A young member of Carter Society volunteered himself, stepped forward from the crowd, and, following William Carter's instructions, loudly asked, “Is anyone here named Mark? [English, omitted hereafter]”

The six members of the Tiger Gang could all understand English, but not a single one answered; each kept their head down in silence. Seeing no one respond, the young man glanced awkwardly at William Carter, gritted his teeth, and raised his voice even more: “Did you not hear me clearly? Who is Mark?”

After he finished asking, the result was the same—still no one replied. The young man, now furious, was about to ask again when William Carter snapped his fingers to stop him and beckoned him over.

The young man understood and walked up to him, asking, “Brother Eric, what is it?”

William Carter unbuttoned his jacket, pulled out a pistol from under his ribs, handed it to the young man, and asked, “What’s your name?”

The young man looked at the pistol being handed to him, didn’t dare take it right away, and stammered slightly, “Brother Eric, I... my name is Jason Clark!”

William Carter nodded and said with a smile, “Jason Clark, these people all understand English, but they’re pretending to be mute and won’t talk. Heh, start with the first one, ask each of them, and kill one each time! In short, I want to know who Mark is—alive, I want to see the person; dead, I want to see the corpse!”

The young man was stunned at first, then his face lit up with excitement as he took William Carter’s gun, his hand trembling with excitement. He had been in Carter Society for quite some time, but this was the first time he was directly commanded by William Carter—he was as thrilled as if he’d won five million in the lottery. He swallowed hard, even forgetting to respond, turned around, and strode over to the first Tiger Gang man, asking in a low, forceful voice, “Who is Mark?”

The man’s face was expressionless, still pretending to be deaf and mute, but suddenly felt a chill on his forehead. Looking up, he saw the muzzle of the pistol in the young man’s hand pressed right between his brows.

He let out a startled cry and was just about to speak, but a gunshot cut him off, and whatever he wanted to say would forever remain unsaid. His eyes rolled back, and he fell straight to the ground, a thumb-sized hole in his brow gushing blood.

The young man glanced at the corpse, then walked up to the second man and repeated, “Who is Mark?”

With the previous example right before him, the man couldn’t help but be terrified. He glanced nervously at the person next to him and stammered, “I... I... don’t know...”

He had just uttered the word “don’t” when the young man’s gun fired again. The man’s body jerked, and, pushed by the bullet’s force, he sat down hard on the ground, his eyes wide with confusion as blood streamed down both sides of his nose. No further questions, no chance to regret—without hesitation, the young man moved on to the third person.

This time, before he could even ask, the man, sensing the situation, spoke up on his own, his hand trembling as he pointed to the burly, blue-eyed man second from the end: “He... he is Mark!”

The young man perked up and walked over to the blue-eyed man, looking him up and down, and asked, “You are Mark?”

The blue-eyed man shot a cold glare at the informant, grinding his teeth in hatred—if he had a gun, he would have put a few holes in that man right then. Unfortunately, he had nothing. Now that his identity was exposed, he simply stopped hiding and said with an air of arrogance, “I am Mark. What do you want?”

Of course, the young man didn’t know what to do with this Mark; his task was only to identify him. He turned his head to look at William Carter.

William Carter said nothing, but turned to Charles Foster and said, “Take him to the plane. We’re leaving!”

Charles Foster responded, stepped forward, grabbed the blue-eyed man by the shoulder, and, without another word, dragged him straight toward the helicopter.

The blue-eyed man could more or less guess his fate after being taken away. As they neared the helicopter, he began to struggle violently. Charles Foster didn’t have time to waste—dawn was breaking, and if they delayed any longer, passersby would start appearing, which would be trouble. He gathered his strength and punched the man hard in the abdomen without mercy.

The blue-eyed man let out a miserable scream, his body instantly drained of strength, collapsing limply.

The young man named Jason Clark carefully walked up to William Carter, respectfully handed back the gun, and said, “Brother Eric, your gun!” He had killed many people before, but never had it felt as exhilarating as today. The feeling made him feel light all over, as if he were flying in the sky.

William Carter looked at him, nodded secretly, patted him on the shoulder, and said, “This gun is yours now. Also, take care of the remaining enemies.” With that, he bent down and got back onto the helicopter.

Jason Clark watched William Carter’s back, standing there for a long time without moving. A young man who was on good terms with him came over, gave him a hard shove, and muttered with a mix of jealousy and envy, “Damn! You’re really lucky, actually getting a gun from Brother Eric!”

Jason Clark snapped out of it, chuckled dryly, and said, “That’s why learning a foreign language is so important!”

“……”

When William Carter arrived, there were two helicopters in total. Because one was used to transport the wounded, only one remained. Except for Golden Eye, the other Five Elements brothers all returned to Darwin by car.

The helicopter was much faster than a car. By five in the morning, William Carter had already finished his shower and was sitting in a lounge chair in his hotel room, eyes closed, resting.