Hong Kong variety show: The mastermind behind the scenes is emerging.

Three days later, Kensington, John Stuart's private residence.

The curtains were drawn tightly shut, and the room was filled with the strong smell of brandy and cigars.

John stared at the pile of £100 million in old banknotes, still smelling of ink, stacked on the table before him. The money was neatly arranged in five large black tactical briefcases.

"One hundred million pounds..." His fingers traced the edge of the box, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. "He really dared to ask for it."

Pay me? Are you kidding me?

As a crocodile who had stood firm in the British financial world for decades, John's dictionary contained no word for "compromise." He knew very well that the greed of extortionists was a bottomless pit. If he gave them 100 million today, they would demand 1 billion tomorrow, or even use those incriminating materials to make him a puppet for life.

Only the dead can truly keep a secret.

"Frick".

John shouted without turning his head.

From the shadows, bodyguard captain Flick emerged.

"Boss."

"Has the Cerberus arrived?" John's voice was as cold as an icebox.

Frick nodded, a cruel glint in his eyes: "They've arrived. Both tactical squads, all twenty-four men, are present!"

The Hellhound Squad consists entirely of top-notch recruits "retired" from SAS and SBS. They are Standard Chartered's sharpest private army, specializing in handling "disobedient" clients in Africa and South America.

"Excellent! In this deal, I'll make sure that extortionist gets the money but doesn't live to spend it!"

Just then.

"Knock knock knock".

Another letter without a postmark was brought in by the butler.

After quickly checking that everything was correct, Frick opened the package and handed it to John.

The letter paper still bore that cold, impersonal printed font:

Sir Stuart:

Is the money ready?

Given your character, I have no intention of conducting business in central London.

Tomorrow at 3 PM, at the Druid altar ruins deep in the Westman Forest of Dartmoor National Park.

Take the money and settle things with your black box.

Please remember, I want you to come in person. If you don't come, or if I see even a single police car...

Then tomorrow night, Her Majesty will receive a detailed report about your misappropriation of the Royal Funds for gambling.

See you there!

"Damn it! That lunatic!"

John was so angry after reading the letter that he trembled with rage.

Dartmoor National Park, located in Devon, England, is one of the largest untouched wilderness areas in the UK. It is characterized by its marshes, ancient trees, and perpetual mist, earning it the nickname "Devil's Land." It is also the inspiration for the story of Sherlock Holmes: The Hound of the Baskervilles.

Going to a place like that to make a deal, and specifically asking him to go in person, is clearly a trap!

"Boss, we can't go! It's a trap!" Frick said urgently.

"Did I have a choice?!" John waved his hand helplessly. "Those old vampires on the board have given me an ultimatum! If I can't get the black box back and quell the scandal within three days, they'll kick me out and make me take the blame! Then I'll not only go bankrupt, but I'll also have to face all sorts of trouble from underworld organizations..."

John took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.

"Go, we must go," John's eyes flashed with a ruthless glint. "Dartmore is the perfect burial ground. There are no surveillance cameras, no police; it's the perfect place for 'Hellhounds' to strike. Frick, get men infiltrated beforehand! Surround that forest! I'll make it their graveyard!"

……

10 month 2 day.

Dartmur National Park.

The sky was so overcast it seemed about to collapse, and a fine drizzle enveloped the vast wilderness in a hazy, deathly silence.

Westerman Forest.

This is the oldest and most eerie area of ​​Dartmoor. Centuries-old oak trees are twisted and gnarled, their trunks covered with thick moss and lichen, resembling menacing monsters.

2:50 p.m.

A black Land Rover Defender struggled across the muddy grass and came to a stop at the edge of the forest.

John Stuart, wearing a heavy trench coat and carrying a heavy briefcase, stepped out of the car, his face pale. Frick followed closely behind, carrying two other briefcases, his other hand always resting on the handle of his gun.

On the surface, it appears to be just the two of them.

But in reality, twenty fully armed "Hellhound" mercenaries were already in ambush within a kilometer radius, hidden in the bushes, behind rocks, and in the treetops. Dressed in ghillie suits and armed with silenced automatic rifles, they had created a perfect pocket formation.

"Don't worry, boss," Frick whispered through his invisible earpiece, "Both teams are in position. Once they show up, they won't be able to escape."

John nodded. Although he was still nervous, the thought of having his most elite private soldiers protecting him gave him some confidence.

He trudged into the gloomy oak forest, heading towards the altar ruins marked on the map.

however.

Whether it was John or the confident Frick.

Unbeknownst to them, from the moment they stepped into Devon, they had already fallen into a massive surveillance network.

Kensington Safe House.

Lu Chen sat in front of the fireplace, looking at the Dartmoor map projected on the wall, along with several constantly flashing red dots.

"Boss, they're in." Susan poured Lu Chen a cup of her signature English black tea and elegantly reported, "We've 'taken care of' the Speaker of Devon County Council and the Chief of Police. Thanks to the evidence of the Speaker's bribery in the black box, all the rangers in Dartmoor Park have been transferred, and they've even given us satellite information. This forest is now our private garden."

"Very good," Lu Chen took a sip of red wine, looking at the red dots representing the "Hellhound" mercenaries on the screen, a cruel smile curling at the corner of his mouth, "The difference between hunter and prey is often just a thought away."

