Urban's Fury: The War Dragon God
Chapter 362: 1 Minute

Chapter 362: Chapter 362: 1 Minute

The starving Wild Wolf eyed fat Huang Zhong the way one might look at a big roast chicken, and pounced straight at him.

"Ah!"

Huang Zhong closed his eyes in terror, trembling, and ended up peeing himself.

Just at this critical juncture,

Bang.

A crisp gunshot rang out; Huang Zhong felt his face splattered and his body weighed down by something heavy. When he opened his eyes, he saw the Wild Wolf with its head blown open, causing him to shudder all over again.

Tiger, his face ashen, watched the wolf pack wreaking havoc in the hallway. He raised his hand and bang, bang, bang, fired several shots in succession, the exposed Wild Wolves outside the door getting shot one by one.

However, the Wild Wolves outside were not frightened by the gunshots. The scent of blood only stirred their ferocity, and they turned around to swarm into the box room. Tiger held a revolver, a gun with great power, but it could only hold six bullets.

After two more shots, the revolver was empty. What he thought was a task easily at hand turned out to be fraught with unforeseen trouble. Damn that fat Huang, he really hadn’t disclosed everything.

If he had known there was a pack of wolves, he wouldn’t have brought just the revolver he carried. He would have come fully armed.

Cursing to himself, Tiger quickly pulled out the dagger he carried on his thigh and, turning back with a flying kick, sent a charging Wild Wolf flying.

Awoooo.

The Wild Wolf slammed against the wall, but the rest continued their relentless advance. Tiger struck back with a reverse dagger strike, the blade plunging into the neck of a Wild Wolf. With a swift pull, blood sprayed over his face.

Tiger licked the wolf blood from his face, a grim and mad grin spreading across his features. He fought alone against the pack, holding his own, and in moments, the box was littered with wolf corpses.

Huang Zhong shrunk back onto the sofa like a maggot, his gaze on the blood-drenched Tiger. Truly a madman as they say, utterly insane.

It was rumored Tiger had severe violent tendencies; once after a mission, he annihilated an entire village just for the thrill of killing.

Huang Zhong had previously thought such stories were exaggerated to boast, but looking now at the mad Tiger, he had no doubt the man was capable of such acts.

A normal person’s first reaction to a pack of wolves would be to run, not engage them head-on as this madman did.

It reminded him a bit of that guy who escaped from the Duel Arena.

How he felt these two were similar; both twisted.

Tiger glanced toward the door of the box. A man in a white shirt and trousers stood there, flanked by two white-haired Wild Wolves, smiling faintly before him.

Tiger licked his lips subconsciously, the figure before him eliciting a rush of excitement, "Is that him, the man you want me to kill?"

"Yes, Big Boss Tiger, that’s him."

Huang Zhong shivered as he looked toward Li Feng.

"It’s good you didn’t run. You do have some guts,"

Tiger said in his broken Yan Country language, looking at Li Feng, who shrugged, "Mad Tiger, I’ve heard of you."

"Heard of me, and you still haven’t kneeled to beg for mercy? Maybe if I’m in a good mood, I’ll let you die a swift death."

Li Feng stepped toward Tiger, "I hear you take pleasure in killing, even relish in torture."

"Hey, you really do understand me," said Tiger. "Seems like you don’t believe in curses and want to give it a try."

Li Feng, eyes narrowed at Tiger, drenched in wolf blood and radiating deadly aura, simply raised his hand and curled his finger.

"Skeleton, you seem to have a death wish."

Tiger didn’t expect this skinny monkey to dare provoke him. A ferocious smile crept over the corner of his mouth as he took two large strides forward, his dagger drawing a silvery arc through the air.

Ha.

Bullshit.

That’s just something old men and women play with. True kung fu is not so easily defeated; it’s all just fancy fist-waving and showy kicks—nothing but empty forms.

Li Feng watched Tiger approach without dodging or even moving an inch, his hand moving in a swift motion to catch the dagger and block the strike, effortlessly parrying the thunderous blow from the towering Tiger.

"Humph."

Tiger felt the force transmitted to his wrist and was secretly surprised. The opponent didn’t look strong, but he had a significant amount of power. However, the thought just flickered through his mind momentarily.

Because Li Feng’s dagger had slipped from his hand.

Is that all?

Skinny monkeys like him simply aren’t on their level, yet he dared to face Tiger head on, matching strength with him—who gave him the courage?

Thinking with disdain, Tiger prepared to finish him off with a backhand dagger strike—or maybe just wound him severely, to torture him slowly.

However, in that instant, an unexpected change occurred.

The dagger that slipped from Li Feng’s hand was caught lightning-fast by another hand. His five fingers seemed to possess a magnetic pull, and the dagger swept across Tiger’s wrist at an incredible angle.

This was an exceptionally sharp official dagger, its edge capable of cutting through arteries despite the lack of force behind it.

Instantly, Tiger’s expression shifted.

How is this possible?

"Don’t lose hope," said Li Feng swiftly in Federation language, "it’s just one artery cut. You can still struggle for another minute." His eyes flashed a hint of disdain. Crazy Tiger had some notoriety among the mercenaries, but it wasn’t for anything commendable. He was known for his greed and murderous ways, which even got him kicked out of his previous mercenary group.

And because of his resentfulness, he turned on and slaughtered his former team. That’s what you call a man with no moral bottom line—a complete trash.

Although mercenaries fight for money, most still possess some moral limits. At the very least, they wouldn’t massacre civilians, let alone kill their own teammates.

When a person’s major artery is severed, under normal circumstances, they could last three to five minutes, and that’s the limit. Any longer than that could lead to shock from blood loss.

However, that’s if they remain still; in violent motion, the blood loss accelerates, and death comes much quicker.

One minute is this man’s limit.

Tiger’s face twisted with ferocity, like that of a wounded beast, and with a low growl, he grasped the dagger with his left hand and slashed back at Li Feng.

Li Feng had anticipated this, sidestepping with a quick maneuver. His own dagger moved as if it were a part of his body, slicing another cut on Tiger’s body.

This cut was just a gash, not lethal, but it was enough to enrage Tiger.

In the face of Tiger’s raging fury, Li Feng remained as calm as the surface of a still lake, not a ripple in sight. Huang Zhong, sitting not too far on the ground, gulped as he watched the frenzied Tiger getting cut again and again by Li Feng.

Suddenly, he felt that the billion wasn’t so simple to earn.

"Who are you?"

As his blood continued to pour out, Tiger started to pant slightly—his strength waning, his movements becoming sluggish, especially after having received at least thirty cuts.

"Dead men don’t need to ask so many questions."

"I can give you money. We have no feud. Just let me go."