Chapter Nineteen: I Have Won

Page (1/3)

There had just been four gunshots in total, and everyone nearby heard them clearly, including the three people Mulan had been watching earlier. The woman with the boy and girl turned to look in the direction of the gunfire, curiosity written on her face—Valentine didn’t seem as peaceful as expected.

“Sister, was that gunfire just now?”

The boy peered around, unable to contain his question; the girl, though silent, was equally intrigued.

The woman nodded.

“Yes, judging by the sound, the first shot was from a Siegfried rifle, the next three from the classic Gruhn revolver. Well, the gunshots aren’t meaningful; keep teaching me that melody.”

“Sister, I’m scared of that song…” “Me too…”

“No worries, we’re on land—they don’t dare come ashore. If the sirens are drawn in, all the better; I’d like to hear them sing.” She moved onward with the two youths, paying no heed to the distant gunfire. Meanwhile, at the house where the shootout occurred, passersby had already discovered the murdered homeowner, their cries of shock echoing.

Mulan was exhilarated; danger had indeed been close, but now was his chance. Compared to the desperate situation when he’d first been attacked, the balance of power had shifted—Mulan now held the advantage over the killer.

He chased, extracting three bullets from his pocket. With a flick, the revolver’s cylinder popped open; the bullets slid smoothly into the chambers, the cylinder snapped back, and his feet never stopped moving.

Mulan knew pursuing such an opponent was perilous, but the thrill was undeniable. He also understood today was an opportunity for his adversary—one the killer had failed to seize, leaving it in Mulan’s hands.

The fleeing attacker was equally tense, his arm still wounded, a fresh bullet lodged in his leg. Though his speed hadn’t slowed, he dared not relax for a moment; his opponent’s marksmanship exceeded all expectation.

The sound of water being stirred grew closer—Mulan had plunged into an alley. The attacker reached the alley’s mouth, glimpsing Mulan’s cold eyes through a window across the street.

With a crash, the attacker dove through the window, shattering it and entering the house. Mulan paused, then pursued swiftly.

As Mulan approached the broken window, suspecting the killer might try escaping through another house, gunfire erupted from within the shadows.

Bang, bang, bang—

Three shots in quick succession; even Mulan, on guard, had no time for a perfect reaction. Bullets whizzed past, one grazing his cheek and drawing blood.

A scream rang out from inside, halting Mulan’s aim—close, from an innocent resident. Window-jumping noises followed, but Mulan didn’t stick to the original path; instead, he turned, chasing through another alley.

Night descended quickly. The chase continued, the attacker relentless, Mulan refusing to give up. No swords or blades this time—just guns and bullets.

Both men moved swiftly; gunshots stirred several neighborhoods, finally alerting Valentine’s police force. But they couldn’t match Mulan or the criminal’s pace, forced to chase after sporadic gunfire and eyewitness reports.

The pursuit lasted nearly half an hour. Mulan avoided civilians, but the killer did not—deliberately targeting or using them as shields to delay. Six or seven civilians had already been killed or wounded.

Page (2/3)

But Mulan would not be deterred. He knew that letting such a savage go, even out of momentary hesitation, would lead to even more heinous acts—and threaten himself and his family.

Mulan’s stamina was nearly spent. Though his physical strength had improved recently, it still paled in comparison to the psychopath’s. He gambled that his foe too was nearing collapse—after all, the man was already wounded, now shot in the leg, and in this high-intensity struggle, there was no time to treat injuries; he must be losing blood rapidly.

Mulan’s guess was close to the truth. The attacker tensed his muscles to staunch the bleeding, but blood continued to seep. His face was pale, on the verge of collapse, yet his expression was disturbingly manic.

The attacker barged into a house with an open door, immediately slamming it shut. As the mistress was about to scream, he shoved the barrel of his gun into her mouth.

Mulan arrived outside, pressing his back to the wall, breathing heavily and listening for any sound within, wary of rushing in—he sensed those inside were at their limit.

