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Royal No. 1 Clubhouse, West of the City.

There are no noisy neon lights here, only a wall more than three meters high, isolating everything inside from the outside world.

The air in the most luxurious private room on the top floor was unusually oppressive.

Wang Feilong's top-grade Cuban cigar fell onto the hand-woven Persian carpet, burning a small, blackened hole.

He ignored it.

He just gripped his phone tightly, listening to the report coming from the other end, a report laced with the sound of wind and fear.

"Brother Long... he's crippled. Scarface... he's been crippled... in one move..."

The voice on the phone was intermittent, filled with a trembling, chattering sound.

"One move?"

Wang Feilong's voice was squeezed out from between his teeth, and he felt his back teeth were aching.

"He...he just kicked him once...Scarface flew out like a sandbag and crashed into the wall...He didn't die, but...but it was worse than death..."

"Where are the others?"

"He's gone... He asked us where the meeting will be tomorrow..."

"Snapped!"

Wang Feilong could no longer control himself and smashed the custom-made phone in his hand against the wall, the screen shattering instantly into a spiderweb pattern.

"Useless! They're all useless!"

He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving violently, and his eyes were bloodshot.

A level 3 strength-based player was a formidable character he had recruited at great expense, far surpassing even his ordinary henchmen.

The result? One kick?

Inside the private room, a dozen burly men dared not breathe, their heads bowed, afraid of incurring Brother Long's wrath.

"What are you looking at! All of you get the hell out there and keep watch!"

Wang Feilong grabbed an ashtray from the table and threw it at the crowd.

Everyone felt as if they had been granted a pardon and scrambled out of the private room.

The door closed, leaving Wang Feilong alone in the room.

He slumped onto the sofa, took a bottle of whiskey from the liquor cabinet next to him, and without even pouring it into a glass, took a big gulp straight from the bottle.

The pungent liquor burned his throat, but it couldn't suppress the chill rising in his heart.

From Scarface to Tarzan, and now to this player who has awakened superpowers.

The men he sent were stronger each time, but the enemy resolved the situation more easily each time.

Is this guy even human?

He suddenly recalled the scarred-face player's horrified description: "He's a player too, and his level is much higher than mine!"

Wang Feilong's body trembled.

He suddenly stood up, walked to the wall, and pressed a hidden button.

The wall slid open silently, revealing a metal safe.

With trembling hands, he entered the password, verified his fingerprint and iris scan, and the heavy door of the safe finally clicked open.

There were no gold bars or cash inside.

There was only a gleaming double-barreled shotgun and two boxes of bright yellow buckshot.

This is his last trump card.

Wang Feilong held the shotgun in his arms; the cold metallic touch made him feel a little more at ease.

"Damn it, I don't believe it."

He growled in a low voice.

"No matter how good you are at fighting, can you outrun a gun?"

He took the gun and sat back down in front of the monitor, which was divided into dozens of small sections, showing every corner inside and outside the club.

The gate at the entrance appears exceptionally heavy on the screen.

The taxi stopped a hundred meters away from the Royal One Club.

"Young man, this is it."

The driver gripped the steering wheel, looking at Li Haotian through the rearview mirror with a somewhat complicated expression.

"That place up ahead is eerie; we generally don't go near it."

"Thanks, Master."

Li Haotian scanned the QR code to pay and opened the car door.

"Hey, young man," the driver couldn't help but call out to him again, "Take my advice, no matter what happens, don't make things difficult for yourself. That place is really not a place for good people."

Li Haotian turned around and smiled.

"Don't worry, I'm not a good person."

After saying that, he closed the car door and walked towards the clubhouse that resembled a black fortress.

The driver stared at his retreating figure for a long while, then shook his head, stepped on the gas, and the car sped away as if fleeing some kind of plague.

Li Haotian walked up to the tightly closed black door.

There was no doorbell on the door, only a cold camera, like a mechanical eye, slowly turning towards him.

Inside the clubhouse, in the monitoring room.

One of the henchmen responsible for keeping watch suddenly widened his eyes, picked up the walkie-talkie, and his voice changed.

"Brother Long... Brother Long! He's here! He's at the door!"

Wang Feilong suddenly jumped up from the sofa, staring intently at the lone figure on the screen.

"Everyone! Everyone! Assemble in the lobby! Grab your weapons!"

He grabbed the hunting rifle beside him and, with a click, loaded two buckshot rounds.

"Damn it, today it's either you or me who dies!"

At the entrance of the clubhouse.

Li Haotian looked up at the camera and even waved at it.

He didn't intend to knock.

He simply took two steps back casually, then raised his right leg and kicked it out at the heavy solid wood door.

There was no earth-shattering noise.

There was only a muffled, unsettling "BOOM—!"

The custom-made door, which was said to be made of bulletproof materials and inlaid with steel plates, along with the entire stone door frame, looked like a building block kicked away by a giant, and was forcibly torn off the wall.

The door tumbled through the air, accompanied by a whistling sound, before crashing into the club's magnificent lobby.

"Boom!"

A reception desk, carved from a single block of marble and used as a facade, was struck squarely by a flying door panel, shattering instantly into pieces with flying debris.

The entire hall was instantly enveloped in grayish-white smoke and dust.

The dozens of thugs who had already set up their formation, armed with various weapons, ready to give the newcomers a hard time, were all dumbfounded.

They stared wide-eyed at the gaping hole, violently carved out, still spewing lime residue, their grip on the steel pipes and machetes nearly giving way.

Several people who were nearby were hit by flying pebbles and were already clutching their legs and howling in pain on the ground.

The dust slowly settled.

A figure walked in slowly through the hole.

He was dressed in a simple T-shirt and jeans, which seemed out of place in the luxurious hall.

He walked very lightly, stepping on the rubble and debris, making almost no sound.

He walked to the center of the hall, stopped, and looked around at the thugs who were already terrified.

Then, he bent down and patted off a bit of dust that had gotten on his trouser leg.

The movements were very natural, as if they were taking a walk in their own backyard.

After doing all this, he raised his head and looked at Wang Feilong, who was holding a hunting rifle and had a pale face, at the top of the stairs on the second floor.

He smiled.

"Is this how you treat your guests?"

Li Haotian's voice wasn't loud, but it reached everyone's ears clearly.

"They didn't even lay out a red carpet."

He shook his head, looking disappointed.

"Wang Feilong, your vision is still too narrow."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the thugs who were gripping weapons but whose hands were trembling, before finally returning to Wang Feilong.

"this one?"

"You call this a showdown?"