Future Masters in Modern Times

Chapter 28: Retribution

Having lived for so many years, Gammon had faced all manner of dangers to a greater or lesser extent, yet he had always managed to escape unscathed. In business, Gammon was extremely bold; he had engaged in all manner of acts that could be described as utterly criminal. But when it came to his own personal safety, he was extremely cautious. Therefore, when summarizing Gammon’s rise to wealth, the phrase “bold yet meticulous” is indispensable. Using the wealth he had amassed, Gammon hired more than a dozen elite bodyguards from a world-class security firm to ensure his safety. All of these bodyguards had prior military experience and, without exception, were outstanding special forces soldiers who had served in elite special operations units. Although the annual expense for this was substantial, Asim felt it was worth it. After all, no matter how rich a person is, if they don’t have their life to enjoy it, isn’t all that money just worthless paper? Gammon has done an excellent job of spending money to protect his life, and it is precisely because of this that, despite having committed many heinous acts over the years, he has managed to evade justice to this day. I recall that two years ago, he got into a conflict with a major tycoon over the drug trade. That tycoon actually sent people to secretly plant a bomb under his car. Fortunately, among his bodyguards were elite experts in explosives who defused the bomb in time, saving his life. In short, Gammon is indeed a force to be reckoned with—he should not be underestimated. Therefore, when he heard Zhao Wuji’s rather arrogant words, a trace of disdain flashed across his lips for an instant, as if to say, “How many like you have died at my hands?” But was Zhao Wuji just an ordinary person? He certainly could not be judged by ordinary standards. The moment Gammon gave his bodyguards a subtle nod, the eight of them drew their pistols in unison, their black muzzles poised to point at Zhao Wuji. Their movements were so synchronized; their training so disciplined. It was indeed fast—so fast that one couldn’t react, fast enough to end a life in an instant. However, Zhao Wuji was even faster than they were. Just a moment ago, Zhao Wuji had been standing right there, but in the blink of an eye, he vanished from the spot with a “whoosh.” The air suddenly burst apart, and a sonic boom erupted violently, causing everyone present’s eardrums to ring. A figure flashed into view. A afterimage swept through the private box. “Thud,” “thud”—several muffled thuds echoed, and the scene fell silent once more. “Clack,” “clack”—the handguns fell to the floor, their crisp sounds shattering the deathly silence. In the same spot, Zhao Wuji stood there quietly, as if he hadn’t moved at all. The eight bodyguards—stationed around the perimeter of the private room—now stood like lifeless statues, frozen in their poses, yet utterly silent. After a long while, thick blood began to ooze from the corners of their mouths, dripping onto the floor and pooling into a spot the size of a palm. The eight figures crashed to the ground. In that briefest of moments, Zhao Wuji—moving at a speed beyond human limits—launched his attack before they could fire their guns. Zhao Wuji’s fists slammed into their chests, penetrating deep into their internal organs. In an instant, the force shattered the protective barriers around their heart meridians, killing them instantly—so much so that their bodies remained frozen in the exact positions they had been in just a moment before. Zhao Wuji could unleash a punch as devastating as a thunderclap to send a person flying, yet he could also exert a force as gentle as a spring breeze or a light rain—one that took a life without a trace. His control over his power was truly terrifying! The ground was littered with corpses. Just moments ago, they were living, breathing people; in the blink of an eye, they had lost their lives. Gammon had just lit the cigar clamped between his fingers; before he could even take a puff, he stared blankly at the scene before him. What had been a sure thing had suddenly turned into this. These eight bodyguards were no ordinary men—each was the cream of the crop. Every single one could hold his own against ten ordinary people, yet how had they all died?! A roar of rage erupted within Gammon, and the hand holding the cigar began to tremble uncontrollably. Dead they were—but why did they have to die so easily?! It was this man from Asia standing right in front of him who, without the slightest effort, had killed his bodyguards in a way that seemed impossible. Fear and despair flashed through Gammon’s eyes, but in the end, he forced himself to look calm. He wanted to live; he had to stay calm. “Who are you?” he asked, not letting go of the cigar in his hand. He took a deep drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs, then exhaled it all with a forceful puff. Zhao Wuji walked past the corpse on the floor, drawing closer to Gammon step by step. “You don’t need to know,” Zhao Wuji said in a flat, even tone, without the slightest inflection. “You need money—I can give it to you!” Gammon desperately racked his brain for any leverage that might save his life. “If I wanted money, it would be as easy as turning my hand,” Zhao Wuji said with a hint of mockery. “I can hand over my entire business to you—or to whoever’s behind you—as long as you let me live.” Gammon was growing impatient; his sanity was slipping away bit by bit. “What would I do with any of that?” Zhao