146: Chapter 146 A One-Man Army

At the main entrance of the Godfather Palace, the wind whipped against the black suits, making them snap loudly.

Chen Mo stood right there.

He held a heavy pistol in each hand, and the suitcase that had run out of power lay at his feet.

The hundreds of people opposite him breathed in unison, sounding like a bellows.

"Open fire! What are you standing there for!"

Rogers's furious cursing came through the earpiece, making several minor bosses shrink their necks.

Chen Mo moved.

He didn't crouch, nor did he seek cover.

He just stared straight ahead, taking long, confident strides.

"Rat-tat-tat!"

Finally, someone couldn't bear the pressure and pulled the trigger.

Bullets flew over like a swarm of locusts.

Chen Mo's ears twitched violently.

He could hear the sound of the air being torn apart, and even the sound of bullets shattering as they struck the marble steps.

He lowered his shoulder, and the bullet grazed his earlobe.

Immediately after, his body performed an eerie pivot to the right, and three aimed shots missed him completely.

In the eyes of the gunmen, it was as if Chen Mo knew exactly where the bullets would fly in advance.

He strode through the net of fire, his posture as casual as a stroll in his own backyard.

"Bang!"

Chen Mo fired a shot with his left hand.

The machine gunner who was still frantically pulling the trigger fell backward.

The bullet penetrated his eye socket and drilled into the shoulder of the person behind him.

Blood splattered onto the ornate crystal chandelier, dripping down drop by drop.

"Stop him! Quickly, stop him!"

The Cleaners went mad, pouring all their firepower toward that gray figure.

Chen Mo kept walking.

He judged the psychological state of each enemy through sound.

The guy hiding behind the pillar had a heartbeat so fast it was about to burst.

The one reloading a magazine inside the gate had trembling fingers.

When Chen Mo was fifty meters away from the gate, he suddenly accelerated.

Like a gray bolt of lightning, he crashed straight into the crowd.

The gunfire became chaotic.

Chen Mo fired his dual pistols alternately, not needing to aim at all.

The subtle adjustments of [Gun Kata] combined with the predictions of [Super Hearing] made his every movement as precise as a machine.

"Snap!"

He used his gun barrel to break a gunman's neck, then used the momentum to leap.

In mid-air, he held both guns level.

"Bang, bang, bang, bang!"

A circle of muzzle flashes erupted around him.

When he landed, there wasn't a single person left standing within a five-meter radius.

The screams were drowned out by the subsequent gunfire.

Chen Mo carried his guns, stepping over the bodies that were still twitching.

The hem of his trench coat was stained with blood, appearing a dark brown under the lights.

The revolving door of the Godfather Palace was shattered by his kick.

Glass shards sprayed, cutting the faces of the two bodyguards behind it.

"Where is Rogers?"

Chen Mo asked, his voice very soft.

But the bodyguard, whose thigh had been shot through, felt as if needles were pricking his ears.

He pointed to the elevator, the fear in his eyes already solidified.

Chen Mo didn't take the elevator.

He walked toward the emergency exit, his steps extremely light, yet every step landed on the building's resonance point.

"Bang!"

Without turning his head, he fired a shot behind him.

An assassin who had tried to ambush him from the second floor tumbled down.

Chen Mo went up floor by floor.

Every floor had death squads arranged by Rogers.

But in Chen Mo's eyes, these people were like transparent.

He could hear them holding their breath behind the doors.

He could hear the click of their safeties being disengaged.

Even the subtle movement of sweat seeping from their palms making the grips slippery.

Third floor, cleared.

Fifth floor, the carpet soaked with blood.

When Chen Mo reached the tenth floor, one of the guns in his hands was empty.

He casually threw the empty gun on the floor and pulled out a brand-new, large-caliber revolver from behind his waist.

He stood before the door of the top-floor office.

It was eerily quiet here.

Chen Mo closed his eyes.

Behind the door, there were four people breathing.

One of them was very heavy, carrying the scent of cigars and the decrepitude of old age.

It was Rogers.

The other three were very light, their heart rates extremely steady—the rhythm of top-tier killers.

Chen Mo placed his hand on the doorknob.

"Rogers, have you finished watching the fireworks?"

He pushed the door open violently.

Three flashes of blades struck simultaneously.

They were three men in dark blue suits, holding short, clean combat knives.

They didn't use guns, because at this distance, a knife was more reliable than a bullet.

Chen Mo sidestepped, dodging the first blade.

His left hand lunged out, precisely gripping the second man's wrist.

"Snap!"

The sound of bones shattering.

Chen Mo snatched the knife and slashed back across the third man's throat.

Blood gushed out like a fountain, spraying onto the massive solid wood desk.

The remaining two killers froze for a second.

That second was enough for Chen Mo to fire.

"Bang! Bang!"

Two corpses collapsed onto the thick carpet without making much noise.

In the deepest part of the office, Carl Rogers sat in that huge leather chair.

He clutched an antique revolver, his hand trembling slightly.

"Chen... Chen Mo."

Rogers called out, his voice extremely hoarse.

Chen Mo walked over and pulled up a chair to sit down.

He slapped the yellowed ledger onto the table.

"Is this the lifeblood of your entire life?"

Chen Mo flipped open the first page and struck a match.

The flame danced on the edge of the ledger, quickly spreading.

Rogers's eyes widened; he wanted to pounce over, but was stopped by the dark muzzle of Chen Mo's gun pressed against his forehead.

"No! You can't burn it!"

Rogers roared, "That is the rule of Las Vegas! Without it, this city will fall into chaos!"

"The old rules are too dirty."

Chen Mo watched as the words recording the crimes turned to ash in the firelight.

"I don't like them."

The firelight reflected in Chen Mo's pupils, refracting a strange, eerie glow.

He could hear the sound of sirens approaching downstairs.

But he didn't care.

"Why did you burn it?"

Rogers looked at the pile of black ashes, soul-crushed.

"Because from today on, the new ledger will be written by me."

Chen Mo's voice echoed in the silent office.

He pulled the trigger.

"Bang!"

Rogers's body jerked backward, and a charred hole appeared between his eyebrows.

The antique revolver fell to the floor, spinning twice before stopping.

Chen Mo stood up, placing his palm on the top of Rogers's head, which was still emitting residual warmth.

A system notification sounded in his ears.

[Target confirmed dead: Godfather of the Gambling City, Carl Rogers.]

[Extractable Traits: Godfather's Majesty (Gold), Underground Order Network, Asset Halo (Upgraded)...]

Chen Mo closed his eyes, feeling an extremely vast energy pouring into his body through his palm.

Outside the Godfather Palace, the firelight illuminated half the sky.

Chen Mo walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.

He could hear Nightingale commanding the veterans to take over the stronghold a few kilometers away.

He could hear Jack frantically harvesting the short positions of the Rogers family over on Wall Street.

He could even hear Ava boarding a private plane in Los Angeles, rushing here.

The power map of the entire state of Nevada was completely redrawn at this moment by this gunshot.

Chen Mo put away his gun and straightened his slightly disheveled collar.

He looked back at the cold corpse.

"Time to collect the next one."

He pushed open the rear window of the office, his figure flickering and disappearing into the thick night.

Behind him, the top floor of the Godfather Palace began to burn.

The burning paper fragments flew wildly in the wind, like a delayed funeral rite.

In this land known as the Sin City, an old era had completely ended.

And Chen Mo was walking toward the next death scene.