Dragon Clan: My Dad is Ange

These men are used to dancing with death.

"remember."

Rogerson took a last look at his rifle. There were seven marks engraved on the barrel, representing the seven villains who had died at his hands.

"If anyone survives, go find that bastard and kill the rest of his family."

Suddenly, a burst of rapid gunfire rang out outside, followed by a message from a loudspeaker:

"Rogerson Squad! You are surrounded! Lay down your weapons and surrender, and your bodies will be spared!"

Belig sneered and put his hunting knife back into his boot. "Did you hear that? Surrender and keep your body intact. What a generous offer."

"Action." Rogerson ordered briefly.

The tent curtain was flung open, and ten people rushed into the night like wild beasts out of a cage.

The sniper brothers immediately spread out to the sides, looking for a commanding position. The remaining eight formed a wedge formation, with Rogerson as the spearhead, and rushed towards the direction where the enemy's firepower was weakest.

The battle broke out in an instant.

Tom's first shot blew up the enemy commander's head, and the blood mist appeared a strange blue in the moonlight.

Jerry specifically targeted those with heavy firepower, firing alternately with his two sniper rifles, the rhythm like the pendulum of death.

Rogerson rushed in front, firing his rifle bursts with terrifying accuracy. Every shot brought an enemy down.

Belig stalked the flanks like a ghost, his hunting knife slitting a throat with every flash. Hiro wielded a bone cleaver, a man who usually cooked delicious meals now dismembering human bodies.

But there are too many enemies.

The bullet pierced Maxson's shoulder, drawing a spray of blood. The engineer grunted, reloading with one hand and continuing to fire.

Duke's massive frame was struck three times by bullets but he kept moving forward until a bullet shattered his kneecap.

"Left!"

Ryan yelled as he threw Rogerson down, only to be riddled with bullets. As the paratrooper fell, he threw his last grenade.

In the firelight of the explosion, Rogerson saw Tom's sniper point being hit by a rocket, and the young sniper's figure turned to ashes in the flames.

Jerry fired frantically until he was reduced to a pulp by the crossfire.

When Rogerson finally fell to his knees, his squad had been completely wiped out.

Belig's neck was pierced by a bullet, and the hunting knife was stuck in the eye socket of an enemy.

Hiro's cleaver broke in two and fell with him in a pool of blood. Maxon leaned against Duke's body, the empty pistol still in his hand.

There were only fifteen of the thirty enemies left, and they were cautiously surrounding them.

"It's over, Rogerson." The enemy lieutenant kicked his rifle away. "Is it worth it for a few insignificant little girls?"

Rogerson spat out a mouthful of blood foam, revealing his red teeth: "Fuck your mother."

The adjutant raised his pistol and aimed at his forehead. At this moment, the roar of a helicopter was heard in the sky.

Chapter 199 The Taste of Nostalgia

Everyone looked up. A pure black helicopter hovered overhead like a ghost. The hatch opened, and a figure in a white coat jumped out.

A hundred meters high, the figure crashed to the ground like a cannonball, stirring up a cloud of dust.

When the smoke and dust cleared, an Asian man wearing round-frame glasses stood there, his white coat spotless.

"What a nostalgic smell." He took a deep breath, as if savoring the scent of gunpowder. "I've been in the lab for so long that my muscles are starting to rust."

The adjutant raised his gun warily: "Who are you?"

Yamada Shujin, the man who looked like a doctor, ignored him and walked straight towards Rogerson:

"What a great bunch of tough guys. For ordinary people to be able to do this is quite remarkable."

"Doctor?" Rogerson spoke with difficulty, blood foam oozing from the corners of his mouth with every word. "Go... here..."

"I'd be really troubled if the material died."

Yamada Shujin took off his white coat, revealing the body underneath.

In the moonlight, his skin began to glow with a metallic luster, and several mechanical structures gleaming with cold light protruded from his spine, engraved with strange runes.

The adjutant fired decisively, and the bullet whizzed towards Yamada's forehead.

With a crisp "ding" sound, Yamada's right hand had already blocked in front of him, with the deformed bullet pinched between his index and middle fingers.

"My master doesn't give me much time for entertainment." Yamada's voice suddenly became mechanical and cold, "So I have to cherish every opportunity."

As he finished speaking, his eyes opened from closed, and his originally dark pupils turned golden.

"It's a damn half-blood! How could Rogerson and the others know a half-blood?!"

The commander roared. He had not expected to encounter this kind of hybrid in such a small battlefield.

The other person's eyes were so bright, they were shining golden.