Wuji crushed the handgun on the floor with his foot, sending shards flying everywhere. “Then what exactly do you want!” Gammon finally lost his composure, his eyes bloodshot as he stared at the man who might take his life, all fear forgotten. “I want… your life,” Zhao Wuji pronounced Gammon’s death sentence. “You beast, you bastard, you lowlife! You want my life? I’ll make you die too—ah…!” Sensing there was no room for compromise, Gammon suddenly drew the gun he’d been hiding all along and pulled the trigger directly at Zhao Wuji. Zhao Wuji had long anticipated Gammon’s last-ditch attack and struck his wrist with his right hand in a flash. The pistol was knocked out of his hand, but the bullet still fired, striking the metal chandelier in the center of the private box with a “clang,” sending sparks flying. Gammon clutched his wrist and screamed like a pig being slaughtered. Zhao Wuji’s sudden jerk had snapped his wrist clean in two, exposing fragments of broken bone—the excruciating pain was unbearable. “Why… are you… killing… me!” Gammon asked Zhao Wuji in a broken voice, collapsing onto the floor with a thud and writhing at Zhao Wuji’s feet. “Then why did you kill them?” Zhao Wuji demanded. Gammon fell silent. He realized how foolish his question was—hadn’t he long since anticipated this day? “They”? They might have been ordinary people he’d driven to their deaths, or his rivals, or perhaps the boxers he’d ordered killed once they’d outlived their usefulness. But none of that mattered anymore. Zhao Wuji stepped on Gammon’s leg and applied a little pressure. “Crack, crack”—the leg bones shattered. “When you killed them, did you ever think about a day like this for yourself?” Zhao Wuji stepped on his other palm and ground his right foot down, reducing Gammon’s palm to a bloody pulp. “When you killed them, did you ever think about the pain their families would feel? Did you ever wonder what it feels like to shatter someone’s only hope?” Zhao Wuji stomped on all four of his limbs; in the end, only Gammon’s head remained, trembling uncontrollably. “Did you ever think about their pain, their despair? Now that you’re about to die, do you have anything to say?” Gammon gasped for breath, his breathing ragged and uneven, and said haltingly, “Kill… kill me!” “As you wish.” Zhao Wuji finally placed his foot on Gammon’s neck. He could see Gammon close his eyes contentedly, awaiting the arrival of his final judgment. “Snap!” It was all over… The cycle of cause and effect—retribution is inevitable. “Actually, I’m not a good person—I just can’t stand you.” Opening the cigar box on the table, Zhao Wuji took out a cigar, lit it, and instantly a cloud of smoke swirled around him. “I really can’t stand you.” The private room was very quiet; thanks to its excellent soundproofing, no one outside could hear a thing. Zhao Wuji quietly finished the cigar, finding it not quite to his taste—even though each of these cigars was extremely expensive. Several restless spirits in the private room were pulled into Zhao Wuji’s body, and the door to the room swung open. Zhao Wuji remained calm as he looked at the person standing outside the door. Standing there was none other than Amanda. Through his relentless efforts, he managed to retrieve segments of surveillance footage and finally tracked down Zhao Wuji’s whereabouts, so he rushed over. Inside the private room, the scene was, of course, a shambles, yet only Zhao Wuji remained unflustered, calmly puffing away as if none of it had anything to do with him. Amanda looked at the scene inside the private room with some surprise—though thankfully, it was only surprise; he should have understood Zhao Wuji’s lethality. He had no time to wonder why Zhao Wuji had killed someone—to him, that was merely a minor matter. Right now, the only thing that mattered was that Zhao Wuji was still there and hadn’t slipped away on his own. “I’m so glad you didn’t leave,” Amanda said, her voice tinged with excitement. If this mission went wrong, he would never forgive himself. Stepping into the private room, Amanda—whether intentionally or not—stepped around the bloodstains on the floor and said, “Come with me. This isn’t a safe place for you to stay; the police will be here soon.” In fact, before the police were set to arrive, they had already spoken with the hotel and would only come with the hotel’s permission. However, since something even more serious had just happened here, it was best for Zhao Wuji to leave as soon as possible to avoid unnecessary trouble. Zhao Wuji agreed with this reasoning and followed Amanda, the butler, out of the private room. Outside the door, the two bodyguards lay unconscious on the floor. It seemed Amanda had taken care of them. Zhao Wuji looked at Amanda walking ahead of him and chuckled. Zhao Wuji’s departure went unnoticed by everyone present. He followed Amanda and took a secret elevator in the private room area back to the top floor. Ten minutes later, a squad of police officers arrived at the private room. Faced with the bloody scene before them, they felt a deep sense of helplessness; the fact that such a massive threat had been lurking here was truly unsettling. However, none of this concerned Zhao Wuji anymore. Once he was gone, even if all hell broke loose here, it would have nothing to do with him. The Duchy of Limes was merely a stopover on Zhao Wuji’s life’s journey. And Zhao Wuji was likewise just a passerby at this stop—one who arrived in a hurry and departed just as quickly. Many years later, no one would remember anyone else. That was all…