, yes. We’d run out of bullets and needed time to reload…” The middle-aged man’s face flushed red as he felt the crowd’s suspicious gaze. Suddenly, he put on an air of grave seriousness. “So, yes, we had to—”

“So you used the crowd as a shield, didn’t reload at all while you ran, and only thought to reload once we’d killed the monster?” Liang Jing mocked, then abruptly turned to the man called Daguo. “And you—don’t move your hand, or you’ll deal with the consequences!”

Whoosh! Whoosh!

“Shut up! So you’re going to die denying it, are you? Well, let me—ah!” The sullen man, clearly unwilling to keep up the charade, was just about to give an order to open fire together with Daguo when, without warning, both their wrists were struck by Liang Jing’s steel projectiles. Crunching sounds followed as their wrists shattered, eight-millimeter steel balls tearing four-centimeter holes through the junction of hands and forearms.

“Aaah! The pain!” Both men screamed in unison.

Clatter! Clatter!

Their dropped rifles fell to the ground, and Mouse and Wang Meng rushed forward to snatch them up before retreating to the safety of their own group.

A hiss. A collective gasp.

Those who could see what happened drew in a sharp breath, while those outside the immediate circle only heard the commotion, unable to fully grasp the chaos within.

The crowd saw the armed men behind Liang Jing lower their weapons, while the sullen man clearly decided he was done playing games. All he wanted now was to kill these people and seize their supplies and arms—then no one, not even that bastard Zhao Bo, could threaten him again. He would rule the group, free of restraint. Little did he know, he’d only ever been a clown for Liang Jing’s amusement. Who else would be so foolish as to lower their guard in the face of their enemy’s guns?

“Come, let’s hear more of your rousing speech. Show us your strength.” Liang Jing looked down at the two men writhing on the ground, howling and clutching their shattered arms. He kicked the sullen man to the ground, stomped on his face, grinding it into the dirt. “Go on, cry out some more. Maybe if you entertain me, I’ll let you live.”

The man whimpered and struggled, trying to speak, but Liang Jing’s immense strength pinned him down until his face was scraped raw and bloodied. Glancing at the crowd, Liang Jing noticed that only two or three of the man’s former lackeys looked like they might intervene; the rest stood by, showing no intention of helping, some even grinning in schadenfreude. Clearly, the sullen man was universally disliked—a failure in every sense.

“Come on! Beg for mercy. If you please me, maybe I’ll spare you!” Liang Jing was furious, needing to vent his rage. He regretted his earlier mercy—after saving these people, they’d only grown greedy for his hard-won spoils, slandering and turning on him, biting the hand that fed them. Worst of all was this hypocrite, so pious on the surface but rotten to the core, like so many he’d seen before: outwardly righteous, inwardly corrupt, utterly repugnant. And now, unable to win with words, they’d tried to destroy their own savior. The thought enraged Liang Jing even more.

Suddenly—

“Aaah!”

“Watch out!”

“No!”

Whoosh! Bang! Crack!

A shadow flicked past Liang Jing’s vision, lashing toward his head like a whip. To others, it might seem fast, but to Liang Jing it was slow as molasses. He’d been on guard all along—who knew how many guns and enemies lurked among these hundreds? As the “whip” struck, Liang Jing reacted instantly, meeting it head-on with his left fist, reinforced by brown-red warrior’s gloves. The punch landed with a sickening crunch as bone shattered.

The attacker remained silent, trying to break free of the crowd, but Liang Jing gave chase, landing a heavy blow to the man’s back—a loud, dull thud followed by the sound of a heavy body hitting the ground.

“Cough… cough… don’t kill me, please—” Daguo, coughing up blood, pleaded for his life.

Crunch!

Before he could finish, Liang Jing stomped on his throat, crushing it. He would never show mercy to someone who’d just tried to kill him. Staring down at the now-dead Daguo—the silent enforcer who’d always shadowed the sullen man—Liang Jing suddenly lost all interest. He had Zhang Hu and Liu Zhixiong finish off the sullen man as well.

So it’s true—the dogs that don’t bark are the most dangerous. If not for his own superior strength, Liang Jing might have fallen for the ambush, perhaps even died. The man’s attack style was vicious, designed to kill with a single blow.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have bothered playing along…