Chapter Fifteen: Ruthless Eradication (2/5)

Zhu Liang was beaten so badly he couldn’t utter a word, writhing on the ground in agony, cold sweat beading on his forehead.

Yang Fan glanced over the group. To his surprise, the bald, heavyset man with a brutish face before him was actually a Level 3 Professional—just a shade weaker than himself, but still formidable. In less than twelve hours, not only had this man advanced his profession to Level 3, but he’d also managed to gather and keep these lackeys alive. This fat man was both bold and cunning.

But he had to die. He’d crossed Yang Fan’s bottom line. To humiliate a girl, to treat people as less than human—such darkness in a man’s heart could only be described as evil.

Yang Fan was not one to play the hero, but it was clear from their demeanor that they wouldn’t simply let him go. That was reason enough for Yang Fan to kill them.

He glanced at the girl who was crying, then at the six or seven other girls—each with attractive features, all from the same school. One of them, Yang Fan vaguely recalled, was the vice president of the student council—a pretty girl, at least a six out of ten, by his estimation. But it was only natural. If they weren’t pretty, how else would they have ended up here?

Yang Fan’s mind wandered to a saying that circulated among the students: “Eighth High produces beauties, Ninth High produces scholars, and Tenth High produces delinquents.” These people must be from Tenth High—after all, dyeing and long hair weren’t allowed at Eighth High, except for that blond newcomer. Most of these guys weren’t from Eighth.

“Kid, trying to play the hero and save the damsel? Hahaha…” A crew-cut youth swaggered over, grinning coldly at Yang Fan. He walked up to one of the girls and tore open her clothes. She struggled fiercely, tears brimming in her eyes, but it was all in vain.

Yang Fan looked at the girl. She was quite pretty.

The girls from Eighth High were all pure and lovely, not streetwise tough girls. Of course they’d resist in such a situation.

They all sobbed, frightened and terrified. In a normal life, they would have been courted by handsome, high-achieving, promising, and wealthy young men—loved passionately, giving their first kiss and more to the one they treasured most. But now, that dream was shattered by these filthy thugs, about to be violated. How could they not be afraid? How could they not despair?

They’d thought their savior had arrived, only to see him subdued the moment he appeared. The girls glanced at Yang Fan—his face was delicate and decent looking, but what caught their attention was the black snake tattoo on his left arm, so lifelike it startled them.

“No, help! Someone help us!” The girl screamed, snapping everyone to attention. Panic and fear spread among the girls, while the young men laughed boisterously, their eyes filled with lechery.

“Don’t you think what you’re doing is shameful?” Yang Fan’s sudden words interrupted the crew-cut youth’s actions, his gaze calm as he looked at the bald, brutish man.

“Shameful? What’s shameful about it? It’s the end of the world—who cares about shame? These girls all act so high and mighty, now that we’ve got them I’m going to have my way with each one, hahaha! Kid, you can fight, but let’s see if you’re a match for a gun. Sit back and enjoy the show—when it’s over, I’ll send you to the afterlife.”

He wasn’t worried about Yang Fan pulling any tricks—after all, he had a gun and was capable enough. He wanted Yang Fan to watch as they defiled the girls, to burn the memory into his mind. That’s why he hadn’t shot yet. Such a twisted mind.

But just as he finished his last sentence, a deafening gunshot rang out—and then, all was swallowed by endless darkness.

“You… you… you killed the boss?”

“Boss! Boss!”

“You… you… you…”

None of them had expected Yang Fan to have a gun, let alone a powerful Desert Eagle. As men, most of them had an interest in guns and cars, so several recognized the weapon at once.

The room fell silent. Yang Fan had dispatched their boss in the most direct and violent way. The gun had given the boss a certain authority, which was why Yang Fan hadn’t wasted words.

“Go on, keep playing,” Yang Fan said flatly, aiming the gun at the crew-cut youth, his tone casual, his expression relaxed, without a hint of menace.

The crew-cut thug’s legs gave way. With that thumb-sized barrel pointed at him, who wouldn’t panic?

The others swallowed nervously, standing stock still and silent.

“I was wrong, big brother, I was wrong! Please don’t kill me, please!” The crew-cut youth’s arrogance was gone. He never expected Yang Fan to kill his boss with a single shot. He’d thought Yang Fan was an easy target, but now terror seized him.

Bang.

Without hesitation, Yang Fan pulled the trigger. The sound exploded in everyone’s ears, ringing painfully. The bullet pierced the thug’s heart—Desert Eagle’s shots were powered by stamina, and as long as it killed its target, it would not hit another. The girl behind him was merely frightened, nothing more.

Ruthless and decisive. Zhu Liang, still rolling on the ground in pain, was stunned. He forced himself to endure the pain, horrified. Killing a person in cold blood was not the same as killing a mindless zombie. Yang Fan felt a subtle fluctuation in his mood after the act, but it did nothing to deter his resolve to kill every last man present.

“Come on, try your luck!” Yang Fan aimed at a blond youth, firing a shot through his heart. Blood sprayed across the floor.

In that moment, Yang Fan seemed like a demon from the depths of hell. The men all fell to their knees, the girls screamed, and the thugs wept and begged for their lives.

“We were forced! We had no choice!”

Perhaps a few of them truly had been coerced, but Yang Fan first dealt with those who offended him most—the blond, the green-haired, those with obvious scars or tattoos. Such men were nothing but trouble. If Yang Fan hadn’t come, these girls would have suffered unspeakable fates.

Zhu Liang staggered to his feet, having recovered somewhat. He grabbed an iron rod and brought it down on the head of the boy who had beaten him earlier, drawing blood, then continued to strike him mercilessly amid the boy’s screams, to which no one showed any sympathy.

Once Zhu Liang had vented his anger, he said coldly to Yang Fan, “Don’t believe a word they say. Kill them all. These are scum from outside, not a decent one among them. They call themselves the Dragon Rising Gang. Last time they assaulted a good girl from Tenth High, it caused a huge uproar, but their boss covered it up. These are the ringleaders—don’t let a single one go.”

Zhu Liang revealed a secret Yang Fan hadn’t known, and whatever hesitation he’d harbored vanished in an instant.

“It wasn’t me, I swear! I was just watching!”

“Don’t kill me, please, it has nothing to do with me!”

“Screw it, I’ll fight you!”

Some knelt and begged for mercy, while others, driven to desperation, charged at Yang Fan. He welcomed each one.

The Desert Eagle could fire more than twenty shots. There were only thirteen people here—two already dead, and the remaining nine he dispatched with cold efficiency. Scum like them could not be allowed to live.

The girls screamed, not stopping until Yang Fan holstered his Desert Eagle and began untying them.

“Thank you, thank you. Thank you so much,” the few girls still clearheaded repeated over and over. Yang Fan patted their heads, soothing them. Then he shook his left arm; instantly, the tattoo glowed, and a small swallowing python emerged.

It was a kind of alternative pet space.

“Go eat,” Yang Fan instructed. The little python loved meat, and the corpses made for rich fertilizer—more nutritious than pork or lamb.

The half-meter-long python let out a low, excited hiss, slithered over, and began to gnaw into the flesh of the dead with sharp teeth, consuming them bite by bite starting from their wounds.

Unlike ordinary pythons, mutated beasts didn’t swallow prey whole—they had intelligence now.

“A snake!” The python’s appearance prompted a new wave of screams—girls were always afraid of cold-blooded creatures.