When evil gods hold a meeting in my head

The stranger raised his gun, but instead of pointing it at anyone, he aimed it at the ceiling.

He pulled the trigger.

But no gunshot was fired.

Or rather, the gunshot was drowned out by a shrill sound, like a ventilation duct snapping. A slight scream rippled through the crowd, but gradually subsided thanks to Naansanho's reassurance and his composed speech...

Some staff members quietly went to the backyard connecting the pipes to check the situation, but the scene was as usual.

Richard covered his mouth.

He saw it all!

The bullet flew out of the muzzle, but instead of a metal pellet, it flew out as a rat, moving so fast that Richard almost didn't see it clearly!

The gray-black rat flew in an arc through the air and landed on the marble floor in the corner of the hall.

It rolled on the ground, then immediately stood up, shook its head, and then... disappeared.

And this is just the beginning.

The outsider pulled the trigger repeatedly.

The second shot, the third shot, the fourth shot...

Each "bullet" came to life in mid-air, slamming onto the floor with a crackling sound, and then scattered and fled like a black tide.

Richard saw clearly that there were 11 rats in total. They were huge and conspicuous, but no one showed any panic at the discovery of the rats!

"Extraordinary abilities?" he thought subconsciously.

If that's the case, should I inform Naan Sanho first?

Could this great female painter be just an ordinary person? If so, she's actually causing harm...

Richard frowned as he stared at the stranger.

The other man had lowered his gun and stood stiffly in the center of the hall, looking down at the creatures that had escaped from his gun barrel, seemingly quite satisfied with his handiwork.

Richard felt a chill run down his spine, and sweat began to bead on his skin. He had just checked his magic power, and it was far from fully restored, so... the hallucinogenic effect might not be that strong, and illusionary items that couldn't directly cause harm were out of the question...

Unless, of course, he smashes the crystal chandelier down!

But this might allow him to reveal his extraordinary abilities in a crowd.

As Richard hesitated, Rosalie's voice came from beside him: "You look terrible. Are you feeling unwell?"

Her voice wasn't loud, but it happened to be heard by the outsider!

The other person raised their head, their fierce gaze sweeping over the shoulders of several rows of visitors before landing precisely on Richard's face...

The puppeteer has become alert; my advice is... to run!

These people never work alone...

It seems we've been discovered... Mrs. Rosalie, you spoke at the perfect time! Now, the outsiders have most likely noticed us! An ordinary visitor certainly wouldn't stare so intently at the gunman, nor would they furrow their brow, nor would they be so tense as if facing a formidable enemy... Richard's lips twitched.

He reached out and touched the ring: "Looks like I have to run..."

He took a deep breath, put his hands behind his back, and let the mist from the ring slowly condense in his sleeve, which then transformed into a simple rope that didn't need any offensive properties.

The magic was rapidly depleting, but thankfully it was enough… Richard gripped the rope tightly, turned back and called out to Rosalie, “I suddenly have a stomachache, can you come with me to the restroom?”

Rosalie wanted to say something, but Richard had already started walking, pulling Rosalie along in the opposite direction from the strangers.

He slipped through the edge of the crowd, using the display cases and the bodies of visitors as cover, and gradually disappeared into the distance.

Each step was light and quick, yet unobtrusive.

Meanwhile, the outsider also disappeared!

Richard suddenly lost sight of the other party!

When he saw the stranger again, the man's gun was lowered, and his fingers were fiddling with the muzzle, doing something...

The distance between the three people is decreasing.

ten meters.

eight meters.

five meters.

Richard stopped and pretended to be attracted by a painting, turning to face the exhibition wall.

The only thing separating him from the outsiders was a floor-standing information sign.

"This painting is really interesting," Richard said, his voice sounding like a visitor talking to himself. "The colors are used very boldly, aren't they?"

The stranger didn't speak, but Richard could feel that the other man's gaze remained fixed on him.

He took a step to be half a step behind the stranger.

From this angle, his body perfectly blocked the outsider's right hand holding the gun.

