One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

"Relinquish control!"

The American suit-wearing elite was the first to react, his voice icy cold, as he steadily pointed his peculiar pistol at Nie Lingfeng's brow. The pistol's barrel was longer than a regular handgun, its shaft covered in densely packed runes that gleamed with an eerie blue light under the stark white of the emergency lights. Behind him, the woman with the gold-rimmed glasses had silently raised her hands, her palms forming countless ice spikes—each twice as thick as the previous ones, their tips sharp as needles, gleaming with a deathly light in the dim glow.

"Baka! Hand over the stuff!"

The two elderly men from the Sakura Kingdom shouted almost simultaneously, their blades flashing. Their katanas were stained with the black blood of monsters, the white light on the blades appearing particularly chilling against the backdrop of the blood. The white kimono of the elderly man in the kimono was soaked through—it was impossible to tell if it was his own or the monster's—but his aura was even more imposing, the tip of his blade pointing at Nie Lingfeng, an invisible sword intent already locked onto his target.

"Kid! What have you done?! Give me control!"

Bald Bear's eyes were bloodshot, his eye sockets filled with veins like a spider web. He didn't care about the key that was now broken in two—something he had spent a lot of money and effort to acquire, now inexplicably shattered—and lunged at Nie Lingfeng with red eyes. The golden light of his body was still flashing, but much dimmer than before. The wound on his ribs, blasted by Zhang Chulan's lightning technique, was still bleeding. His leather jacket was covered in holes burned by lava. He looked disheveled, but his ferocity remained undiminished.

The scarred, burly man from Xiong Guo was panting heavily, his chest heaving violently. Three bloody gashes had been torn from his broad back by the monster's claws, the flesh torn open, and blood streaming down his back, staining his tactical vest crimson. His eyes were fierce, like a wounded bear, and he remained silent—but his meaning was clear; his clenched fists and slightly crouched posture said it all.

Even the fragile alliance that had just joined forces to fight the giant has now completely broken down.

No one remembered that just seconds before they were fighting side by side against the monster, no one remembered the fear of almost being wiped out by the giant – control of the missile was enough to drive anyone mad, enough to turn any ally into an enemy.

During the brief standoff, Nie Lingfeng slowly turned around.

His movements were so slow that everyone present could clearly see his every subtle action—from the black token he tucked into his chest, to his lowered right hand, to the way he scanned the crowd.

Facing the menacing crowd, his gaze swept from the cold muzzle of the suited elite from the Eagle Kingdom to the gleaming blade of the old man from the Sakura Kingdom, then to the bloodshot eyes of the bald bear, and finally landed on the tightly clenched fist of the scarred, burly man from the Bear Kingdom.

He glanced at the green "Ready" icon on the screen, which was still slowly rotating, as if silently announcing something.

Then I looked at the giant monster lying on the ground in the distance, disintegrating—its body was more than half broken, leaving only an incomplete outline, the fragments piled up into a small mountain, and grayish-white dust filled the air.

Finally, his gaze swept over the menacing, restless figures in the dilapidated hall—some were clenching their teeth, some were licking their lips, some were taking deep breaths, and some had their fingers gripping their weapons so tightly that they turned white.

He coughed lightly and cleared his throat.

Then, in a calm, almost indifferent tone, he spoke:

"Missile control is now in my hands."

The voice wasn't loud, but it clearly reached the ears of everyone present. It wasn't a shout, it wasn't a yell, it was just a simple statement, yet it carried more weight than any angry roar.

He paused, and under the gazes of everyone—some fierce, some greedy, some fearful—he slowly raised his hand and pointed to a button on the screen.

It was a round, red button, three times larger than all the other buttons around it.

Next to the button, two Russian words were clearly marked – “ПУСК”. But most people present recognized what it meant, because that word appeared far too frequently in various movies, games, and news.

The meaning of that word is—

【emission】.

It was like a red-hot iron pressed against someone's eye; everyone who looked at that button had their pupils shrink sharply.

The hand of the British elite in his suit trembled almost imperceptibly as he raised his gun.

The old man from the Sakura Kingdom lowered his katana slightly by an inch.

The bald bear's charge suddenly stopped, like a mad bull suddenly crashing into an invisible wall.

The scarred, burly man from Xiong Guo loosened and tightened his fist repeatedly.

"Now," Nie Lingfeng's finger hovered over the red "Launch" button, less than a centimeter away. His fingertip could even feel the slight indentation on the button's surface and its faint, cool touch. His gaze calmly swept over everyone present, as if he were looking at a group of insignificant passersby, or as if he were scrutinizing a flock of lambs to the slaughter.

"We can talk again."

Nie Lingfeng's finger hovered above the scarlet "launch" button.

There was no contact; the distance was minuscule. My fingertips could even feel the thin, cool surface of the button, like a chilling warning.

