“Holy hell!” The man’s fingers trembled, poised dangerously close to the trigger.

He was a tempest in human form.

Bouncing within a three-meter radius, he muttered darkly. “Ending this bastard now. Instantly! Instantly!”

A sly wink rallied his followers, who promptly sealed the goose shop’s fate.

With the door secured, the man’s gun zeroed in on Jagoan’s brow, chilling intent in his voice, “Chinese love tempting gun barrels. I’ve put down many like you. One more won’t change a thing. Any final words, speak them now.”

“Final words?” Jagoan jeered, disdain dripping from his words. “You’re a farce, not a threat.”

He rapped the table with a smirk. “Jordan, my meal. Chop chop!”

Jordan rushed from the kitchen, clutching a bowl of roast goose rice, his words a jumble. “Mr. Jagoan… Here’s your rice…”

In one Swift motion, the black man sent the entire meal scattering, “You’re thinking of a feast at death’s door?!” he thundered.

He swung his weapon towards the fallen bowl, squeezing the trigger. The gunshot rang out, shattering the plastic container and sending Jordan into a quaking fit.

Hogan, on the sidelines, remained unfazed. He was aware that these men were nothing more than insignificant specks compared to Jagoan.

The Burning Angel?

A sideshow compared to him.

The Joules family, a powerful dynasty in New York, had no influence as Jagoan mercilessly shot Patrick Joules right in front of them.

Who in the Joules clan would dare oppose him? When Jagoan asked Patrick’s father, grandfather, and great-grandfather Joules whether they were convinced that he killed Patrick, who would dare to say no?

few gang members who knew nothing about the world dared to jump in front of Jagoan with guns, and Jagoan

showed no fear. Instead, he turned to Jordan and said, “Bring me another bowl. This swill’s a

crumbled. He’d pulled the trigger, yet Jagoan remained unfazed. Fear tinged the

his teeth,

He hammered the trigger!

saw their

thought Jagoan was about to be shot, the black

struggled to pull the trigger, he muttered, “What’s happening… Why can’t I… Why can’t I

opponent utterly defenseless. The black man’s hand had lost all strength, unable to

in his arm, yet his fingers were rebellious. In his panic, Jagoan reached out and wrenched

pistol, “If God wants to see me, he’ll have to come to me, not the other

behind him scrambled, drawing pistols in their panic, preparing to fire

the black man’s wrist and swinging him like a baseball

their weapons, a massive, dark force slammed into them from the

instant, five bodies lay wailing

by threads, cheekbones, ribs, and leg bones shattered. Countless fractures crisscrossed

the sudden and

battered, they lay

ordinary person could wield such incredible power. They knew, deep down, that they’d encountered a master. Perhaps this was a legendary Kung

approached the five, his

their refuge in the

to death already, and now all traces of

him and delivered

crack reverberated throughout

the man’s cheeks rapidly swelled, Jagoan offered a wry smile, “The underworld, huh? And the Burning Angels… Who came up with such a ridiculous name? Look at that grizzled mug of yours—does it have

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