Cthulhu America, I can see the kill line.

Chapter 39 Wintert's Guilt

[To survive: A fatal wound to the throat temporarily consumes 10 points of strength.]

[The cure was successful, reigniting the madness of the weak.]

[The madness of the weak consumes 2 sanity points per second]

Kong Jiu clutched his throat, still shaken, his fingers trembling slightly, as if the wound was still aching.

In the instant he fell to the ground, he even wondered if it was all over.

But an indescribable surge of energy rushed into his chest the moment he hit the ground, forcefully lifting him to his feet, albeit unsteadily.

The cut on his neck healed quickly, but he felt as if most of his strength had been drained away.

[The Madness of the Weak: Stealing the Power of Wintert...]

孔鸠，【力量5-1（+5），敏捷4（+9），智力10。】

Winter, [Strength 23 (-14), Agility 22 (-9), Intelligence 1.]

Wendart froze, his pupils suddenly contracting.

He hadn't even had a chance to appreciate the look of utter bewilderment in the eyes of this yellow-skinned monkey—the look he loved most about people of color on their deathbeds.

Surprisingly, the other person got up.

"Damn it..."

Winterdart cursed under his breath, raising his dagger once more, his gaze fixed on the young man who had crawled back from hell. "Why didn't the Rat God Squich give me this ability to rise from the dead?"

"How would I know?"

Kong Jiu's voice was thick with nasal tone, probably due to a slight blockage in his nasal cavity from bleeding, "Perhaps a traitor like you isn't worthy?"

"Not worthy?"

Wintert raised an eyebrow, a hint of annoyance in his eyes: "Am I unworthy of the blessing of a patron saint of the weak?"

"Enough nonsense." Kong Jiu covered his neck with one hand to relieve the non-existent phantom pain, and pulled out a Beretta with the other, pointing it at the arrogant white man.

"As things stand, you have no chance of killing me. Surrender."

The pitch-black Beretta came into Wendart's eyes, causing the mob boss to pause in surprise.

"A Beretta 9? You've got such good taste, kid?"

Before he could finish speaking, Wendart's hand had already swung to his waist, so fast that Kong Jiu hadn't even seen it before a gun appeared in his hand.

"Bang!"

Gunshots rang out, and Kong Jiu's ring finger, which was gripping the gun, shattered, spurting blood.

Amidst screams, the exquisite Beretta fell into a pool of blood.

"Tsk tsk tsk, such a beautiful Beretta, how did she end up with a yellow-skinned monkey..."

With a smug, drawn-out tone, Windat slowly strode forward, raising his revolver as he approached Kongjiu, who lay sprawled on the ground in pain.

It was an old-fashioned revolver with a very classic design; I couldn't tell if it was a Colt Viper or a Rhino 60.

Compared to standard firearms used by ordinary people, it appears overly elaborate; but compared to advanced electromagnetic-assisted pistols, it seems particularly outdated.

However, even when held by a tough guy like Wintert, it still exudes a powerful aura...

Especially when the muzzle of a gun is pressed against someone's forehead.

Kong Jiu's forehead.

The combat skills of this ten-year veteran were far too sophisticated and overwhelming for Kong Jiu, an ordinary person.

Even after his fingers became paralyzed and he could no longer hold the gun, Kong Jiu still hadn't realized that someone could swing the gun around and fire, and even disarm him with precision.

Wintert whistled lightly as he bent down to pick up the Beretta lying in a pool of blood, his revolver never leaving Conjurer's brow.

"Not bad, it really is an M9. Seriously, you yellow-skinned monkey, you're quite skilled, and your weapon is top-notch. Did you used to be involved in the underworld?"

Wendart toyed with the Beretta, his tone erratic.

Kong Jiu forced a weak smile: "Is it possible that I know an upright and incorruptible veteran who hasn't fallen as corrupt as you?"

Wendart paused, his eyes widening as he played with the Beretta.

A veteran who did not fall into depravity...

Does someone like Amerigo exist?

