“小 brat, do you want to die? Let go!” Emily glared angrily at Sarah Bolton, and the four soldiers behind her once again raised their guns, aiming at Sarah Bolton's forehead.

“Wuu!” Grace Miller struggled, wanting only to return to Sarah Bolton's side.

“Oh? Want to die? You actually dare to fight the boss for a woman.” Sarah Bolton lowered his head, so that no one could see his eyes. “I’m an orphan. I understand the rules of survival under the dark clouds better than anyone—wagging my tail and begging like a dog, bowing to power, submitting to evil, striving to become a bad person, bullying those weaker than myself... all just to survive.”

“My calculations have always followed this rule. My brain tells me to let go. If I keep this up, this time next year will be the anniversary of my death... but...”

At this point, Sarah Bolton finally raised the head that had always bowed to power, his face twisted as he exerted force and yanked Grace Miller back into his arms. “She is my Grace Miller! I absolutely won’t give her to you, you bastard.”

“Are you crazy? You want to go to war with the Overlord?!” Emily was stunned—she had never seen anyone this audacious.

“For her, what’s wrong with going to war with the whole world? She’s worth it!” Sarah Bolton held Grace Miller tightly, and suddenly raised a pistol.

“My gun?!” Emily looked down in shock—her pistol, which had been tucked into her waistband, was gone. “Give it back! That’s a revolver from the Ancient Century, it’s almost impossible to find bullets for it now, it’s an antique!”

“Fine, I’ll give it back to you.” Without hesitation, Sarah Bolton pulled the trigger.

Bang—a gunshot rang out.

“Ah!! It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!” Emily screamed and fell to the ground, clutching her face and writhing in pain. Blood gushed from between her fingers, pooling on the floor. “You animal! You actually dared to shoot?! Kill him! Kill him for me!”

The guards at the door raised their guns to aim, but Sarah Bolton actually used Grace Miller as a shield in front of him. “Idiots, Grace Miller is wanted by the chairman. Do you dare to shoot? Even if you so much as break a strand of her hair, your whole family’s lives won’t be spared, right?”

The guards looked at each other—none of them dared to pull the trigger.

“You don’t dare, but I do!” Sarah Bolton raised his hand and fired, shooting through the latch of the crystal chandelier on the ceiling. The massive chandelier crashed down, sending the four guards flying in all directions.

Chapter 6: Super Statistician

Since the age of five, Sarah Bolton had known he lived in hell.

The water here, even after 378 rounds of treatment, still tasted of kerosene. The food was all artificial, extracted from garbage—every bite was a test of one’s will to survive.

Only the strongest, and the most wretched, could survive in such a world.

Sarah Bolton was not born strong—he had neither a burly body nor a fierce face. Only by wagging his tail and begging, searching for opportunities in the cracks, had he managed to survive to this day.

He thanked the heavens for giving him a brain unlike any other—an extraordinary ability to analyze data, always able to point out the best way to survive in any crisis.

For example, right now, from the very beginning his rational mind had told him: never resist, never argue, not even show a disobedient look. Act like a dog, just as he had every time he faced power in the past, and he could survive, maybe even become part of the powerful.

Sarah Bolton had always followed reason, and had never made a wrong move. But this time, reason could not control his body—his brain was melted by that hand tightly holding his own.

How could he hand over such a pure girl to a beast? Yes, survival of the fittest is not wrong, but does the weak have no right to resist, no right to struggle? The weak have feelings too, and things they don’t want to lose.

Protect her! Even if it means becoming the enemy of the Overlord, even if it means fighting the world—he’d lived a wretched life for twenty years, wasn’t it time to go crazy at least once?!

Taking a deep breath, Sarah Bolton took some spare powder bullets from Emily, as well as a miniature communicator from the market in his ear, and stuffed it into his own ear canal.

“Bastard! You’re dead! Dead! Dead!”

Emily’s handsome face was twisted out of shape as he clutched it, his hands covered in blood. The entire area where his right eye had been was now a gaping hole. That he wasn’t dead showed his bones had clearly been reinforced at great expense.

“Your way of thinking is flawed. According to statistics, if you beg for mercy at a time like this, your chances of survival increase by 20 percentage points.” Sarah Bolton said as he searched Emily.

“Beg your damn mother! If you’ve got guts, kill me! Kill me!!” Emily, enraged and humiliated, had clearly lost his wits.

“I won’t kill you. Statistically, if you’re seriously injured but alive, you’ll slow down the pursuers. Even if the probability is only 13.5%, it’s high enough.”

Sarah Bolton casually fired the remaining four bullets in the pistol—bang! bang! bang! bang!—all into Emily’s body.

From Emily’s pig-like screams, it was clear he had never suffered such humiliation before.

“Let’s go. Wuu.”

Sarah Bolton reloaded with a new cylinder, took Grace Miller by the hand, and walked toward the bookshelf on the side of the room. Grace Miller would never doubt Sarah Bolton, and followed closely, shrinking into the corner.