Miss Assassin is heavily addicted

Chapter 99, Section 15: The Turmoil Ends
—Cobolo neighborhood. Abandoned factory—

ISAB executives have arrived.

As Yuri drove his police car anxiously toward the nearest hospital, local police cars from various countermeasures divisions under the National Security Agency started their engines and rushed over with their headlights on, until about twenty different models of cars surrounded and blocked the exit of the street.

On the road, Yuri could still see vehicles speeding past his car. His solemn-faced colleague gripped the steering wheel, thinking that the extremists must now have nowhere to escape.

After all, it caused quite a stir.

However, Yuri gripped the steering wheel, his mind filled with anxiety and even self-blame. The two people in the car remained still, resting. He was already driving at top speed with the accelerator floored, but even so, he still felt uncertain.

I hope, I really hope, that everything is alright.

The scene of the incident had been cordoned off with police tape. The police officers who got out of the car were leading hunting dogs. Only two police officers were rescued; the rest were carried out on stretchers, their bodies covered with white sheets, and remained silent.

Rayleigh, who had miraculously survived, sat on the roadside panting, his legs too weak to stand, with a towel covering his head to wipe away blood.

Officer Rory, however, had already clenched his fists, looking at his colleague's body that had been found, his face filled with deep pain and frustration, yet he still couldn't let go of his fists.

Because Loris is still inside.

"Only...only these people were found?" His voice was trembling with coldness.

"Well, we haven't found the sergeant you mentioned. The lady with the pale blonde hair and long hair might have been kidnapped or is still alive. You don't need to worry too much."

"Thank you... I hope so."

Just then, another police car arrived amidst the noise, meaning they were among the first to arrive.

Rory Albert's heart sank even further when he saw the silver-haired young woman stepping out of the car. He dared not report Lorris's whereabouts to the colonel yet, and could only pray and believe that she would be safe and sound.

"Can I also join the search and rescue team?"

"Sure, sure... but buddy, aren't you sure you want to get your leg checked out first?"

"It's okay, it's okay, at least I'm still alive."

Rory's self-reproachful figure disappeared with the police officer leading the hunting dog, inconspicuous compared to the busy figures around him.

In fact, Isabel already knew the general situation, because the intelligence report came from the fourth team of the intelligence department. This operation was led by Loris and seven police officers, and it was clear that something had gone wrong.

"How is the situation now?" Isabel asked.

"We have located their trail, and the reinforcements are making every effort to capture them. Several spies have been captured, but they have all committed suicide. As for the more important figures—I'm sorry, we haven't been able to capture them yet."

The officer who arrived at the scene first reported.

At that moment, the purple-haired Winston walked up to Isabel, his black cane tapping the ground as he strolled over. He was wearing a green wool coat and his expression was normal.

“You look very worried, miss,” he said with a hint of concern.

"..." Isabel took a deep breath and remained noncommittal, but ordered an increase in manpower to surround and wipe out the group of spies.

"Yes, sir!" The officer saluted and left.

Not long after he left, a disheveled cry came over the radio; it was the voice of Lor Lozoren.

"This is Lorre. We've located the escaped personnel and confirmed they're from the Iron Curtain Special Operations Bureau. The only problem is they've scattered. We've been blocked from pursuing them, and they're a tough nut to crack. We need backup!"

The urgent calls were interspersed with a few buzzing electromagnetic sounds and the sound of wooden planks being torn apart. It was rare for this proud and complacent commissioner to use such a tone when pleading for help.

It seems the opponent is quite formidable.

There are more than twenty ISAB agents here, including three top-tier agents and more than ten mid-tier agents. This is the most manpower that can be gathered in a short period of time. They already had intelligence and now it seems that they have finally caught a big fish.

However, it seems impossible to bite into this big fish.

Upon hearing this news, the usually taciturn Winston knew it was his turn to appear. He adjusted his gentleman's hat slightly and asked with a smile:
“I think I need to leave for a while, miss.”

“Please proceed with caution,” Isabel said.

"Of course, thank you for your permission."

……

—Cobolo neighborhood. Abandoned factory—

Moonlight streamed through the broken glass roof, casting fragmented shadows on the ground strewn with iron filings and discarded parts.

A fierce battle is taking place here.

The wooden plank broke, and sand and dust rose up.

A specialist in combat uniform was slapped and crashed to the ground, whereupon he was unable to get up and vomited blood.

"Waaah—" he screamed and coughed up blood.

Lor Lozoren had no time to look around, his eyes fixed intently on the hunchbacked old man before him. He had been leading three agents in a battle against this man—initially thinking they could easily defeat him, but now the battle was gradually turning against them.

As part of the ISAB support team under the intelligence department, they were among the first to arrive.

Five minutes earlier, after hearing the frontline police officers report the whole story, they realized that the escaped individuals were likely hostile spies. They then launched a relentless pursuit, and even though the escapees split into multiple groups, Lor and other specialists from different departments dispersed to pursue them.

