Blind Jack, though fat and bloated, had first-rate reflexes. He immediately dropped to the ground, and Logan Reed went down with him. It wasn’t because they were afraid of dying—bullets don’t have eyes, and if you got hit by accident, it just wasn’t worth it. Logan Reed whispered, “That young officer.”

Blind Jack looked around. The scene was pitch black—an ordinary person couldn’t see a thing, but Blind Jack could see the situation around him with perfect clarity. The young officer named William Clark was aiming his gun and firing in the direction of the private box. The Jiangbei warlord, John Robinson, had already slumped over in his seat, shot in the mouth and nose, blood still gushing out.

Three beams of light shot over from different directions, locking onto the source of the gunfire. As soon as William Clark’s figure was exposed in the beams, he raised his pistol—bang, bang, bang—firing three shots in quick succession and shattering all the flashlights. Three screams followed, and the scene was plunged back into darkness.

In the instant the beams flickered, Logan Reed raised his hand, and a cold flash shot toward William Clark like lightning.

In the darkness, William Clark heard the wind whistling toward him. Instinctively, as he moved his feet, he twisted his body to the left. A stabbing pain shot through his left shoulder—a small knife, about an inch long, had struck him. The pain made his left hand tremble, and he couldn’t hold onto his pistol. With a clang, it fell to the ground.

As the pistol hit the floor, William Clark was already sprinting toward the stage. The moment he left, a throwing knife whistled past his back, so close it grazed him. Cold sweat broke out all over William Clark. The opponent must have the ability to locate by sound—he could judge William Clark’s position just from the sound of the gun hitting the ground. If William Clark had been even a split second slower in his reactions, he would probably have been killed on the spot.

As he ran, William Clark raised his right hand and repeatedly pulled the trigger. He was using a modified Browning M1910, 7.65mm caliber, seven-round magazine. Even while running, he could still roughly judge the attackers’ positions, firing continuously at where Logan Reed and Blind Jack were. He didn’t have Blind Jack’s ability to see in the dark, so he couldn’t lock onto his targets precisely. His real intention was to use heavy firepower to suppress the enemy’s attack and escape their range as quickly as possible.

Blind Jack hugged his head, lying flat on the ground, pressing his whole body as close to the floor as possible. Even so, he could still feel bullets whistling over his head—the closest one nearly grazed his scalp. A vase on the table was unlucky enough to be hit, shattering and sending porcelain shards flying everywhere. Blind Jack felt liquid running down his face—he didn’t know if it was sweat or blood. His heart was in his throat from fear. Logan Reed was lying just inches away, still gripping a throwing knife. Blind Jack gritted his teeth at Logan Reed—if it weren’t for his meddling, how would they have provoked such a crazy retaliation?

Fortunately, after firing all seven rounds, William Clark didn’t keep chasing Logan Reed. Blind Jack turned to look and saw that William Clark had already escaped onto the stage, where the performers—including Grace Young—were still lying on the ground, unable to flee in time.

At that moment, the lights in the hall suddenly came on. Blind Jack hurriedly shut his eyes—the sudden brightness was a harsh shock to his small eyes.

The killer was now fully exposed in the light. The four officers responsible for protecting the Jiangbei warlord John Robinson raised their guns and gave chase, determined to capture the killer and avenge the warlord.

William Clark grabbed Grace Young, his left shoulder still impaled by a throwing knife, blood soaking the left side of his uniform. Twisting Grace Young’s right arm, he pulled her in front of him as a shield, pressing his pistol to her back and roaring, “Drop your guns, all of you!”

The four officers didn’t lower their weapons. Instead, they aimed both hands at William Clark and Grace Young on the stage. In their eyes, the life of a dancing girl was insignificant—sacrificing Grace Young was worth it if it meant stopping the killer.

“You only have one chance!” William Clark’s voice left no room for negotiation.

“Drop them! All of you, drop your guns!” Samuel Moore’s commanding voice rang out from the private box. The murder had happened right beside him, but as a seasoned underworld boss, even after such a terrifying moment, his expression showed not a trace of panic. His deep gaze remained steady, and his black long robe was stained with blood—though all of it belonged to John Robinson. The two had been so close that when John Robinson was shot, the splattering blood inevitably got on him. This alone showed how dangerous the scene had been—Samuel Moore had just walked away from death’s door.

The four officers didn’t obey Samuel Moore’s order and kept their guns raised. One of them shouted, “Samuel Moore, he killed our commander!”

Samuel Moore snorted coldly. Eight men stepped out from the crowd, raising their pistols and aiming at the four officers. Samuel Moore never traveled alone. In such chaotic times, a warlord like him had to take every precaution. Life in the underworld was like walking on thin ice—one misstep and you’d fall into an abyss. The reason he’d survived this long wasn’t luck, but caution.

Chapter 0005 Grace Young (Part 1)