What the hell is the "kill line" when you're in America?

The veteran felt as if everything that had just happened was a hallucination.

The thug's cries of pain and the other person's slip were so real.

Someone is helping him in secret.

who is it?

Why?

The veteran quietly tucked the rubber stick he had found into his belt at the back of his waist.

He bent down to pick up his canvas bag, dusted it off, and then tucked it even deeper into his clothes.

Then, he leaned against the wall and sat down again.

This time, however, he did not close his eyes.

......

The man in the jacket clutched his dislocated jaw, staring venomously at the direction of the tent area.

He mumbled curses at his subordinates.

"Fuck! That old bastard... who the hell is he?"

"Boss, something's fishy."

The thug with the injured wrist said with lingering fear.

"I felt like I was hit by something, but I didn't see anything."

"Me too!"

"There's clearly nothing under my feet, but it feels like I've stepped on a ghost!"

Another thug chimed in.

"ghost?"

The man in the jacket spat a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the ground.

He reached into his pocket for his phone and dialed a number.

"Hello, it's me."

"Yes, we've run into a little trouble around 13th Street."

"An old guy, but he's a good fighter."

"No, not just him... I need more men, bring your weapons!"

"Yes, right now!"

After hanging up the phone, the man in the jacket reverted to his ferocious expression.

"A dying homeless man and a bunch of cowardly scum."

"I'll see just how tough you really are today!"

......

The night grew deeper.

The tent area was deathly silent.

Those homeless people seemed to have a premonition of something.

They all hid themselves even more deeply, becoming extremely cautious even when breathing.

The veteran was still sitting against the wall.

Suddenly, his ears twitched slightly.

He heard it.

It wasn't just one or two people's footsteps.

Instead, it was a group.

Heavy, chaotic, and laced with undisguised malice.

The veteran slowly stood up.

He pulled out the rubber baton from his lower back, held it with both hands, and held it horizontally in front of his chest.

His gaze turned toward the street corner.

In the darkness, seven or eight figures emerged from different alleys.

Leading the group was the man in the jacket who had returned.

His chin was simply draped with a piece of cloth, and his eyes looked like he wanted to devour someone.

The people around him were all carrying weapons.

It's no longer a rubber stick.

Instead, they carried gleaming machetes and heavy baseball bats.

They formed a semi-circle and slowly approached.

The surrounding air seemed to freeze.

A few timid homeless men tore a hole in the back of the tent.

They fled in terror into the deeper darkness.

The veteran did not move.

He knew he couldn't escape.

This place is a jungle made of reinforced concrete.

Where can an elderly, homeless man, abandoned by society, go?

He simply lowered his center of gravity a little further.

His gaze grew increasingly sharp.

Prepare to bare your no-longer-sharp fangs in the final moments of your life.

"Old man, we meet again."

The man in the jacket stood at the back of the crowd and spoke indistinctly.

"This time, let's see who can help you."

He winked at the person next to him.

"Cripple him!"

Two men wielding baseball bats charged at us simultaneously from the left and right.

They had no strategy; they simply relied on their numbers and ferocity to swing their weapons fiercely at the veteran.

The veteran's gaze darted quickly between the two swinging baseball bats.

He suddenly took a step to the left, tilting his body at an extremely small angle.

The baseball bat on his right side almost grazed his back.

At the same time, he swung the rubber baton in his hand upwards with lightning speed.

"when!"

A crisp sound.

The rubber baton precisely blocked the baseball bat that was about to hit his head from the left.

The immense force sent numbness through the veteran's arms.

But he did not back down.

Using the force of his block, he flipped his wrist, and the rubber baton slid down, striking the opponent's wrist hard.

"what!"

The man let out a scream as the baseball bat slipped from his hand.

The veteran gave him no chance to catch his breath.

He stepped forward and bumped into the other person's arms.

The rubber baton in his hand transformed into a short dagger, which he thrust viciously into the opponent's lower abdomen.

"puff!"

The man let out a muffled groan and curled up like a boiled shrimp.

One of them was taken care of.

But there was no joy on the veteran's face.