This is a small but elite team, pursuing this route.

And this was the route the old man was covering the rear.

"Lor, I think we need to retreat..."

The red-haired commissioner next to Lor wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and said breathlessly, his body covered in wounds that were clearly on the verge of being torn apart, and even the golden flower looked dull in color.

"This guy is unbelievably strong... at least at the higher level." The red-haired commissioner's additional words sounded somewhat cowardly.

However, this is to be expected, since only the two of them are standing on the scene now, and everyone else has already fallen.

“We’ve already called for backup. It would be too embarrassing to back down now. At least we should hold out until the others arrive, right… Yorank?”

Lor was also a bit disheveled, but he managed a panting smile and tried to maintain his composure. He believed that he was at least standing firm, and even if he fell, he would still look handsome.

"Okay, I hope my parents won't need the survivor's pension..."

The red-haired commissioner chuckled and muttered to himself in anguish, while Jürgen slowly turned his gaze away from the moon—he had been calculating the time he could afford to delay.

It seems that by now, it's time to retreat.

“He wants to leave.” Lor frowned, noticing this sign.

He took a deep breath, his chest heaving, and then sprinted forward, pushing off the ground. He couldn't let his opponent escape now that things had come to this. Even though he could sense that his opponent was several levels stronger than him in the previous battle, how could he become a strongman if he avoided the weak?
So-called complacency is extreme complacency, and one will never be defeated by any setback.

Boom!
A swift punch grazed the air, but missed the quick-reacting hunchbacked monster. He caught the blow with his right hand—a laughable rock-paper-scissors match. Lor's clenched fist was caught by the monster's rough hand, and then the other's palm exerted force, crushing him with brute strength, as if trying to shatter his hand bones!

Lor's face changed, and he was in great pain.

"You are too weak."

Jorgen's hoarse voice sounded mocking, but it was actually a reflection of his disappointment with the battle.

The red-haired commissioner, who had been waiting in the wings, had found his opportunity and circled around to prepare to deliver a powerful whip kick. Jorgen simply flicked Lor away, and the red-haired commissioner had no choice but to quickly withdraw his strength. He was then hit in the chest by Lor, and the two of them rolled on the ground together.

"Cough cough..."

"cough……"

Both of them were in a sorry state.

Moments later, Jorgen arrived beside them with a shovel, ready to end their lives. His shovel bore several bullet holes, indicating a fierce battle had taken place, though he had managed to deflect the bullets with his shovel.

Goodbye, pathetic weakling.

Jorgen's eerie laugh carried a hint of pity, and just as death was about to strike! "Bang!"

A bullet flew in!

Jorgen felt the wind whistling around him and instinctively changed direction to dodge, but he was still grazed on the cheek by a bullet and blood gushed out.

Lor had already taken the opportunity to carry the red-haired commissioner and retreat, because he saw reinforcements arriving.

Even if there is only one.

"Hello, friend, please wait a moment."

Winston approached with his eyes half-closed, his wool coat making him look like a gentleman taking a night stroll. He held a gentleman's cane in one hand and a delicate pistol that he had just tucked into his pocket in the other.

Its caliber isn't large; it's more like a warning.

The leisurely, strolling demeanor brought with it a completely different sense of crisis—Jørgen Helmer, the seasoned soldier, felt a sense of oppression the moment he saw him.

The blood that had been dormant was now subtly boiling; it was the instinctive pleasure of facing this person.

The pleasure of killing.

Just then, several other commissioners appeared nearby. Apparently, some of them had come after hearing the distress call over the radio. However, no one expected that this gentleman would be the fastest. Heaven knows what methods he used.

"Winston... Commissioner?"

"Leave this to me. You take the injured away; there are other places that need support."

Winston squinted and turned his head, his expression gentle. The three agents who came to help saw this and followed orders to carry the two injured people on the ground. Even Lor was being helped up as well.

Soon, a new voice came over the radio, an order to cancel support, and the others who were originally going to come changed direction.

There is no doubt that this is a form of contempt.

Jorgen narrowed his eyes slightly. He had stopped thinking about retreating, because being discovered to this extent meant there was no way to escape.

Tonight was truly a night of excitement and trouble. I hope those subordinates who are dragging me down can get some real work done and not get caught in one fell swoop.

As for this situation, Jorgen understood that the only way out was to fight his way out and kill the agent who had deliberately isolated himself.

Heavy breathing could be clearly heard in the silent factory.

Standing in the moonlight, Winston was gracefully removing a glove and speaking methodically:
"ISAB Executive Bureau Black Flower Specialist, codename Gentleman, is pleased to perform a 'drama' with you."

Instead of revealing their names, they used code names. For spies who deal with each other year-round, code names are actually more intimidating.

But Jugen didn't recognize the guy and was breathing heavily.