"Sir, excuse me, I'd like to ask..."

The outsider looked at him.

The next second, Richard moved.

He suddenly pulled his hand out from his sleeve, and a hemp rope formed from purple mist appeared in his palm, thin, tough and strong!

With a flick of the wrist, he skillfully wrapped the rope around the stranger's hands, looping it three times between his wrists, then tightening, knotting, and locking it.

The whole process took less than two seconds.

The stranger looked down at his bound hands, his expression calm. He raised his fists, which were tied together, and gently pulled them apart.

The hemp rope then made a tearing sound as it could no longer bear the weight.

Richard's heart sank.

When the stranger exerted force a second time, the muscles in his arm bulged, and the force was transmitted through the rope, making Richard's arm go numb.

The rope snapped instantly, broken in the middle by the opponent! Thin wisps of white smoke rose from the broken end, and purple mist dissipated.

The outsider stretched his hands and looked at Richard with disdain.

He raised his gun and pointed it at Richard's chest.

Richard's pupils contracted sharply, and his mind went almost blank for a moment.

The stranger spoke up, his Colombian accent thick with a southern influence: "You're quite interesting, but unfortunately I'm too busy to play with you."

His finger was on the trigger.

But a second later, the expected gunshots did not follow.

Richard saw that a scalpel blade had suddenly appeared on the stranger's chest.

It was thin and long, piercing precisely from the back, penetrating the heart, with the entire blade almost completely submerged, leaving only a section of the silver hilt exposed.

There was no blood splattering.

The hands gripping the knife handle were steady and calm, without the slightest tremor. They pressed down on the wound in time, firmly covering it with a piece of white gauze.

Richard followed the arm and looked behind the stranger. Edmund's face immediately came into view, and the man said in a low voice, "He's suffering from respiratory poisoning, please move aside."

Richard was stunned.

The outsider was stunned, almost unable to breathe.

He looked down at the hilt of the knife in his chest, then looked up at Richard. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but he only exhaled a bloody bubble.

His knees were bent.

He fell forward.

Edmund caught him, and at the same time caught the gun.

He drew his gun the instant the stranger fell, his movements as swift as if he had practiced a thousand times. Then, he gently laid the stranger down on the ground and used his coat to cover the hilt of the knife near his heart.

The small group of people around finally noticed the unusual situation.

A middle-aged man in a gray suit peeked out: "What's wrong with him?"

"Respiratory poisoning." Edmund said without looking up.

He squatted on the ground, pressing the gauze with one hand and prying open the stranger's eyelids with the other, gently pressing with his thumb: "It's probably the paint stored in the basement evaporating, the concentration is too high. I'll take him to the examination room."

"Do you need any help...?" someone nearby asked kindly.

"No need," Edmund interrupted him. "Just move aside, he needs fresh air."

As he spoke, he lifted the stranger up with one hand. The gun had somehow been slipped into the inner pocket of his white coat.

His movements were so fast and skillful that no one could see what he was doing.

Edmund helped the stranger take two steps, then suddenly stopped.

He didn't turn around, but simply turned his head slightly and said in a voice only Richard could hear, "Second-floor lounge, in half an hour."

He then continued walking forward, through the crowd, past the display cases, and into the side door leading to the consultation room.

The door closed gently behind him.

The people around them gradually looked away.

People were whispering among themselves:

"Shouldn't the gallery's ventilation system be checked?"

"Luckily, it was discovered early."

"I hope he's alright."

"If someone dies, will Naansanho provide compensation?"

……

Most people didn't even notice what was happening here.

Naan Sanho's explanation continued, the crystal chandelier still shone brightly, and the mice quietly huddled in the depths of the shadows, as if they had never existed.

Only a few drops of dark red liquid on the ground slowly dried in the candlelight.

Rosalie squeezed next to Richard, looking visibly shaken: "What happened to that person? Do you know him? Are you alright?"

Richard remained silent.

He stared at the closed door, clutching the rope that had snapped in two.

The broken ends of the rope were still smoking.