The roars, threats, and greedy gasps that had just filled the hall vanished instantly. The air seemed to solidify, pressing heavily on everyone's hearts. Even the nauseating smell of sulfur lingering on the collapsed giant seemed to have faded—not really faded, but no one had the energy to care about it anymore.

All eyes were fixed on Nie Lingfeng's long, steady, and trembling fingers, as well as the glaring green "Ready" sign on the screen behind him and the deadly Russian words next to it.

【emission】.

These two words, at this moment and in this place, are more intimidating than any divine weapon or powerful ability. They don't represent victory or defeat, or interests, but rather the most direct, cruel, and unreasonable outcome—everyone dies together, in a physical sense, "ascending to heaven."

Bald Bear abruptly halted his charge, his shoes carving two black tracks into the ground. His face twitched, and though he wanted to utter a threat, only a hoarse, bellows-like sound escaped his throat. He was closest and saw it most clearly—the button was real, and the status on the screen was unmistakable. He could even see the green "launch ready" indicator light in the corner of the screen flashing on and off, like a patient urging.

This madman actually dared to press it down.

He recalled the speed at which the man rushed towards the control panel, his reckless determination, and the last shred of hope in his heart shattered. This wasn't a bluff; it was for real.

The two elderly men from the Sakura Kingdom, their swords already drawn, their imposing auras locked onto Nie Lingfeng, were now frozen in place, unable to advance or retreat. The veins on the back of the sword-wielding elder's hand bulged as he gripped the hilt tightly, the tip of the blade trembling almost imperceptibly. It wasn't fear, but anger—anger at being forced into this predicament. The other elder, who appeared to be a servant, had the glint in his eyes fade, replaced by a cloudiness, but his slightly constricted pupils betrayed the turmoil within him.

They can't afford to gamble.

It wasn't for his own old life—at this age, he'd long since become indifferent to life and death. It was for the power and mission behind him. If the missile exploded here, all his schemes would vanish, and it would trigger unpredictable international conflicts—the price was too high. Too high for him to decide, too high for any rational person to decide.

The playful and composed demeanor on the face of the "Freedom Vanguard" elite from the United Kingdom vanished completely, replaced by extreme solemnity and a hint of disbelief. The peculiar pistol in his hand was still pointed at Nie Lingfeng, but the finger on the trigger had loosened—not intentionally, but because the muscles had unconsciously lost their strength.

He glanced quickly at the woman with the gold-rimmed glasses beside him, her brow furrowed. She shook her head almost imperceptibly. He understood the full meaning behind that shake: a calculation error, the risk far exceeding the threshold, the optimal solution changed. The man before him wasn't negotiating; he was giving an order. And they had no right to refuse.

The scarred, burly man from the Bear Kingdom, known as "Fang of the Snowfield," was panting heavily, his chest heaving violently. Three bloody gashes torn from the monster's claws on his broad back were still oozing blood, the flesh torn and twisted, causing him to sweat profusely from the pain. He stared intently at Nie Lingfeng, then at the collapsed giant monster, before finally fixing his gaze on the launch button. A low, beast-like growl escaped his throat, filled with resentment and ferocity.

But in the end, they didn't take another step forward.

He was reckless, but not stupid. Mutual destruction was not the style of "Fang of the Snowfield". His large, calloused hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly, finally hanging limply at his sides, his knuckles white from the effort.

The remaining gangsters and mercenaries, still alive, dared not utter a sound. Some had already quietly moved back, trying to get away from the center, from the man holding the child, and from the deadly missile. Boots made a soft "rustling" sound on the gravel, but no one dared to make any more noise.

There was a deathly silence that lasted for about five seconds.

But it felt like a century.

Nie Lingfeng's gaze calmly swept over the faces that were filled with fear, anger, gloom, or flickering uncertainty. He could clearly feel the pressure contained in those gazes—killing intent, greed, scheming, and fear, like countless needles pricking his skin, sending chills down his spine.

Little Yun in Chen Duo's arms seemed to sense the heavy atmosphere. She stirred restlessly, her little face scrunched up, and her lips turned down, looking like she was about to cry. But as Chen Duo gently patted her, she gradually calmed down in her arms, which smelled faintly of herbs. However, her little hands clung tightly to Chen Duo's collar, refusing to let go.

"Talk?" The suit-wearing elite broke the silence first.

His voice returned to its previous calm, even carrying a hint of inquiry. But those who knew him well—like the woman with the gold-rimmed glasses—could hear what lay beneath that calm. Like an undercurrent beneath the ice, the surface was placid, but beneath it surged a turbulent undercurrent.

"How do you want to talk?" He didn't lower his gun, but the muzzle dropped slightly. It wasn't intentional; this position was more energy-efficient and made it easier to deal with any unexpected situations.