Son-In-Law Madness

With an expression of pure exhilaration, Kelvin Evans came galloping from a distance.

They were mercenaries, and if they could deliver the goods to the specified location intact, they stood to gain a hearty twenty percent of the value as their reward.

However, compared to the hundred percent gain, it left them hankering for more.

Cyclops narrowed his eyes and asked, “Where is the financier?”

“He's been sleeping on the hindmost donkey since the journey began,” Kelvin grumbled. “Why don't we get rid of him and claim the entire batch of goods for ourselves?”

Cyclops had the same idea, but he felt that something didn't add up.

A haul worth sixty million was a tantalizing asset for any organization.

He wondered how it was possible that someone had hired mercenaries to fully handle the highly valuable assets.

Furthermore, the financier in question was Earl, an organization recently in the limelight.

Cyclops thought for a moment and ordered, “Hold off for now. Something doesn't seem right.”

Kelvin asked anxiously, “What could possibly go wrong? I had men scout the perimeter. It's barren of any presence but ours. If we strike now, we can change our course in time, and the whole cargo will be ours. But if we wait until after we've crossed the borders and he has arranged for someone to take over from there, we will be in danger.”

Cyclops found Kelvin's argument plausible.

After some consideration, he said, “Very well, let's take him out.”

“Okay!”

Kelvin gave his subordinates a few signals, and they promptly slowed down their pace. They advanced toward their prey as they pointed their guns right at the man soundly asleep on the donkey.

One of the subordinates pulled out his scimitar, carefully inching his way toward the oblivious figure on the donkey.

Just as the scimitar was about to reach its target, a terrible scream pierced the air. The subordinate's head was sent flying into the bushes like a football.

The man on the donkey opened his eyes, and it was clear that he was still intoxicated. He watched the headless corpse and laughed coldly. “Even the lowest of the low dares to harm me now. I advise against shooting here. You've stepped into the jurisdiction of the South Sea Military Region. One gunshot and you won't stand a chance to escape.”

Cyclops was taken aback by the man's agility.

Even he had missed the man's swift strike.

In a somber voice, he asked, “Are you a high-level Stella Warrior?”

The man took a swig from his flask and responded, “Does it even matter? You can't beat me. Rather than both of us ending up battered and bruised, why not deliver the goods as planned? That way, we all get a piece of the pie. Sounds fair?”

Just as Cyclops prepared to respond, a gunshot echoed from a distant mountain.