North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws-Chapter 576 - 327_1

The darkness of the night was profound.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

A group of people knelt on the cold ground, heads bowed low. They ignored the numbness in their knees and kept slapping their swollen cheeks with vigor, as if this act might grant them a sliver of security.

Before them, a martial master with a bun knelt, his head pressed to the ground and his back arched. His body trembled. A bloodstained knife tip had pierced through his abdomen, and blood snaked along the ground. Enduring the agony, he was committing ritual suicide by seppuku.

This method of dying was excruciatingly painful.

In ancient times, someone often stood by with a large sword, ready to sever the head of the person performing seppuku. This served both to alleviate their suffering and to uphold the samurai spirit of an honorable death.

The bun-headed martial master wasn't so tough because of strong willpower.

It was simply because times had changed.

Before his seppuku, he had injected himself with a drug.

But even so, the bun-headed martial master's physical pain and mental panic were almost at their limit.

The executioner on the platform was experienced. Seeing the bun-headed martial master's body tremble, he strode forward without hesitation. A cold light flashed from the Rib Knives sheathed at his waist in the moonlight, and blood spurted skyward like a fountain.

A twisted, grotesque head rolled across the ground.

The bun-headed martial master's eyes, wide and staring, twitched slightly. His mind barely had time to register a final thought before his consciousness plummeted into darkness:

Such a swift blade!

With one stroke, the bun-headed martial master was decapitated.

The executioner casually shook the tachi in his hand. Moonlight flowed like water over the blade, and the spray of blood misted the air, yet not a drop stained it. The tachi regained its previously unassuming, dark silver appearance.

CLICK.

He sheathed the sword.

The man picked up the head from the ground, a trace of bloodlust flickering deep in his eyes.

This oppressive feeling, like being a puppet forced to personally plunge a sharp blade tip inch by inch into one's own body, would stretch most people's spirits to the breaking point. At such a moment, to be beheaded with a single stroke... The gushing blood erupting into a fountain is truly the most beautiful sight in the world. It's a pity this isn't the Warring States period. Otherwise, I would enjoy this beautiful scene every day.

The man took a deep breath of the acrid, metallic smell lingering in the air. He centered his qi in his dantian and let out a sound like distant thunder, interrupting the self-mutilation of everyone in the courtyard. "That dark-skinned pig killed Boss Yamamoto, got rescued, and greatly disgraced our Yamaguchi-gumi! Now, I will select three warriors from among you to kill their family members in order to demonstrate..."

The man's imposing Japanese speech was not yet finished.

BANG.

A series of gunshots suddenly rang out from the front hall.

This sudden development caused the man's expression to shift slightly.

Before he could react—

CLANG.

A cheap wooden sliding door was kicked flying by someone's foot.

A group of burly gunmen, wearing ghastly white masks, streamed into the courtyard one after another. In just a short while, they had slaughtered all the small-fry guards at the front.

These men said nothing, acting with ruthless efficiency. They raised their guns and killed on sight.

The underlings kneeling on the ground tried to rise and fight back, or perhaps to flee. But having knelt for so long, their legs had gone numb. They could only watch in horror as bullets pierced their own bodies and those of their companions.

The screams were desolate and short-lived.

In the blink of an eye, the not-so-large Japanese-style courtyard was littered with corpses.

"Goddamn!"

Seeing this, the executioner didn't retreat. Instead, he charged forward. His short legs, clad in wooden geta, blurred as he rushed towards the invading gunmen at incredible speed. Simultaneously, two arcs of moonlight flashed, forming a cross that struck at the two lead gunmen.

RAT-A-TAT-TAT.

A burst of rapid gunfire erupted.

Mists of blood exploded from the short-legged man's back.

By the time he hit the ground, the Shin-Kiku Dual Blade Style expert lay there, twitched twice, and went to meet their Amaterasu Omikami.

PTOOEY!

A thick glob of phlegm landed on the face of the unknown expert.

Underneath his mask, Lawrence's face was filled with disdain.

What an era. Still playing with swords? Country bumpkins!

He looked towards another masked gunman.

This was Dean.

His mask was slightly different from the others; one eye had a crystal-like lens over it, which flickered inconspicuously with light.

This was Little Mike's remote tech support.

Through the lens, Dean saw a string of blood-red letters: ZERO!

This meant that everyone at this Yamaguchi-gumi hideout had been eliminated.

Dean glanced down at his watch and waved his hand.

The group of gunmen, without a word, vanished from the Japanese-style courtyard.

Before leaving, a gun was 'accidentally' dropped on the ground.

On it were the fingerprints of a minor gang leader who had once clashed with the Yamaguchi-gumi and had narrowly escaped.

That leader was already dead.

But his fingerprints would become the primary lead in the investigation of this attack.

Whether they liked it or not, Dean believed that under diplomatic pressure, officials in Los Angeles would cooperate. They would ultimately attribute today's actions to a simple gang shootout, offering some lackluster platitudes about maintaining public order. And just like that, on the surface, the matter would be concluded.

The breeze blew.

Pink cherry blossom petals drifted down amidst the scarlet on the ground, their color luridly beautiful...

...

This scene was merely a beginning.

Not the end.

Dean's convoy passed a group of police cars with flashing lights, heading for the suburbs.

Perhaps to assert their status, or perhaps for privacy and security, the principal members of a few minor Japanese families all lived in Japanese-style courtyards built in the suburbs. These residences were protected day and night by professional security guards leading specially trained dogs on patrol.