Chapter 333 Got It

• “King, your stuff!” The Magician took off his hat and handed it over. Damon King took it, gave it a quick heft, and knew there were four pieces inside, not the three from before. He strode toward the bank and said, “You can disperse.” “Just like that? The mastermind’s still out there.” The Magician, not quite satisfied, paused and asked, “Want me to take him out?” “The ones who could run have already bolted. The ones who can’t run won’t get away.” Damon’s face stayed calm. “But if you’re not tired, go. Don’t kill him—bring him in alive.” Tonight had blown up too big. Someone had to answer for it. Even though revealing his identity meant there’d be no fallout, a live witness was still better. “Got it.” The Magician was about to leave. Charm Queen cut in, “I barely warmed up and it’s already over. Next time you give the protection detail to the Magician.” “Charm Queen, my shooting’s way better than yours,” the Magician said. She rolled her eyes at him, then turned to Damon, all earnest heat. “King, you okay?” “I’m fine.” The three reached the bank. Sure enough, Anson Yuhua and Yuan Liangping were nowhere to be seen. They’d smelled trouble and slipped out early. A few people still lingered. Among them, Gongsun Zheng sat cross-legged with his sword across his knees, face chalk-white. A young boy, baby-faced and streaked with tears, stepped up and said through grief and anger, “Mr. King, Grandpa wants a few words with you.” Damon walked over. Seeing him approach, Gongsun Zheng suddenly chuckled. “Figures I’m the one who dies. But Damon, you’re hurt too, aren’t you?” “I’ve always been hurt.” Damon sat cross-legged as well, expression steady. “Yeah. You’ve always been hurt.” Gongsun Zheng laughed till tears leaked out. “One thing throws me. You’re clearly not a martial grandmaster, so how did you cross that threshold for a heartbeat and hook into heaven and earth?” Damon glanced around at the others, his gaze turning faraway. He said softly, “On the battlefield, you carry the force of ten thousand troops. Countless heroic spirits press in on you. A martial grandmaster? Doesn’t even begin to cover it.” “So that’s it… that’s it…” Gongsun Zheng murmured. The breath of the war host, iron-blooded and grim, made heaven and earth blanch. A mere martial grandmaster really didn’t cut it. They said even ancient earth-immortals were helpless in the clash of thousands of cavalry and infantry, forced into assassination instead. That was why. The blazing, masculine blood of iron soldiers roared together, and with that unstoppable killing intent—Gongsun Zheng didn’t die for nothing. He lifted his hand with effort, offering his sword to Gongsun Liang. “Grandpa!” Gongsun Liang broke, rain of tears spilling down. “If I hear the Way in the morning, I can die at dusk. Foolish child, why cry? The Gongsun sword is yours now. Use it to cut down our foes—and me, too. In this life, you must become a martial grandmaster.” “Grandpa…” Gongsun Liang took the sword and collapsed into sobs. “No crying. No revenge. If you can’t break through the martial gate, then dying in a duel beats rotting away a thousand times over.” Gongsun Zheng snapped at him, displeased. Gongsun Liang choked back the sound, but the tears fell even harder. “Yueqing, I’m sorry. I should’ve given my whole life to the martial path, yet I still couldn’t help caring for you and ruined half your years…” He turned to Gu Yueqing, full of guilt. “Zheng…” Gu Yueqing’s face was soaked with tears too. Gongsun Zheng sighed. “Same goes for this. After I die, none of you are allowed to avenge me.” Gu Yueqing, Gongsun Liang, and the rest went quiet. Gongsun Zheng looked back at Damon and smiled. “Brother Damon, Gongsun Zheng goes first. On your road, there’ll be endless strong foes and traps. I hope you go farther than I did.” “Count on it,” Damon said, not shy at all. “Ha…” Gongsun Zheng laughed. Laughing, laughing—then blood seeped from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. His laughter thinned, and suddenly cut off. “Grandpa!” Gongsun Liang cried out, broken. Gu Yueqing stroked Gongsun Zheng’s cheek, gently wiping the blood beads from his eyes. A martial adept—Gongsun Zheng, at the peak of the Transforming Force—was dead. Damon rose and turned away, a faint sadness threading through him. He didn’t spell it out, but he understood—and felt it keenly. Watching Damon’s back, Gu Yueqing felt grief, but also hate—and a lost, drifting void. Near the parked cars, several figures came up. It was Timothy Jensen and his men. “Mr. King, are you alright?” Timothy asked, worried. Damon waved him off, opened a car door, grabbed his phone, and dialed. “Dark Night, congrats. You took down a peak Transforming Force expert.” A familiar voice came through. “Handle the cleanup,” Damon said, stone-faced. “Our people are already on their way to Cracsa,” the voice said. Damon hung up, turned to Timothy, and said, “Send people to grab Anson Yuhua. Don’t let him slip.” “Yes, sir!” Timothy perked up and got moving right away. Damon didn’t linger. After asking where Anya was, he drove off to pick her up. The Magician and Charm Queen had already left by car as well, headed to chase Anson Yuhua. Right then, a few cars were racing toward the east side of Cracsa. In the lead Bentley, Anson Yuhua sat pale as paper, eyes cold. “Uncle, what do we do now?” Yuan Liangping asked, voice shaking, terror all over him. “What are you panicking for?” Anson Yuhua gave his partner a look full of disgust. Some people fail again and again, not because they’re weak, but because they’re cursed—like whatever they touch turns to dust. Call it superstition, but in the Southeast, fate and feng shui rule the culture. After twenty-plus years in Siam, Anson Yuhua believed in it hard. He even wore a Buddha talisman around his neck. He’d brought in so many guns, arranged so many men—and still didn’t dent Damon. That made him start blaming Yuan Liangping. “Pull over.” Spotting no one around, Anson Yuhua barked the order. The convoy braked to a stop. He got out and said, “Liangping, we split up from here. My advice: head straight back to Rivercrest Province. That’s the Yuan family’s turf. Damon might be scary, but in Rivercrest he can’t touch you. He won’t even find you.” Yuan Liangping, hearing that, calmed a bit. “And you, Uncle?” “Me?” Anson Yuhua said coolly, “What’s there to worry about? Those guys were hired by you. Has nothing to do with me.” Yuan Liangping froze. Like last time when he used Anson Yuhua, now he was the knife in Anson Yuhua’s hand. A chill ran through him. “Keep this car. Head for Rivercrest.” Anson Yuhua reined in his impatience and tried to soothe him. “Most of the men are dead. Even if it traces back to you, there’s no hard evidence. Don’t sweat it.” With that, he climbed into a plain Toyota up front and sped off. Yuan Liangping had only one car behind him now, with his bodyguards. “We’re going back to Rivercrest.” He felt a flash of hatred toward Anson Yuhua, but he had no choice. He told the driver to get moving—just get out of Cracsa first. Two hours later, as they rolled off the Rivercrest highway, a convoy of military trucks suddenly appeared and boxed them in. Yuan Liangping stared, stunned. How could they move that fast? “Mr. Yuan, we’re with the Special Security Department. You’re suspected of colluding with foreign forces, threatening state security, and hiring killers, which led to over a hundred deaths. You’re under arrest.”