“Mulan Jonst, admit it—we’re the same kind. We crave excitement, pursue strength, and delight in the thrill of killing!”

Inside, the attacker gripped the mistress’s throat with his left hand, smashing the butt of his gun against the head of the master who tried to ambush him with a club, sending the man staggering and collapsing.

The mistress sobbed; Mulan made no reply.

“Mulan, I know how to find strength. I have clues. I can tell you how to transcend human limits—aren’t you tempted?”

Mulan steadied his breath, calling out from the doorway.

“Of course I’m tempted—but you can’t even face me, yet you claim to know how to transcend limits?”

At that moment, Valentine’s police approached from afar. Mulan recognized a couple of familiar faces and gestured for them to split up and surround the back of the house.

“Hahahaha… Mulan Jonst, can’t you see my physical strength far surpasses yours? You, a mere mortal, have reached your limit, but I can go further! If you believe me, we can step into the realm of the extraordinary—no one in this world can stop us!”

‘Idiot!’ Mulan cursed inwardly, strategizing—he hoped to avoid harm to the innocent inside.

“I’ll forego my gun, you do the same. Let’s duel with sword and blade—show me just how strong you are. You’re wounded in both hand and foot—can you really defeat me?”

Surprised by Mulan’s proposal, the attacker grinned, a hint of madness in his smile.

“Nice suggestion—but I don’t trust you.”

With that, he drew a boning knife and slit the throat of his hostage, then dashed upstairs.

The moment he heard the mistress fall, Mulan knew things were bad. He kicked open the door, finding the woman lying in a pool of blood.

“Get a doctor!” Mulan shouted to Valentine’s officers behind him, then bolted upstairs. Sounds of a window opening came from the attic. Mulan, burning with rage, pursued without hesitation—this bastard had to die tonight!

Just before reaching the attic, Mulan’s peripheral vision caught strange, shadowy shapes moving along the stairwell wall. They seemed to flow like inky water, seeping from the attic doorway.

Page (3/3)

He didn’t understand what these eerie shadows were, but instinctively sensed a connection to the psychopath—the killer hadn’t escaped through the attic to the roof, but was waiting in ambush!

Without hesitation, Mulan fired into the corner.

Bang, bang, bang—

The powerful bullets pierced the wall; a muffled groan sounded from behind. Footsteps hurried toward the open window, and Mulan followed.

Bang, bang, bang—

As soon as Mulan entered the attic, three shots came his way. One bullet struck his revolver with a metallic clang, sending it flying from his hand, bouncing off the wall and landing on the floor.

Yet Mulan didn’t pause. He crouched low, surging forward, drawing the silver blade from his cane and thrusting at his opponent.

The distance from the attic door to the window was only three or four meters—the attacker had no time for a fourth shot. Mulan’s sword pierced his gun hand, forcing the black pistol from his grip. The killer reacted instantly, gripping the blade tightly, raising the boning knife with his left hand.

Mulan’s right hand regained feeling; enduring the pain, he seized the killer’s right hand, denying him the chance to swing the knife. With a powerful kick, he struck the attacker’s left wrist, sending the knife flying.

Victory!

The thought surged in Mulan’s mind. He seized the attacker’s arm and, in one fluid motion, threw him hard into the attic.

Crash—

His opponent, already at his limit, slammed into the wall and collapsed in a corner. Mulan, nearly certain, immediately crouched to reach for the black pistol on the floor.

But as his fingers closed around the gun, he froze.

His opponent, battered and wretched, had already leveled a pistol at Mulan—his own service weapon—while Mulan’s hand was only halfway raised.

“Hah, cough, ugh… hah, hah… Mulan Jonst, hehehe… so, I win after all!”

But in the next instant, blood dribbled from the killer’s lips, his smile stiffened, pupils dilated in disbelief as he glanced at his hand.

The trigger—wouldn’t budge!

Bang—

A shot rang out. The killer’s face was frozen in its final expression. Smoke curled from Mulan’s pistol as he slowly stood and walked over to the corpse, a fresh hole in its forehead.

“I’m the one who won!”