Chapter 39: The Forest of Bullets

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“Your paltry sum isn’t worth it for the Boleta family to rob you blind.”

Veylon fixed his gaze on the hulking Zora and pressed the muzzle of his gun directly against the man’s head.

“Use that pig’s brain of yours. Which makes more money—theft from thieves, or selling bootleg liquor?!”

Both Veylon’s question and his sudden movement left the big man stunned. For all his massive build and somewhat dim-witted appearance, Zora could not have risen to his current position without possessing some brains.

Compared with the distribution route they had here, robbing one’s own associates was simply idiotic.

“All right, Veylon, you old bastard. I’ll trust you this once.”

Zora moved the gun away.

Veylon nodded. “Have your men drive the trucks away. You’ve already inspected the shipment, after all. My men and I will cover the retreat.”

“What about the money?”

“Take the liquor back first. You can transfer the money whenever you like.”

Veylon’s words stunned Zora once again. This time, he truly believed him—even to the point of letting him take the goods without paying immediately.

Veylon had placed his very life in Zora’s hands.

“You old bastard, you’ve got guts. Once this job’s done, come to Aitaska if you get the chance. I’ll buy you a drink.”

After saying this, the hulking Zora immediately began shouting for his men to come and drive the trucks.

The tense standoff was resolved at once by Veylon’s decision.

Now, the most important thing was to determine who the enemy was.

Veylon’s mind raced, yet his mouth never paused. He immediately blew his whistle.

It was the call to defensive counterattack.

The men he had carefully trained and selected for this operation were no ordinary soldiers. Even before he gave the order, the instant the gunshots rang out, they had swiftly found cover and assumed defensive positions.

Their hands slipped inside their trench coats. Some took cover behind the car doors, while others crouched behind the vehicles, watching the direction from which the shots had come.

But the rain was coming down heavily, and visibility beyond the curtain of water was abysmal. For a moment, it was impossible to see what lay ahead.

Time seemed to stop.

The armed men waited in the wind and rain for something to happen. Only the rain continued to fall.

Meanwhile, Zora’s men were making their way toward the truck loaded with the counterfeit liquor.

Zora leaned against the rear of the truck, listening. Seeing his men draw closer, he thought they might be able to break through in one decisive push. Just as he was about to rush out and open the door—

The next instant—

Bang!

Another one of Zora’s men collapsed.

The enemy’s shots were swift, precise, and terrifyingly calm, like those of an immensely skilled hunter playing with its prey.

The sensation filled Zora with dread, especially since two of his men had already been killed.

Even if he managed to get the liquor back, his boss would surely give him hell.

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Zora could not take it anymore. With a low growl, he prepared to charge out and fight the enemy to the death. Whatever it took, he would find them.

He had never feared anyone when it came to risking his life.

But the moment he took a single step, Veylon yanked him back.

Zora was about to explode in fury when a bullet struck the spot where he had just been standing.

“Don’t be rash. Our opponent is an expert. He’s waiting for you to make a move.”

Veylon drew a deep breath.

He could sense that their opponent was no ordinary man. To fire with such accuracy in rain this heavy…

A True Name bearer…

“Get in the car.”

After thinking for two seconds, Veylon turned, rolled across the ground, reached his car, pulled open the door, and slid rapidly into the driver’s seat.

Zora followed close behind and climbed into the back.

Veylon started the engine at once and swung the car sideways between the two trucks, indirectly blocking the hidden gunman’s line of sight.

Yet in that brief interval, the enemy had already locked onto him. A bullet tore through the window and shot inside.

Had Veylon not instinctively twisted aside, the bullet would have gone straight through his head.

Even so, it grazed his face and opened a bloody line across his skin.

He dared not linger. He immediately got out and used the car door as cover.

Zora climbed out as well.

“Move!”

Getting to the trucks was no longer difficult.

“I owe you one.”

Seeing the blood on Veylon’s face, Zora slammed his fist into the ground. Even so, he continued urging his men to hurry aboard.

With Veylon’s car blocking the way, the hidden gunman did not fire again.

If Zora and his men could all get into the trucks, the situation might yet ease.

Then the sound of engines rose through the rain.

Two black sedans came speeding toward them.

Clearly, reinforcements had arrived.

Zora saw this too. By then, most of his men had made it into the vehicles. He opened the door and climbed in, but before doing so, he could not resist firing a shot at the approaching cars.

A fierce counterattack came immediately.

The side doors of the two black sedans flew open. Two men in black leather coats leaned out, gripping the doors with tremendous arm strength as they delivered a precise counterattack against Zora.

Their marksmanship was inferior to that of the man hidden in the rain, but every shot struck Zora’s car door.

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This group was clearly exceptionally well trained—almost like the military.

After firing a suppressive volley, the men in the back seats immediately opened the doors and leapt from the cars. With cover provided by the men at the front doors, the hidden shooter, and the speeding vehicles, they advanced rapidly toward the meeting point.

Veylon had already reached his conclusion.

These men were most likely the long-rumored anti-liquor agents who were said to be on their way, yet had never actually appeared.

Watching them surge forward, Zora, already inside the car, shouted at Veylon, “Get in!”

He could see that these men were formidable. Even though they were slightly fewer in number than Veylon’s people, Veylon would probably still be no match for them.

Not with a master marksman hidden somewhere in the shadows.

Zora had come to acknowledge Veylon as a man of worth. He did not want to see him die here.

But Veylon shook his head.

“For God’s sake, go!” Zora snarled through clenched teeth.

Veylon took a deep breath.

He still had not ordered his men to act, because he was waiting.

The distance was not close enough.

The greatest weakness of the Winchester Typewriter was its lack of stopping power at long range.

A little closer.

Just a little closer.

When Veylon saw in the rearview mirror that one of the anti-liquor agents had come within five or six meters of the front of his car, he finally blew the second whistle.

At the sound, the Boleta family’s gunmen, who had been lying in wait at various positions, rose at once. They drew the Winchester Typewriters that had been concealed beneath their trench coats for so long.

Then—

They pulled the triggers and did not stop.

The moment before, Zora had still been lamenting and cursing. The next, thunderous gunfire erupted incessantly behind him.

He turned his head.

He swore he would never forget what he saw.

Men in black trench coats stood with guns shaped like violins in their hands, their muzzles pouring out bullets with a fury greater than the rain falling from the sky.

The anti-liquor agents, who had been advancing like the wind only moments before, were swept to the ground like scarecrows by a forest of bullets.

Even the sedans were riddled with gunfire. The drivers were not spared.

“What the hell is this thing?!”

Zora unleashed a torrent of profanity.

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