Dual-wielding! 100x proficiency, I'll grind my way to godhood!

At 10 p.m., the night in Los Angeles was deep.

A sharply styled Aston Martin smoothly pulled up in front of the Obsidian Bar, its engine whirring softly as it finished, exuding understated luxury.

Ghost got out of the car first, walked around to the other side, and respectfully opened the car door for Chen Mo.

The first floor is a noisy and decadent nightclub lobby, with neon lights flashing wildly and scantily clad female dancers stepping on the edge of the bar in patent leather boots.

The entire bottle of champagne was casually splashed onto the restless crowd, amidst screams and low-pitched music.

The two did not linger and headed straight for the back of the bar.

Two burly security guards in black suits stood at the entrance to the back hall.

With a pistol tucked at his waist, his sharp eyes fixed on everyone who approached.

This place is heavily guarded and not open to the public at all; it is not a place that ordinary guests can set foot in.

Passing through this door leads directly to the underground death boxing arena.

That was a forbidden zone for the elite, a place only the wealthiest and most famous people in Los Angeles could access; ordinary people didn't even have the right to hear about it. Ghost, by virtue of his position as a partner at a top Los Angeles law firm, easily obtained two gold-embossed invitations—the only credentials to enter.

The two entered the elevator, and Ghost lowered his voice:

"Boss, Sam and his gang are all cunning old foxes in the underworld, hard to deal with. Do you need my help to handle them?"

Chen Mo remained calm and said indifferently:

"Ghost, you still don't know enough about me. Tonight will be the perfect time for you to see."

Upon hearing this, the ghost's lips curled into a gentlemanly yet expectant smile, and he bowed slightly.

"I'm really looking forward to your great performance tonight."

The elevator descended rapidly, and after only a few seconds, the elevator doors slowly opened.

A massive, sunken arena suddenly unfolded, instantly filling the view.

In the center was a spacious octagonal iron cage arena, with piercing white spotlights shining intently inside.

The cold steel wire mesh gleamed with an eerie light, and the air was filled with the smells of cigars, perfume, and a hint of blood.

On the surrounding tiered stands, the wealthy and famous sat languidly in leather sofas, with tables laden with whiskey, ice buckets, and crystal ashtrays.

Waiters in tuxedos, carrying champagne, moved through the crowd.

A large circular screen hangs directly above the iron cage, continuously replaying KO highlights of the boxing matches.

The host, microphone in hand, strained his voice to energize the audience, creating a lively and exciting atmosphere.

Ghost followed Chen Mo all the way to the private VIP room, his demeanor respectful throughout. Anyone with eyes could see that he was Chen Mo's follower.

Upon entering, arms dealer Sam sat in the main seat on the sofa, surrounded by a circle of arms dealers and distributors, with an unopened bottle of Macallan liquor on the table.

Sam didn't even lift his eyelids when he saw the two of them come in. He was twirling a cigar cutter in his hand, clearly intending to ignore them and give them a hard time.

The henchmen around him all understood what was going on. They leaned back on the sofa, looking at Chen Mo with amusement and disdain, waiting to see how embarrassed and awkward this unfamiliar Asian man would look.

The fat, white man with gold chains sitting to the side, who was 1.9 meters tall and weighed over 250 kilograms, was the first to sneer, his tone full of mockery and disdain:

"Wow, another Asian guy. Last time, that Japanese guy said he wanted to buy two Glocks, but when we got to the warehouse area, he was so scared he didn't even dare to open the car door. He was less than a child."

"Are they here to film another movie? Do you Asians all think that weapons are just movie props to buy and display?"

As soon as he finished speaking, the people around him burst into laughter. Another tall, thin white man chimed in, his eyes mocking:

"Wasn't that Japanese guy you brought last time, Cole? Cole, why do you always bring these useless clients? We don't serve cowards here."

The ghost stood silently behind Chen Mo the whole time, without saying a word, its attitude crystal clear.

He only obeys Chen Mo's orders; everything here is entirely in Chen Mo's hands.

Sam then slowly lit his cigar, took a deep drag, and exhaled white smoke. He looked up at Chen Mo, his tone light and dismissive:

"So, are you here to make a movie, or just mess around?"

Everyone in the booth was watching with amusement, waiting for Chen Mo's flustered and ingratiating reaction.

But Chen Mo didn't stop walking. Ignoring everyone's mockery and cold stares, he went straight to the host and guest seats opposite Sam and sat down.

He leaned back comfortably on the sofa, crossed his legs, casually pulled out a cigarette and put it in his mouth, one hand resting casually on the armrest, his posture lazy and relaxed.

He exuded a cold and intimidating aura, showing no sign of panic at being provoked, but rather like a ruler looking down on the farce.

The ghost was very perceptive and immediately stepped forward, took out a lighter, and respectfully lit the cigarette for Chen Mo.

Chen Mo nodded slightly, took a drag of his cigarette, and slowly exhaled white smoke.

The private room, which had been filled with mocking laughter just moments before, fell silent instantly.

The laughter in the room stopped abruptly, and Sam's hand, which was turning the cigar cutter, froze in mid-air.

Just as Ghost was about to speak, Chen Mo raised his hand to interrupt him.

Chen Mo looked calmly at Sam, his tone indifferent yet carrying an undeniable authority:

"Mr. Sam, I don't have time to play these childish tricks with you."

Sam removed the cigar from his mouth, his eyes dark and filled with surprise and anger.

"Young man, you're the first Asian to dare speak to me like that."

"That's just how I do things; I'm not used to following rules set by others."

Chen Mo flicked his fingertip, and a piece of cigarette ash slowly fell, his tone remaining calm.

Sam's face darkened, and his voice suddenly rose, carrying the arrogance of a local bully:

"This is my territory! If you come to my territory, you must abide by my rules!"

Chen Mo took another drag of his cigarette, slowly exhaled the smoke, and looked directly at Sam:

"Mr. Sam, rules are set by the strong; only the weak blindly follow others' rules. I'm here today to deliver a lucrative business opportunity, not to play these pointless games with you. Every minute you waste is a minute less of money you're making."

The ghost standing behind him unconsciously smiled slightly, his eyes filled with admiration.

The entire private room fell into a deathly silence. Sam paused for a moment, his fingers tightening as he slowly placed the cigar on the edge of the ashtray.

He tapped lightly on the sofa armrest with his fingertips, a gesture that was both probing and pressuring.

"Young man, I've seen plenty of people who talk big, but those who talk big but can't show their cards always end up in a bad way. What makes you think you're qualified to talk big with me?"

Chen Mo did not answer immediately, but picked up the whiskey glass that Ghost handed him and took a small sip.

"Mr. Sam, you're a businessman, and all businessmen want to make money. The arms trade is, in the end, also a business, which is about making money."

Chen Mo put down his wine glass and said calmly.

"And I can bring you business that no one else can, and I can help you earn US dollars that no one else can earn. As long as you have goods, I can take them all."

He took a drag of his cigarette and looked directly into Sam's eyes.

"This is my qualification."

P.S.: Handsome guys and beautiful girls, please use your fingers to click the "request update" button and give the author some motivation.