Even though Windat, who was known as the heartless man, did not suffer from any psychological trauma related to conscience or morality, the pain caused by the discontinuation of medication for his organ modifications made this superhuman veteran live a life worse than death.

When each modified soldier retires, the military promises to maintain the most basic cost of the modified organs. They may not be as fit as when they were in service, but it will never become a burden on the individual.

That was the promise, but in reality, not only did Army Mammoths like Windat receive no maintenance fees, but even some elite Air Force instructors never received any.

Veterans living in blue states like Hills not only suffer from the constant, agonizing hunger of their modified organs, but also face moral condemnation from the upper-class white elites.

The kind-hearted old man condemned the veterans for participating in the war of aggression, calling them butchers, executioners, and sinners.

But they never dared to point the finger at those who actually started the war, the other faction of white gentlemen.

"Don't joke around, you yellow-skinned fool."

Wintert's eyes turned cold, his contempt as sharp as a knife. "Do you know how Amerigo treats veterans?"

Many veterans could only relieve their addiction by taking non-military enhancers, resulting in a life of debauchery and death on some inconspicuous street.

It was Windart who, through ruthless means, monopolized military enhancement agents, enabling these veterans to stand up again.

"Amerigo betrayed us first, us old soldiers who once shed our blood for freedom!"

His facial muscles twitched, and he jabbed the gun barrel hard into Kong Jiu's forehead: "We dedicated our youth to the ideal of freedom, and what have those white men given us in return?"

"They drove us to the chaotic lower town to fend for ourselves! Only during the cult riots did they think of using us to cleanse their ranks!"

"Is this your reason for your depravity?"

Kong Jiu's nose was bleeding and snot streaming down his face, but he still managed a forced smile. "I know an old soldier, the owner of this Beretta. He refused the temptation of the enhancer because of his grandson and his family."

As he spoke, he laboriously lifted his winter coat, revealing the deep blue syringe.

Kong Jiu always carried this military-grade enhancer with him, thinking that if he were forced to fight, he would continue fighting and seek a glimmer of hope in desperate situations.

"He said I often rescue people in the lower city and would need this even more, so he gave me the potion that could make me young again."

Kong Jiu looked up, his eyes filled with silent sarcasm, as if to say, "You see, even veterans can resist the temptation of the enhancer, cowards."

Wendart's breath hitched; he felt a sense of frustration and a fleeting fantasy.

In his fantasy, he kept the vow his father made at his bedside and never touched the enhancer again.

In his fantasy, he survived the hunger for organ modification, never used the enhancers again, married, had children, and had a happy family.

In his imagination, he also had a little grandson around his knees.

He angrily threw Beretta at Conju's face.

For the first time, Wendart, who had killed countless people, vaguely felt what regret was.

"Shut up, you monkey!"

Enraged, Wintert pressed the gun down hard. "I don't regret any of my choices, whether it was leading the Sea Dragon Society or launching the missile yesterday. I want revenge on Amerigo, to blow up that thing in the sky. I have a clear conscience!"

Kong Jiu stared intently at Wendart and demanded, "So, if you believe you're in the right, come with me to see Squich."

"But if you have something to hide and are afraid to see Squich, then shoot and make your betrayal clear!"

Before the words were finished, a gunshot rang out.

Winterthir pulled the trigger.

"thump!"

A bloody hole appeared between Kong Jiu's eyebrows, and blood mixed with milky white brain matter gushed out. His body swayed and then collapsed heavily to the ground.

[To survive: A fatal wound to the throat temporarily consumes 10 points of strength.]

The flesh between his eyebrows writhed, and the wound healed rapidly.

He stood up unsteadily again.

bump!

In a fit of rage, Wintert pulled the trigger.

[To survive: A fatal wound to the throat temporarily consumes 10 points of strength.]

[Insufficient strength, so reduce agility.]

boom!

Boom boom boom...

One shot after another, Wendart felt incredibly weak for some reason, as if all the modified organs in his body had stopped working.

Winter, [Strength 23 (-20), Agility 22 (-20), Intelligence 1]

Kong Jiu, [Strength 5, Agility 4, Intelligence 10 (-10)]