The other thugs were stunned. Just a moment ago, their fierce companion had been silently crushed to death like a chick. Wasn’t William Thompson supposed to be a cowardly, timid, ordinary student? How could he be so ruthless, killing with a single move, snapping a man’s neck with his bare hands? That was way too vicious.

Taking advantage of the thugs’ momentary daze, William Thompson spun around and delivered a flying kick to one of them, sending him crashing into the wall. There was a sickening crack of bones, and the thug spat out a mouthful of blood, collapsing limply to the ground—clearly not going to make it.

Seeing that William Thompson was actually willing to risk his life, even the thugs with multiple lives on their hands panicked. The bloodshed only fueled their ferocity, and they charged at him with spring knives and swinging iron chains, desperate to fight.

William Thompson hadn’t practiced many deadly techniques, but the ones he knew, he had mastered to perfection.

No matter how you arm a sheep, it’s still a sheep.

William Thompson stood his ground, unmoving. Just as the spring knife was about to stab him, he struck. Several fingers clamped tightly onto the thug’s wrist holding the knife. With a burst of force, there was a sharp crack, and the thug let out a blood-curdling scream. William Thompson then guided the thug’s hand, still holding the spring knife, in a swift motion across the neck of another thug wielding an iron rod.

Blood spurted out. With a clang, the iron rod hit the ground. The thug who had been holding it clutched his neck with both hands, letting out a long, deflating hiss, collapsing like a punctured ball. His life ebbed away with each convulsion and the steady flow of blood.

William Thompson released his grip. The thug with the broken wrist managed to keep his life, but lay on the ground howling in pain. He would never be able to wield a knife with that hand again. For a cripple, the glory days were over; now he would have to face revenge from his old enemies.

Only one unscathed thug remained, frozen in the distance, staring blankly at his three dead and one wounded companions, and at Brian Clark, who was unconscious. The weapon slipped from his hand as he realized he had never witnessed such bloody and ruthless methods. Looking at William Thompson, something seemed to click in his mind—he had seen a scene like this from afar before, a nightmare he never wanted to remember. Trembling, he stammered, “You, you, you’re, you’re a devil, a demon, ah!” Suddenly, clutching his head, he let out a wail and bolted into the distance, mad with fear. No one ever saw him again.

Brian Clark slowly regained consciousness, twisting his aching neck and gradually sitting up, only to be confronted with a scene that nearly broke him.

The ground was awash with blood, soaking the floor like water. A thug he knew well lay on the ground, his neck twisted unnaturally. Another was slumped at the base of the wall, his chest caved in, with a mess of red and white smeared on the wall and his gray-haired head. Yet another was stiff, face pale as death, hands clutching his neck, eyes bulging—he was the boss of the North Gate neighborhood, but now blood was pouring from his neck, and he was clearly done for.

One more was clutching his hand, groaning weakly on the ground—the boss of Chahua Kou, who had once stabbed five or six people to death with his lethal knife skills. But now, his right hand was twisted at a strange angle, his usual one-foot-long spring knife lying on the ground. No need to say more—he was finished.

Their little lamb, William Thompson, was standing not far away, coldly watching him, his hands cracking menacingly. There was no one else around. Only now did Brian Clark remember it was William Thompson who had knocked him out. Terrified, he scrambled backward on the ground, shouting, “Devil, devil, you’re a devil, help!”

The students peeking from afar were scared out of their wits and ran for their lives. Ordinary students had never seen such a brazen killing in broad daylight, even if it was in self-defense, dealing with thugs and scum.

“No, no, don’t come over here, don’t, don’t come any closer!” Brian Clark saw William Thompson staring at him and frantically retreated.

A shiny silver phone fell from his pocket. Brian Clark grabbed it like a lifeline and desperately dialed several numbers, shouting.

“Hello, hello, Dad, Dad, it’s me, Xiaobiao.”

“Huh? Uncle Wang, quick, let my dad answer the phone!”

“What? What did you say? Uncle Wang, say that again, what happened to my dad?” Brian Clark’s face turned ashen, as if he had fallen from heaven to hell in an instant.

Brian Clark’s voice was choked with sobs: “What’s going on, the people from the Discipline Inspection Commission? How is that possible? My dad is the police chief! How could he be arrested?”

“No, impossible, how could someone report him, how could there be so much evidence? Impossible, my dad never leaves any traces when he does things.”

“Oh God, Dad!” Brian Clark was in despair. He had called his old man, but just as he and the thugs were about to deal with William Thompson, his father’s case had finally broken. Dozens of pieces of evidence from William Thompson pointed directly at Brian Clark’s father. The Discipline Inspection Commission had arrested him on the spot, and he was now under double designation and isolated. It was all over.

Brian Clark, who had once relied on his father, now felt his world collapse. With his father stripped of power and his cronies scattering, and with William Thompson eyeing him like a tiger, he knew he was doomed.

“Bet you never thought this day would come! Time to pay your debt!” William Thompson walked toward Brian Clark with a cold smile, his face twisted into something terrifying, letting out a strange laugh that sounded less like William Thompson and more like a demon.