"Ah Sheng," Lu Chen whispered into the walkie-talkie, "get to work. Don't keep our guests waiting too long."

"Remember, leave no one alive."

……

Deep in the Westerman Forest.

The fog grew thicker and thicker, and visibility was reduced to less than 20 meters.

A mercenary codenamed "Hyena" lay prone behind a moss-covered boulder, scanning his surroundings through a sniper scope. He was the ace sniper of "Hellhound."

"Damn weather..."

The hyena muttered something and reached out to wipe the mist from its eyes.

The instant his hand left the trigger.

"Whoosh—"

There is no sound.

A jet-black military knife, like a venomous snake's tongue, "grew" out of the soil behind him.

That was Tian Yangzhi. He had been lying in the mud for two whole hours, his body covered in a special mud designed to block thermal imaging.

The blade severed the hyena's trachea in an instant, followed by a large hand covering its mouth.

The hyena struggled desperately, but faced with Tian Yangzhi's terrifying strength, he was like a chick. Three seconds later, his body went limp.

Tenyoshi dragged the body into the bushes without expression, then tapped his earpiece twice.

The hunt begins.

At the same time, in every corner of the forest.

Tian Yang'en hung upside down from the treetop and strangled a patrolling mercenary by the neck with a steel wire, silently killing him in mid-air.

Using a silent crossbow, Tian Yangyi accurately shot two sentries through the temples from fifty meters away.

This was an asymmetrical massacre.

On one side are mercenaries accustomed to large-scale, sweeping attacks, and on the other side are top-tier killing machines skilled in assassination, infiltration, and jungle warfare—the Seven Sons of Heaven.

In this mist-shrouded forest, the Seven Sons of Heaven are like seven ghosts.

Gunshots? No, they didn't.

There wasn't even a scream.

"rustle……"

Only the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves masked the dull thud of the dagger piercing flesh and the crisp crack of bones breaking.

twenty minutes.

In just twenty minutes.

The encirclement that Flick had touted as impregnable had become a ring of corpses.

……

In the heart of the forest, the ruins of a druid altar.

Several massive prehistoric standing stones rise in the mist, appearing desolate and mysterious.

John and Flick have been standing here for ten minutes.

The cold and fear were slowly eroding John's patience.

"Why aren't they here yet?!" John glanced at his watch and asked anxiously, "It's already three o'clock!"

"Maybe they got lost, or they retreated when things got bad." Flick, who had already experienced countless life-or-death crises, managed to remain calm and comfort his boss.

But gradually, he also sensed that something was wrong.

It's too quiet.

It was too quiet around us.

As agreed, the "Hellhound" team was supposed to report on the security situation every five minutes. But now, seven minutes had passed, and there was only deathly silence in the headset, broken only by the crackling of static.

"Butcher? Butcher, please respond." Frick pressed his earpiece and called out in a low voice.

no respond.

"Hyena? Scorpion? Anyone? Reply if you receive this!"

Flick's voice began to tremble, and cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

It remained deathly silent.

"What happened?!" John's heart clenched as he looked at Frick's horrified expression. "Where is he?! Where is the Hellhound?!"

Just then.

"Sizzle—"

On a stone placed in the center of the altar, a hidden walkie-talkie suddenly rang. It was placed there by Tian Yangsheng beforehand.

"Mr. Stuart," a magnetic yet teasing voice came through the walkie-talkie, "Good afternoon. The view here is quite nice, isn't it?"

"Who?!" John roared into the walkie-talkie as if grasping at a straw, "Whoever you are, I'm here! I've brought the money! Give me the black box according to the terms of the deal!"

"Don't rush," Lu Chen's voice remained lazy. "I saw the money, but... it seems you brought not only money, but also a group of uninvited guests."

"Unfortunately, these guests aren't in good physical condition; they're all... asleep by now."

"?!"

John and Flick's expressions changed drastically at the same time.

"Bang!"

In that very instant.

A gunshot shattered the silence of the forest.

Flick's head exploded like a watermelon.

Before he could even draw the gun from his chest, the force of the impact knocked him to the ground, splattering red and white substances all over John's face.

"Aaaaaah!!"

John let out a pig-like scream and collapsed onto his backside in the mud. He scrambled backward, using both hands and feet, and dropped the box he was carrying.

"Don't kill me! Don't kill me!!"

John broke down.

He looked around at the misty forest, as if death lurked behind every tree.

"I have money! I'll give you two hundred million! No! Five hundred million!!"

John cried out to the void, tears streaming down his face, showing none of the arrogance of a financial tycoon.

"Tsk tsk tsk."

A regretful voice came through the walkie-talkie, "Mr. Stuart, you seem to have forgotten what I said."

"I've already said, if you bring even one person you shouldn't..."

"That's a breach of contract."

"And the cost of breaching the contract..."

On the distant hillside.

Xiao Zhuang lay prone in the grass, his M24 sniper rifle steadily resting on a rock.

Through the high-powered scope, he could clearly see John's face contorted with fear.

Goodbye, Chairman.

Xiao Zhuang gently pulled the trigger.

"Bang!"

A second shot rang out.

A red dot appeared between John Stuart's eyebrows. His cries stopped abruptly, and his body stiffened as he fell backward, crashing heavily onto the muddy altar ruins.

Those eyes, filled with fear and resentment, stared intently at the gray sky, as if questioning why God had not favored him.

"Done, job done!"