Because another five or six people had already surrounded them from all directions.

The gleaming machete, under the dim streetlights, traced a deadly path.

The veteran could only retreat and dodge.

With his back against the wall, he managed to hold off the enemy in the cramped space.

Every block and every counterattack he made was precise and efficient.

But his breathing had become increasingly heavy.

My physical strength is rapidly depleting.

Finally, an oversight.

A machete slashed his left arm.

The warm blood instantly soaked through the tattered sleeves.

The intense pain caused his movements to falter for a moment.

It was in that very moment.

A baseball bat slammed into his back.

"Bang!"

The veteran stumbled and almost fell to his knees.

He used a rubber stick to brace himself against the ground to barely keep his balance.

A metallic sweetness welled up in my throat.

"Damn! This old bastard can really take it!"

"Attack him together! Kill him!"

The thugs let out a beast-like roar and surrounded them again.

The flashing of swords and the shadows of clubs completely engulfed the veteran.

He was outnumbered and overwhelmed.

Another blow landed on his shoulder.

His hand, which was holding the rubber baton, could no longer be lifted.

Clang.

The rubber rod fell to the ground.

A flicker of despair crossed the veteran's eyes.

He stared at the several grotesque faces that kept magnifying in front of him.

Looking at the machete and baseball bat raised high, about to fall.

He slowly closed his eyes.

Just then.

A black figure seemed to emerge from the shadows of the wall.

There were no signs whatsoever.

He appeared right there in the center of the battlefield.

Time seemed to slow down at this moment.

A thug who was about to swing his machete suddenly felt a chill on his neck.

He instinctively reached out to touch it.

I touched a hand.

A cold, clamp-like hand.

He wanted to turn his head to look.

But a crisp "crack" sound came from his neck.

The world before his eyes spun around him.

The last thing he saw was his own back.

Another thug saw his companion fall down in a bizarre posture.

He didn't even have time to exclaim in surprise.

A foot was kicked in the chest.

He felt as if he had been hit by a speeding truck.

The sound of his sternum cracking reached his ears clearly.

His body flew backward, knocking over two of his companions, before finally coming to a stop like a lump of mud.

Li Ang's figure weaved through the crowd.

He had no weapons.

His hands, his feet, his knees, his elbows.

Every part of his body is a deadly weapon.

His movements were precise and efficient.

fast.

Extremely fast.

Those thugs couldn't even see his movements clearly.

All they saw were afterimages.

Then came the screams of his fallen companions and the teeth-grinding sound of bones shattering.

The man in the jacket stood on the outside, completely dumbfounded.

He opened his mouth wide, and the cloth strip that was holding his chin down slipped down without him noticing.

What did he see?

Is that something one person can do?

That wasn't a fight.

It was a one-sided, crushing massacre.

Less than ten seconds.

All the thugs who were standing fell down.

They were either dead, unconscious, or writhing and wailing in agony on the ground.

The entire tent area fell into a deathly silence once again.

Only that black figure remained, standing silently in the center of the field.

Li Ang has defeated all the enemies.

He didn't even look at the "demonic cultivators" lying on the ground.

He calmly, step by step, walked towards the old soldier who was leaning against the wall, equally dumbfounded.

The quest "Old Demon" has been completed.

[Rewards: +1 freely allocable attribute point, +100 magic points]

The system notification sounded in Li Ang's mind.

He stopped in front of the veteran.

The veteran looked up at the unfamiliar Eastern face before him.

This person's eyes were very calm.

Calm, as if nothing had just happened.

There wasn't a trace of blood on him.

His breathing was perfectly even.

He stood there, seemingly blending into the surrounding darkness.

Yet it exudes an aura that makes even the darkness tremble.

Shock, vigilance, doubt, confusion...

A mix of emotions swirled in the veteran's eyes.

"It's such a waste to have all your skills wasted here."

Li Ang spoke, his voice not loud, but it clearly reached the veteran's ears.

The veteran stared intently at Li Ang.

He managed to squeeze out a sentence from his hoarse throat.

"Who are you? Did you...do this just now?"