108: Chapter 108 A Feast at Hongmen? I Led a Team of Tyrants to the Feast

The night rain in Long Island, carrying the salty, fishy scent of the Atlantic, silently soaked the ancient stone walls of the Sagamore Hill estate.

This estate had witnessed a century of America's rise and fall.

Every crack in the brick and stone was filled with money, political schemes, and those disobedient souls who had been quietly erased. This was a forbidden zone of power, a holy ground that even the President had to make an appointment to step into.

But tonight, the tranquility here was brutally torn apart.

"Rumble—"

The dull roar of engines drowned out the sound of the rain.

Ten full-sized bulletproof cadillacs, like a pack of black beasts intruding on their territory, arrogantly crushed the meticulously manicured lawn, their headlights piercing the century-old gloom of the estate.

The motorcade stopped in front of the castle's massive oak doors.

They did not turn off their engines.

The idling sound of the engines converged, like a giant beast growling in a low voice.

Alfred stood on the steps at the entrance.

His left arm was in a cast, hanging from his chest—a "souvenir" left behind by Chen Yuan's casual pat yesterday. At this moment, his face was so gloomy it could drip water, and in the shadows behind him, dozens of heavily armed enhanced bodyguards were staring fixedly at the motorcade, their fingers hooked on the triggers, their knuckles turning white.

"Click."

The door of the middle car opened.

Chen Yuan stepped out.

He did not use an umbrella. He let the fine rain fall on his trench coat, coating the expensive fabric with a cold layer of water. He adjusted his gloves, raised his head, and his gaze passed over the butler, looking directly at the castle that seemed like a giant beast.

"Is this how Rockefeller treats guests?"

Chen Yuan smiled, his tone flippant, "There is not even anyone to hold an umbrella. It seems the oil tycoon's home is not as wealthy as I imagined."

Alfred's cheek twitched.

"Mr. Chen, the master only invited you alone."

The old butler stepped forward, trying to block Chen Yuan's path with his intact right hand, his voice cold and hard, "Your... entourage must remain outside."

"Entourage?"

Chen Yuan stopped, as if he had heard a joke.

He turned sideways and snapped his fingers at the motorcade behind him.

"Snap."

This sound was not loud in the rainy night, but it was like an irresistible decree.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The doors of all ten cars popped open simultaneously.

Immediately after, a heart-palpitating, heavy landing sound rang out. It was the sound of specially made tactical leather boots crushing the stone slabs, uniform like the echo of a single person.

Ten figures walked out from the rain curtain.

They were wearing identical black suits. But they were clearly extra-large custom-made versions, as every inch of fabric was stretched tight by the rock-like bulging muscles underneath, as if they would burst at any moment.

They wore sunglasses, their bald heads glistening with a blue-gray sheen in the rain.

At two meters twenty in height, they looked like moving city walls.

T-103 Mass-Produced Tyrant.

But unlike the roughness of the battlefield, tonight, they had been carefully "dressed up" by Chen Yuan. Dressed in suits and leather shoes, with straight ties, and even professional tactical headsets stuffed into their ear canals.

Apart from that suffocating, inhuman sense of oppression, they looked like top-tier special security bodyguards.

"Alfred."

Chen Yuan reached out to help the old butler straighten his bowtie, which had been dampened by the rain. His movements were gentle, but his eyes were mocking.

"You misunderstood. They are not an entourage."

"They are my... 'sense of security'."

"You know, I have severe 'separation anxiety'. If I let them leave me for more than ten meters, they will become..."

Chen Yuan pointed to the Tyrants' arms, which were thicker than a normal person's thighs, and a cruel arc curled at the corner of his mouth:

"Very irritable."

Alfred looked at the ten giants who were like gods of death, his throat too dry to speak.

As the butler of the Rockefeller Family, he had seen countless big scenes. He had seen Delta Force, he had seen genetically modified dead soldiers, and he had even seen heavy mechs hidden in the estate's basement.

But these things in front of him...

The dead, cold, lifeless smell emanating from them made him instinctively feel fear. That was not the aura a human should have; those were pure biological weapons.

"Move aside."

Chen Yuan ignored the stiff old man.