Seeing the hunchbacked old man before him silently observing his flaws, Winston, his eyes still narrowed with politeness, said in a gentle tone:
"May I ask your name?"

Jürgen paused, his voice hoarse but with a hint of amusement:

"Is this how you greet each other? Young people's social etiquette is really strange."

"Thank you for the compliment. For an old gentleman like you, I am indeed a young man. However, I have been working in the Enforcement Bureau for ten years and have dealt with many people. I do not like to see an unknown person fade away from the world stage. It would be a sad thing."

Jorgen laughed at his words, and the strange old man let out a coughing laugh:
Jürgen Helmer, a "soldier engineer"

"I will remember your name."

Winston smiled slightly, then opened his squinted eyes for the first time since his appearance. They were green eyes that seemed to see through people's hearts like those of a viper.

After a brief eye contact, he seemed disappointed as he closed his eyelids, maintaining that mysterious yet elegant slightly open-eyed state.

"Please give me more advice."

With a flick of his wrist, Winston drew his cane with a soft "click," revealing a slender, gleaming, swift sword.

The gentleman's hat brim was straightened.

At the same time, he casually tossed his cane sheath aside and performed a standard fencing salute, his movements full of elegance.

Seeing the opponent assume a fighting stance, Jorgen felt an extreme sense of pressure! He couldn't help but charge forward with heavy steps.

He raised his shovel high, his killing intent surging!
This was a powerful and heavy slash aimed straight at Winston's head, with enough force to split a bull's skull!
Winston didn't take the hit head-on. Instead, his body retreated to the side and back like a willow catkin, while his sword tip moved lightly and precisely, aiming for Jorgen's wrist, which was holding a shovel.

This is a classic example of avoiding the strong and attacking the weak.

"Swoosh!" The sword tip sliced ​​through Jorgen's sleeve, drawing a thin line of blood.

But Jorgen didn't care at all. His shovel, which had missed its target, turned into a horizontal slash, and the enormous force brought up a gust of wind!
Winston stepped back again, his sword deftly meeting the shovel that was coming at him, not as a parry, but as an attempt to deflect it with a wrapping force.

However, the force seemed too great. This seasoned engineer was respectable; the slender blade was violently deflected, and Winston could feel a tingling sensation in his arm.

He used the momentum to spin and create distance.

Jorgen's face showed a frenzied desire for battle, the oppressive feeling turning into a boiling blood, and he swung his shovel to force Winston toward a pile of rusty metal barrels!
Winston's eyes narrowed.

In that instant, with a sweeping, powerful movement, Winston moved. He forcefully pushed off the metal barrel behind him, using the momentum to lunge forward in a low crouch, the tip of his sword aimed directly at Jorgen's calf tendon—

Low-stance thrust!

But Jugen's combat instincts were equally astonishing. He swung his shovel downwards with a jolt of his senses! "Clang!" A piercing metallic clang rang out as the sword tip was barely blocked by the heavy shovel.

The distance has been shortened!

Jorgen threw down his shovel, his massive left hand grabbing at Winston's sword-wielding hand like an iron clamp, his face contorted in rage! At the same time, his right hand drew an iron hook from his waist, aiming for Winston's abdomen, his movements fierce and savage.

Winston remained calm under pressure. He skillfully twisted the wrist that had been grabbed, using the hilt of his sword to wedge and strike the opponent's fingers, forcing the opponent to loosen their grip in pain.

Then, shift your body to the side.

Jorgen's iron hook tore through his coat, grazing his skin—a close call, yet he escaped unharmed.

But without a doubt, the situation is now dire, and the sword in hand is difficult to use at extremely close range!

Winston also decisively discarded his sword!

He let the rapier fall to the ground, and his free hand shot out like lightning, seemingly in the style of a boxing move from the Execution Bureau.

Jorgen dodged by leaning back, but Winston's killing move didn't stop there—his strike to the face and nose was a feint; his real target was the inside of his lower legs.

"Uh!"

Jorgen let out a muffled groan and froze.

In that instant, what awaited him was an upward punch! This punch traveled precisely from below his jaw, at the junction of the skull and spine—the foramen magnum—upwards with a deep, resonant force!

Boom!
Jorgen froze instantly, the fierce glint in his eyes solidified, and then quickly dimmed.

A moment later, his hunched body swayed and he fell heavily forward with a dull thud.

Winston gracefully stepped back to avoid getting covered in the dust, and slowly opened his dark green eyes as he looked at the old man who had fallen in front of him.

"Soldier, Jürgen Helmer."

I silently kept it in my heart.

He immediately sheathed his rapier, straightened his gentleman's hat, tidied his torn coat, and like a play taking its final bow, bowed slightly and turned to disappear into the deeper shadows of the factory.

Only moonlight and the silence of death remain.

The unrest in the Kobor neighborhood is about to subside.

(End of this chapter)