If the golden eyes he had seen before were fireflies in the dark night, then the other person's eyes were incandescent lamps, releasing his majesty and power without any scruples!

"Everyone, fire all your ammunition! This guy isn't the hybrid we've encountered before. He's something far more terrifying!"

The commander roared at the team members behind him.

"Shoot with all your might! Even though these guys possess all sorts of strange abilities, a bullet hitting them will still injure them and tear them apart!"

The sound of guns loading could be heard, and Yamada Shujin could feel countless gun muzzles pointed at his body.

But he just grinned and said, "Bullets, if I were an ordinary A-rank, I would really be afraid of them. But am I really a half-blood now?"

The rune on his spine suddenly lit up with a faint blue light. The next second, Yamada disappeared.

No, not disappearing, but moving too fast.

In the eyes of ordinary people, he was like a blue lightning flashing across the battlefield.

Fifteen enemies fell one after another before they even had time to turn their guns around.

Two blades as thin as cicada wings extended from Yamada's hands. They were weapons made of alchemical metal and could easily cut through steel.

The first enemy's rifle was split in half lengthwise and fell to the ground along with the arm holding it.

As the second enemy raised his gun, he found that his vision suddenly tilted - his head had left his shoulders.

"Triple speed, what a wonderful experience."

Yamada's voice came from all directions, accompanied by the sound of flesh being cut.

"I wonder what the master will look like when he activates the 100x acceleration. I really want to see the master's majestic figure again..."

An enemy fired wildly in all directions, but all his bullets were empty.

He felt a chill at the back of his neck; Yamada's blade had cut through his spine.

Another enemy tried to escape, but after taking two steps, he found that his legs were still standing, but his upper body had already slipped to the ground.

Fifteen people, in less than fifteen seconds, all turned into mutilated corpses.

Yamada Shujin stood in the center of a pool of blood, his robotic body unstained. He turned and walked toward Rogerson, the runes on his spine gradually dimming.

"It seems that you are all still alive. After such a great battle, your bodies have been injured and you are still alive. It's really great."

He walked step by step with a smile on his face, like a doctor with strong medical ethics who was caring about his patients.

"Do you wish to gain power?" he asked, smiling. The moonlight reflected from his glasses, obscuring his gaze. "Power beyond that of mortals?"

It was a devilish whisper, as if the devil from the depths of hell was coaxing humans into completing a deal with it using their souls.

Rogerson looked up with difficulty and saw that although his teammates were seriously injured, they were still breathing.

Yamada Shujin took out ten injections that were flashing with a strange fluorescent light from his pocket.

"Inject this, and not only will you survive, but you'll also gain the power to exact revenge on those bastards." Yamada's voice was like a demon's whisper. "Of course, the price will be your souls."

"soul!?"

Rogerson was shocked. He really didn't understand how such an invisible and intangible thing could be paid as a price.

But he also feared losing his subjectivity and becoming a complete shell.

"Hahaha, just kidding, just kidding. I don't have the right or power to plunder souls."

Yamada Shujin laughed out loud, feeling happy after completing a prank.

Showing the potion to Rogerson, Yamada Shujin explained with a smile:

"This is just modified saline solution. It will help you recover your strength and speed up the healing of your wounds."

"But this is authority, a legacy from the authority of life... If the Master didn't need a test subject, you would never have come into contact with such a supreme thing in your lifetime."

In the distance, the searchlight from a helicopter shone down, illuminating the slaughterhouse as bright as day.

In the strong light, Yamada Shujin's metal body reflected a cold light. In his outstretched hand, the liquid in the ten injections squirmed like living things.

Rogerson looked at his dying teammates and thought of the little girls imprisoned in the dungeon.

He reached out his trembling hand and grabbed the first injection.

"Whether what you say is true or not."

"For revenge," he croaked, "I will go to hell!"

Chapter 200 Deserted Island Castle

The roar of the propeller was deafening, and Rogerson was helped onto the pitch-black helicopter.

The cabin was much more spacious than he had imagined, enough to seat fifteen people comfortably.

The metal inner wall shone with a cool luster under the light. Upon closer inspection, one could see fine golden lines running through the fuselage like blood vessels.

"Fasten your seatbelts, gentlemen."

Yamada Shujin had changed into a neat black butler uniform, and his golden eyes behind his round-frame glasses were sparkling with joy.

"The journey ahead might be a bit bumpy."

Rogerson's fingers touched the armrest of the seat, and the cold metal surface felt a hint of warmth, as if the plane was alive.