He stepped onto the stairs, with the ten Tyrants following closely behind.

That sense of oppression was like a black tsunami, forcibly pushing back the fierce-looking enhanced bodyguards at the door.

No one dared to shoot.

And no one dared to stop them.

The heavy door was pushed open.

A wave of warmth mixed with the scent of aged wood and expensive spices rushed towards them.

The castle's hall was large, large enough to feel somewhat empty.

Oil paintings of past heads of the Rockefeller Family hung on the walls, and the fire in the fireplace was burning brightly, illuminating the entire hall in a reddish glow.

A long dining table was placed in the center of the hall.

It was fully twenty meters long.

The dining table was covered with a pristine white tablecloth and set with silver candlesticks and exquisite porcelain.

And at the very end of the dining table sat an old man.

David Rockefeller.

This legendary figure who had lived for a century and controlled half the world's oil lifeline now looked like a withered mummy.

He was too old.

His skin was as loose as withered tree bark and covered with brown spots. Sparse white hair was plastered to his scalp, and his whole body was sunken into a huge wheelchair, with life-support tubes inserted all over him.

But his eyes.

In those turbid eyes, a chillingly sharp light still flickered, like a vulture circling above a corpse.

"Young man."

The old Rockefeller spoke.

His voice was hoarse and weak, but it echoed clearly in the empty hall through the microphone hidden in his collar.

"You are three minutes late."

This was a form of psychological pressure.

At Rockefeller's dining table, time was the rule, and rules were power. He was trying to use these insignificant three minutes to establish the master-servant relationship of this conversation.

However.

Chen Yuan did not show the slightest bit of apology, and did not even pause his footsteps.

He led the Tyrant Guard behind him and walked straight into the hall.

Those ten giants did not stop at the door, but followed Chen Yuan's pace and dispersed to both sides of the dining table.

They stood with their hands behind their backs, their eyes behind their sunglasses staring fixedly at the gunmen lurking in the shadows.

"Boss, Red Queen has detected high-energy reactions in the wall cavities."

Alice's voice sounded in the invisible earpiece, "At least twenty genetically enhanced soldiers, and... two automatic defense machine guns."

"Doesn't matter."

Chen Yuan replied in his heart.

He walked to the other end of the dining table.

There was no chair placed there.

This was clearly intentional. The old Rockefeller wanted him to stand while speaking, like a criminal awaiting judgment, or a humble seeker of an audience.

"Where is the chair?"

Chen Yuan looked at the empty end of the table and asked.

There was dead silence all around.

The servants and bodyguards standing in the shadows, not one dared to move. They were all waiting to see the joke of this young man, waiting to see him show embarrassment under such humiliation.

"In this estate."

The old Rockefeller coughed twice, a sinister smile appearing on his face, "Only those who understand the rules are qualified to sit down."

"Is that so?"

Chen Yuan also smiled.

He looked around, and his gaze landed on an antique high-backed chair placed by the fireplace, which was clearly for decoration.

That was an artifact from the Louis XIV period, worth a fortune.

He beckoned to the Tyrant closest to him.

"Go, help me move it over."

The Tyrant strode over, grabbed the heavy chair with one hand, just like grabbing a plastic stool.

"Bang!"

The chair was heavily thumped down at the end of the dining table.

Directly facing the old Rockefeller.

Chen Yuan unbuttoned his trench coat and sat down boldly. He even crossed his legs, leaned back, and found the most comfortable position.

"Sorry, old gentleman."

Chen Yuan looked at the old man opposite whose face instantly turned gloomy, took out a cigar case from his bosom, and cut a cigar in a leisurely manner.

"My legs are not very good, I get tired if I stand for too long."

"Besides."

"I think the rule that guests should follow the host only applies when... the host is still a person."

"Since you are almost turning into a specimen, shouldn't this rule be changed as well?"

"Snap."

The flame of the lighter flared up.

Chen Yuan took a deep breath, and pale blue smoke puffed out, swirling in the candlelight.

Across the long dining table, across the table of exquisite dishes, across the hundred-year gap of time.

He revealed a smile full of ambition and provocation toward that former King of the World:

"Speak, David."

"Did you call me here so late just to invite me to eat this... last supper of yours?"