Chapter 226: The Most Ferocious Assassin
[Nuwa System warning… Within ten meters around you, there are dangerous sources threatening the system owner's life. Target: four Advanced Assassins, three men and one woman, two gunners, one throwing-dart expert, one close-combat expert. ]
"System Assistant, how do I solve this?" Four Advanced Assassins—what the hell did advanced mean?
Zhang Yang had never heard of it, but from the wording alone he could tell these four were definitely not easy to deal with, especially with two holding guns. He had zero chance of winning.
Honestly, this system warning was completely useless.
[Answering this question requires consuming thirty-five system points. You currently do not have enough points to pay…]
"Fuck!" Zhang Yang cursed inwardly. Thirty-five points? Damn it, you clearly know I only have thirty. You're doing this on purpose.
But even if there were a solution, it was too late now. At both ends of the alley, two people appeared—exactly as the system said: three men, one woman.
Nothing unusual at a glance, but their walking posture was steady, and their steps carried an invisible killing aura.
Zhang Yang instantly understood these people were absolutely not to be messed with. They were nothing like the few street thugs he'd encountered before. Judging from today's setup, he might actually die here.
He looked around the alley. The walls were five to six meters high, smooth cement. Even if he could scale walls, he couldn't climb these. No doors nearby either.
They were clearly planning to kill him. Time, place—everything was perfectly arranged. Fucking hell. He'd originally wanted to head to the Molecular Pharmacology Research Lab to help Qiao Xier and Li Jennie.
Looks like they had been following him for a while. Maybe he got careless, and with Meining City searching everywhere for Spade Eight, he assumed they wouldn't dare attack.
Unexpectedly, they struck at the most dangerous moment.
All four wore hooded trench coats, hats pulled low to cover their faces.
Zhang Yang knew two had guns but didn't know which. One carried darts. One was a close-combat expert. If they used guns, he had no chance at all.
But seeing how slowly they approached, he knew he still had a sliver of hope—because they didn't seem intent on killing him immediately.
Meaning—they wanted something else.
He didn't move. Moving was pointless. Even if he tried to run, the alley was at least fifty meters long. Even Bolt couldn't outrun bullets.
He looked at the four again and confirmed one was clearly a woman, wearing tight black jeans and a black hooded trench coat.
She wore brown leather combat boots. Even though the coat was big, her fiery figure couldn't be hidden: long, tight legs, slender waist, and full curves.
Everything about her screamed: deadly femme fatale.
He couldn't see her face, but her fair hands told him she definitely wasn't ugly.
But seeing how beautifully polished her nails were, Zhang Yang's heart tightened. The number of people who had died under those pale fingers was probably not small.
"Zhang Yang!" The shortest one among them spoke, directly calling his name.
"Spade Eight?"
"Correct. Since you know us, then you should know why we're here."
Zhang Yang flexed his fingers, smiled, nodded. "You want to kill me."
"You have good skills, but unfortunately, you're our target." The short one spoke calmly.
"How do you plan to do it?"
"We're assassins. As long as the mission is completed, the method doesn't matter…" The short man adjusted his mask and continued, "But since you killed Number Eight, we'll give you a death with dignity."
"Number Eight? What do you mean?" Zhang Yang knew he had killed a killer nicknamed Black Eight Kui in Yang Fei's dorm before. Supposedly Spade Eight had eight elite killers and that one was ranked eighth. But right now, Zhang Yang acted clueless to buy time.
The man beside the short one pulled off his mask, revealing a face Zhang Yang instantly disliked—scruffy mustache gathered in the middle like a Chrysanthemum-Kingdom soldier from WWII, a hideous scar on his cheek like he'd been rammed by a wild boar.
He glanced at Zhang Yang, cracked his neck, and said coldly, "Fourth Brother, stop talking to him. Kill him and leave. It's not safe here."
"Heh… Spade Eight even has Chrysanthemum devils?" Zhang Yang stared at him, then looked back at the short one—the so-called Fourth Brother, likely their leader.
"Spade Eight has no Chrysanthemum devils…" Fourth Brother shot a dissatisfied glance at Scarface, clearly annoyed that he exposed his face.
"Pretty boy, Fourth Brother said he'll give you a dignified death, so I'll grant you that dignity." Without warning, Scarface launched a flying kick at Zhang Yang's face.
His leg was long, sweeping with enough force to kick up dust—showing how powerful the strike was.
This must be the close-combat expert the system mentioned. Zhang Yang dodged backward. Before he could counter, Scarface's leg didn't retract but bent mid-air and whipped at him again.
Zhang Yang retreated again, but Scarface didn't slow down. As his foot hit the ground, his right fist shot out with a fierce gust toward Zhang Yang.
Even before the punch landed, the freezing killing intent made Zhang Yang squint as he retreated until his back hit the cement wall.
This was the most terrifying opponent he had ever faced. Within just a few exchanges, he had no chance to counter.
Of course, part of it was because he wasn't prepared.
With Zhang Yang trapped, Scarface didn't pull his fist back but placed a blocking whip-kick in front of him to prevent escape, then swung a heavy punch.
Zhang Yang reacted—ducking.
Scarface's iron fist grazed Zhang Yang's scalp and smashed into the cement wall.
"Boom!" Zhang Yang could feel the wall behind him trembling, and a chunk of cement fell past his cheek.
Damn, this fake Chrysanthemum devil wasn't just skilled—he was absurdly strong.
Zhang Yang knew he couldn't keep dodging. Even if he did, there were still three more opponents. If he was going to die, he'd at least take one with him.
Scarface's fist remained stuck in the wall when Zhang Yang struck his ribs.
"Thump!" Scarface staggered back two steps—only two—and stood firm again, snarling as he moved in. "That's all you've got?"
Another punch. Zhang Yang blocked at the weak point of his wrist.
"Thump!"
Zhang Yang was forced back two steps again, slamming into the wall.
This guy's strength was monstrous.
Leaning on the wall, panting hard, Zhang Yang realized if this continued, even without being hit directly, his bones would shatter just from blocking.
"Heh, weren't you tough?" Scarface grinned savagely. "Come on then!"
Zhang Yang lowered his head, leaning against the wall, watching him only from the corner of his eye.
"Motherfucker, die!" Scarface roared, sweeping his leg again.
His sweeping kicks were powerful and unpredictable. Zhang Yang had already experienced that. He couldn't block, nor could he retreat.
But the instant Scarface's toes left the ground—Zhang Yang moved.
Scarface's sweeping kick aimed at Zhang Yang's waist would have broken several ribs. But the moment his leg lifted, Zhang Yang pushed off the wall, body rising, delivering an even fiercer whip-kick in mid-air. Their bodies crossed.
"Pa!"
A sharp impact resounded—flesh struck by tremendous force. Scarface's sweeping kick barely missed Zhang Yang.
But he hit nothing. Zhang Yang had leapt up, delivering a horizontal whip-kick directly to Scarface's head.
Scarface collapsed instantly. Before he even hit the ground, Zhang Yang appeared beside him like a ghost, twisting his index and middle fingers, locking his neck, and pressing him to the ground like a dead dog, fingers clamping onto his throat.
Lifting his head, Zhang Yang stared coldly at the three stunned assassins. "If you don't want him to die, you know what to do."