145: Chapter 145 The Godfather's Twilight

Beneath this layer of flesh, the heart was making its last few weak beats, the frequency so low it sounded like beating a broken drum.

"Boss, he is dead for sure."

Nightingale walked over, looked down at the old man on the ground, and rested her hand on the edge of her tactical vest.

Chen Mo didn't speak.

He was waiting for the countdown to pop up from the system.

[Detected dying target: Legendary Gambler The Listener Antonio.]

[Extracting entry...]

"Carry him to the lounge in the back; don't let this pool of blood stain the carpet."

Chen Mo looked up and ordered.

Several veterans from Legacy Defense quickly gathered around and deftly loaded The Listener Antonio onto a stretcher.

The door to the main hall was closed, shutting out the noise.

Chen Mo followed into the inner room and locked the door behind him.

The Listener Antonio twitched one last time, a wheezing sound escaping his throat.

[Extraction complete!]

[Obtained purple skill entry: Super Hearing.]

[Obtained blue skill entry: Voiceprint Memory Palace.]

A wave of cold air snaked from Chen Mo's palm into his brain.

In that second, the world changed.

The previously sealed lounge was suddenly filled with countless sounds.

The rustling of security guards' boots against the carpet in the hallway next door.

The buzzing of fan blades spinning in the ceiling ventilation ducts.

Even Nightingale standing outside the door—her steady breathing and the rhythm of her heartbeat—seemed amplified dozens of times in Chen Mo's ears.

He rubbed his ears, feeling his eardrums vibrating violently.

It was a strange feeling, as if the entire Olympus casino had turned into a transparent resonance box.

Chen Mo stood up, pushed open the door, and walked into the hallway.

He closed his eyes and focused his attention to the front left.

Three hundred meters away, in the first-floor lobby.

A gambler was vigorously rubbing his chips, the sound of his fingernails scraping against the plastic edges crisp and distinct.

He was cursing Rogers in his mind, his breathing short and impatient.

Chen Mo pushed his perception even deeper.

The foundation.

Behind those thick concrete walls.

"Ding—"

An extremely faint sound of electrical current sparking stood out amidst the dozens of other noisy sounds.

Chen Mo's pupils constricted.

The sound was rhythmic, with a fixed frequency of once per second.

"Boss, what's wrong?"

Nightingale noticed Chen Mo's abnormality and took a step closer, the scent of gunpowder and leather on her drifting into Chen Mo's nostrils.

"Everyone, evacuate the first-floor lobby immediately."

Chen Mo's tone was steady, his eyes fixed on the floor beneath his feet.

"Reason?"

Nightingale paused, her right hand instinctively gripping the glock at her waist.

"There's a timer underground, and the sound of electrical current activating a detonator."

Chen Mo pointed toward the location of the load-bearing wall.

"Rogers wants to turn this place into the real ruins of Olympus."

Nightingale didn't question him; she turned and shouted into her headset: "All squads, attention! Execute S-level evacuation protocol! Immediately! Right now!"

A low alarm sounded throughout the casino.

Chen Mo didn't move; following that faint electrical sound, he strode toward the secret door leading to the basement.

That frequency became clearer and clearer.

"Zzz—beep—"

That was the sound of an old-fashioned electronic timer.

Chen Mo kicked open the door to the underground power room; the air was filled with the smell of machine oil and dust.

Amidst the intricate cables, a black briefcase was taped to the main transformer.

The red numbers on the LCD screen were flickering frantically.

02:45.

02:44.

"Boss, let me handle it."

A veteran responsible for demolition rushed in, holding pliers and a detector.

"No need, it's here."

Chen Mo reached out and pointed to a hidden wire on the side of the briefcase.

"I can hear which path the current is taking."

In that messy tangle of wiring, he precisely captured the low-frequency cicada-like buzzing coming from that wire.

"Cut the blue one; it's connected to the second set of backup detonators."

The veteran was sweating profusely; he glanced at Chen Mo and decisively cut it.

The timer screen flickered twice, and the numbers froze at 01:12.

The sound of electricity vanished completely.

Chen Mo exhaled a breath of stale air; the noise in his ears made him a bit dizzy.

He grabbed the heavy briefcase and turned toward the exit.

"Boss, where are you going?"

Nightingale followed behind, her eyelids twitching as she watched Chen Mo carrying the bomb.

"Since Rogers sent this gift, I have to return it personally."

Chen Mo walked out the door of the Olympus casino.

The night was deep, and the neon lights of Las Vegas were still flickering.

The distant "Godfather Palace" casino was brightly lit, like a golden beast crouching in the desert.

