America: The Cremator

Wolf squinted, seemingly wanting to see what this madman was up to.

Su Long slowly raised his gun, and without any hesitation, pressed the dark muzzle against his chin.

"The first shot is a testament to the determination to be the first to act."

Click!

The crisp sound of the hammer striking echoed through the deathly silent exhibition hall.

Empty gun.

Wolf's eye twitched violently, and his fingers behind his back clenched involuntarily. Dania gasped and tried to step forward to stop him, but was stopped by Suron's icy gaze.

Suron expressionlessly handed the gun to Wolf, but Wolf didn't take it. He just stared intently at Suron, his breathing becoming somewhat rapid.

So Su Long withdrew his hand and pressed the gun barrel against his temple.

"The second shot is to forgive the cowardice of others."

Click!

Another empty sound.

This time, Wolf's face turned pale, and a fine layer of cold sweat appeared on his forehead.

Two consecutive empty shots mean that the probability of having a bullet in the remaining four chambers has increased to one in four.

Su Long did not pause; his movements were fluid and effortless, as if what he held in his hand was not a weapon that could blow his head off at any moment, but a harmless toy.

"The third shot is an expression of trust in fate."

Click!

The third sound was hollow.

Wolf took a deep breath, his chest heaving. He looked at the Asian man in front of him. There was no fear in those dark eyes, only a bottomless calm that made him tremble more than madness.

Now, the probability is one in three.

Surong chuckled: "The fourth shot is a show of contempt for death."

This time, he pointed the gun directly at his own eyeball. As soon as the bullet was fired, the eyeball and the brain behind it would instantly turn into a mess.

Click!

The fourth sound is an empty echo.

Wolf let out a long breath, swaying as if he were completely exhausted, and had to reach out to hold onto the display case next to him.

Four shots missed – this wasn't just luck, it was an insult to death.

There are now only two slots left in the chamber, a 50% probability.

Sulong slowly lowered his gun, took a step, and walked towards Wolf, the distance between them constantly shrinking.

Suddenly, Sulong raised his revolver, pressed the barrel against his heart, and stared intently at Wolf, who was standing close by, with a ferocious, beast-like glint in his eyes.

"The fifth shot... is to remain elegant under pressure."

Su Long's finger slowly pulled the trigger.

Wolf couldn't help but swallow.

Click!

The crisp sound of the firing pin striking the empty chamber echoed clearly in the deathly silent exhibition hall, like the final toll of death in one's ear.

With a blank expression, Sulong tossed aside the cylinder and showed the reel to Wolf.

The fatal bullet happened to be stuck in the last chamber.

Su Long put the bullets and revolver back into their holsters, feeling no emotion whatsoever.

He knew that with Sirius in his hands, there was no possibility of losing this gamble from the very beginning, and even if he loaded six bullets, no shot would be fired.

Wolf leaned against the display case behind him, his chest heaving violently. The contempt and arrogance in his cloudy eyes had vanished without a trace, replaced by a complex emotion mixed with shock, emotion, and disbelief.

He straightened the collar of his suit, which was clinging to his body with cold sweat, trying to maintain his last shred of dignity, but his voice trembled uncontrollably: "Okay, I'll acknowledge your courage for now."

"Now, you can tell me your price."

A smile appeared on Sulong's face, a calm smile that sent a chill down Wolf's spine: "I have some special abilities, but I won't go into details."

"In short, I can make you feel your favorite... fear."

Wolf frowned deeply, scrutinizing the man before him, wondering if he had misheard.

"How do I do it?"

"It's simple," Surong said, his gaze falling on the man's cloudy eyes. "Just make eye contact with me."

A look of absurdity crossed Wolf's face. He thought the Asian man had completely lost his mind after that crazy betting game: "Are you kidding me?"

"Of course not. Besides, I want to kindly remind you," Surong took a step forward, the distance between them shortened again, and his voice was very low: "I hope you are a real tough guy who is keen to experience fear, and not a showy person who will be easily scared to death."

"The fear I can offer far surpasses the junk collection in your room."

"It may be too intense, beyond the level of appreciation, like the difference between spicy potato chips and industrial capsaicin."

"Trash collection?" Wolf was stung by the word. His life's pride and pursuits became worthless in this man's mouth.

His suppressed arrogance surged again, transforming into anger: "You mean, your eyes alone are more valuable than my entire collection?"

"I absolutely do not accept this statement."

"bring it on."

Su Long's lips slowly curled up.

He walked up to Wolf, their faces almost touching, his unfathomable black eyes meeting Wolf's bloodshot eyes, which were filled with anger.

The next moment, Su Long activated the newly merged term.

Conqueror's Haki - Overbearing Aura.

That invisible pressure came crashing down without warning.

It was neither wind nor sound; it was something that transcended the laws of physics, a tyrannical and terrifying will that crushed deep into the skull.

Wolf's pupils suddenly shrank to pinpoints.

The color drained from his face instantly, leaving only a deathly ashen hue, like that of a corpse.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out of his throat, as if an invisible hand had gripped his neck, depriving him of the ability to speak.

His muscles seemed frozen, and began to twitch violently and uncontrollably.

A stream of scalding heat flowed down the leg of his expensive trousers, quickly pooling into a yellowish stain on the polished marble floor.

Then, his legs lost their support, his knees buckled, and he uncontrollably knelt down on the ground.

Before the shame of incontinence could even flood his already malfunctioning brain, his stomach began to churn violently.

A mixture of acidic fluid and undigested food rushes straight down the throat.

He was bent over, lying on the ground, his vision blurred, his eardrums were ringing, his heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to explode from his chest, and then he vomited violently.

The filth mixed with bile splattered on the expensive and exquisite Persian carpet, emitting a nauseating, sour smell.

All art about fear, all appreciation of despair, all instinctive survival instincts were utterly crushed into dust at this moment by that overwhelming and domineering aura.

Dania, standing to the side, froze completely.

She watched helplessly as Herman Wolf, the man who held sway in Seattle's underworld and whom even her father treated with deference, knelt before Sullon like a dying dog, incontinent, vomiting, and behaving in a grotesque manner.

She immediately rushed forward, wanting to help the disheveled old man up.

However, just as her hand touched Wolf's shoulder, she saw him slowly raise his head.

Wolf's face was covered in vomit and tears, but his expression was no longer one of pain or fear.

It was an extreme, almost manic ecstasy.

His eyes were unfocused, and a delirious smile, like that of an addict who has taken a hit, hung on the corner of his mouth. He seemed to be floating on clouds, completely immersed in the extreme terror he had just experienced.

He looked at Su Long, and for the first time, a kind of almost devout fanaticism appeared in his cloudy eyes.

"marvelous……"

His voice was hoarse from vomiting, but it was full of heartfelt praise.

"That's wonderful, Mr. Suron."