Blaine intended to make the final test.
"Your Excellency killed our people. I don't think any force would sit idly by," Madam Gao said, though guilt was obvious on her face.
"So that's how it is."
Under his mind-reading, Blaine saw the truth clearly. The mad ninja sent to scout his house hadn't been there to attack—it was a misunderstanding. They had only been curious about what could suppress the dragon bone's regenerative power. After all, that bone was one of the few things in the world that could threaten their existence. Blaine understood. They might have lived for centuries, but deep down, they were terrified of dying.
"My mistake. Excuse me."
He had charged across the world, ready to kill their leaders, only to discover it was a complete oolong. Luckily, Blaine's face was thick enough; anyone else would've wanted to crawl into a hole. It was his fault too—too angry, too reckless, too ready to kill.
Not that it mattered. Given his strength, there was nothing they could do anyway. Maybe this was simply the loneliness of the strong.
"Wait."
"Isn't it wrong for you to do this?"
"You killed two of our compatriots. Your Excellency doesn't even give us an explanation and just walks away? Emotionally and logically, that seems unreasonable."
"Oh? Then what do you want?" Blaine snorted. "Draw a line and I'll take it all at once. Don't bother with this elegant nonsense."
Her rambling amused him. Madam Gao still had resentment—she needed some kind of price from Blaine to swallow this humiliation. A price she could explain to those beneath her.
But Blaine was not someone who suffered losses. If not for embarrassment—and Madam Gao's polite approach—he would've left already. Otherwise, with how irritable he was right now, he would've killed them all regardless of right or wrong. (In truth, Blaine was indirectly saving Daredevil some face; Daredevil would eventually take over the Hand.)
Blaine drove the trident into the sand, standing straight with the halberd, facing Madam Gao without arrogance or humility. He would see what tricks she played.
"Too much deceit! What's there to say? Just kill him!"
"Yes! With so many of us, how can we be bullied by a brat?"
Alexander Della and Sowanda chimed in. They were afraid, but doing nothing now would be shameful. Besides, most of the Hand's elites were gathered here. Under certain conditions, that gave them confidence.
Blaine's identity had already been exposed. To them, no matter how strong this mysterious Bounty Hunter was, he was still just a young man. Their combined ages were nearly a thousand years—how could they not handle someone in his early twenties?
"Fire!"
The two exchanged a glance and ordered the attack. Madam Gao seemed to silently approve. All three stepped back, leaving the field to their soldiers.
The soldiers had held back their resentment too long. Someone who strutted this arrogantly was rare even in the underworld.
The moment the command rang out, they pulled their triggers like madmen. Bullets poured toward Blaine like a monsoon, dense as a torrential downpour.
In that dark wasteland, the roar of machine guns and artillery echoed nonstop. If there were more people nearby, the sound alone would've frightened them to death. Even now, the noise was so intense that police or special forces would probably track it by morning. Satellites might already have locked on.
Three minutes passed. The firing continued. Five minutes—still going. Ten minutes—only then did it begin to slow.
When everyone's eyes turned toward the center of the battlefield, their hearts tightened.
As the smoke thinned, a figure appeared—unmoving.
Blaine stood there, unharmed, spinning the Flood Dragon Trident before him. The halberd's shadow formed an impenetrable shield, covering his entire body.
It was the Spring and Autumn Sword Technique, taught to him by the first king of Atlantis. A technique strong enough for Blaine to defend himself against Dormammu. On Earth, without dark matter suppression, Blaine used it effortlessly—and far longer.
"hiss…"
Everyone inhaled sharply. Ten minutes of gunfire, and he was completely untouched. Was he still human?
"Keep shooting!"
A figure—seemingly one of the officers—shouted again.
"Hmph. Since you insist, it's rude not to return the favor. My turn!"
A perfect chance to vent the fury he had suppressed. There was a way to heaven they wouldn't walk, and no way to hell they wouldn't break into. Courting death indeed.
Blaine roared, the trident coming alive in his hands—slashing, sweeping, stabbing. Each strike took several lives.
One minute later, everyone lay in pools of blood. Only Blaine was still standing. More shocking still—his body wasn't stained with even a single drop of blood.
"Hmph. I'll let the three of you off this time."
Glancing at the remaining three Fingers of the Hand—who had already fled—Blaine raised his wrist. The Flood Dragon Trident vanished into the Hunter's space.
In the next instant, no one remained standing in the desert. Blaine teleported away, rushing back home.
Cold starlight draped the land, and a crimson crescent moon hung high over the desert, gazing down with indifference. The north wind roared across the sands, carrying a killing aura. Lone stone mounds watched silently, as if wishing for noise and life—yet all they ever witnessed was life dying beneath sand, and sand burying life.
Hundreds of people had been killed in a single blow each. Many were crushed beyond recognition. Others, poisoned by the curse, hadn't even managed a scream before melting into black water.
Blood stained the sand, seeping endlessly downward. The air reeked of gunpowder and iron, carried far across the desert by the cold night wind.
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