Chen Mo threw the briefcase into the passenger seat of the SUV and got in alone.

"You all stay here and clear out the remaining scouts."

"But..."

Nightingale wanted to get in the car, but Chen Mo stopped her with a single look.

"Alone, less noise."

Chen Mo stepped on the gas, the Wrangler let out a low roar and rushed toward the end of the Strip.

He put on his headphones and turned the power of [Super Hearing] to the maximum.

The Godfather Palace, three kilometers away.

He heard countless rapid heartbeats.

And the metallic clatter of bolts being pulled back.

That sound extended from the front gate all the way to the roof.

Rogers had staked all his chips on tonight.

Chen Mo gripped the steering wheel, the veins on the back of his hands bulging.

He could hear Rogers furiously smashing a wine glass on the top floor of the Godfather Palace.

The sound of the glass shattering was crisp, followed immediately by Rogers' roar:

"Is that bastard dead yet! Why hasn't Olympus been blown to smithereens!"

Chen Mo turned off the stereo, a cold sneer hanging on the corner of his mouth.

"Rogers, I've brought your coffin."

The SUV sped along the wide road.

At the entrance of the Godfather Palace, over a hundred gunmen in black suits were waiting in battle formation.

They held Chicago Typewriters or MP5s, staring greedily at the intersection.

The air here was thick with the scent of gunpowder.

Chen Mo stopped the car two hundred meters away from the gate.

Carrying the black briefcase, he slowly pushed open the car door.

His boots stepped onto the asphalt road, making a dull sound.

"There he is!"

Someone shouted, and dozens of flashlight beams instantly locked onto Chen Mo.

"Just one person? Is he crazy?"

"Take him out! Mr. Rogers said whoever gets his head gets a ten-million bounty!"

Chen Mo ignored the commotion.

He closed his eyes and his ears twitched slightly.

One hundred and twenty-three people.

Three hidden in the bushes on the left, five snipers lying in ambush on the second-floor balcony.

He even had a clear shooting diagram mapped out in his mind, down to the pressure of their fingers on the triggers.

Chen Mo walked with steady steps, carrying the bomb.

He could even hear Rogers on the top floor, observing the scene through binoculars, his breathing as rapid as if he had asthma.

"Fire! Kill him!"

Rogers' roar echoed across the plaza through a loudspeaker.

Gunfire instantly tore through the night.

Chen Mo didn't move.

He was listening.

He was listening to the trajectories of the bullets slicing through the air.

The sound was like a violent symphony.

But to him, every note was traceable.

He turned sideways, and a bullet grazed his shoulder, bringing with it a wave of heat.

With another sliding step, three shots nailed into the concrete behind his feet.

Chen Mo's movements weren't fast, but they carried an eerie sense of rhythm.

He wove through the hail of bullets, the bomb case in his hand as steady as if it were filled with water.

The gunmen were stunned.

"Fuck! Is he a ghost?"

"Can't hit him! Can't hit him at all!"

Chen Mo looked up at the top floor of the Godfather Palace.

He could hear, amidst the dense gunfire, one faintest sound.

It was the sound of Rogers' molars crushing his cigar.

"So noisy."

Chen Mo pulled two large-caliber pistols from his coat.

His fingers were long, and his action of pulling the triggers was terrifyingly steady.

[Gun Kata] combined with [Super Hearing].

This was no longer a game; this was a harvest.

"Bang!"

The point man in the bushes on the left didn't even have time to scream before a bloody hole appeared in his forehead.

"Bang! Bang!"

The muzzle flashes on the second-floor balcony were instantly extinguished; two snipers flipped over the railing and crashed heavily into the fountain.

Chen Mo approached the marble steps of the Godfather Palace step by step.

Those ruthless thugs who usually killed without blinking were now starting to back away.

The greed in their eyes was overshadowed by fear.

The man before them, carrying a box that could explode at any moment, hadn't even ruffled his clothes while under the siege of hundreds of guns.

This was simply not something a human could do.

"Come on."

Chen Mo stopped, holding the briefcase up to his chest; his voice wasn't loud, but it reached everyone's ears precisely.

"Let's see who dies first."

The plaza suddenly went quiet.

Only the heavy breathing of the gunmen remained.

And the dismantled timer, still ticking faintly in Chen Mo's pocket.

Tick.

Tick.

Behind the revolving door of the Godfather Palace, Rogers' last line of defense was collapsing.

Chen Mo stepped onto the stairs, and the marble cracked.

He stared at the door, a flash of purple light in his eyes.

"Rogers, it's time to collect the bodies."