Chapter 531 - 7: Level Tax
"Very good." Carlos nodded, satisfied. He straightened his coat and glanced one last time at the tightly restrained boy, his gaze like one would inspect a piece of pre-packaged cargo.
"Take him away," Carlos ordered curtly. He turned and led the way out the door, his handkerchief once again covering his mouth and nose.
"Yes, sir!" Grove replied respectfully. He personally escorted the boy, following behind Carlos.
Before stepping through the iron door, he paused almost imperceptibly. He shot a quick, subtle glance at the two henchmen who remained in the room.
The two lean henchmen understood immediately, giving an imperceptible nod in return.
Only after watching Carlos and Grove disappear with the boy into the dim light of the corridor did they slowly turn around, expressions of viciousness and indifference spreading across their faces.
They picked up their short clubs and advanced step-by-step, cornering the fallen Uncle Scar and the terrified Ron.
However, just as one of the henchmen swung his club at Uncle Scar, Uncle Scar moved!
His coiled body shot up like a spring, dodging the club. With the fingers of his right hand held together like a spike, he jabbed with vicious precision from an awkward angle, straight for the henchman’s exposed throat!
"Argh—!"
The henchman let out a strangled cry. Intense pain and suffocation made his eyes bulge as he clutched his throat and staggered back.
Having landed the first blow, Uncle Scar didn’t pause for a second. Using the momentum from rising, he slammed a vicious shoulder tackle into the ribs of the other henchman, who was just about to bring his own club down on Ron.
THUD!
The muffled sound of bone striking bone was clearly audible.
"Fuck!"
The henchman grunted in pain. The force of the blow loosened his grip, and he staggered away.
"Ron! Do you want to fucking die?! Fight back!!"
Uncle Scar’s roar, like that of a wounded beast, pierced through the fear that had frozen Ron’s mind.
Ron shuddered, and the instinct to survive overwhelmed his fear.
He let out an inhuman shriek. His eyes, bloodshot and wild, resembled those of a cornered beast. With a backhand grip, he snatched a rusty iron spike from nearby and began smashing it wildly at the staggering henchman’s head!
CRACK!
The henchman screamed. Blood gushed from his forehead as he staggered backward.
But it wasn’t over.
Though in agony, the henchman whose throat Uncle Scar had struck was now utterly enraged. His eyes turned crimson. Roaring, he swung his club and lunged at Uncle Scar.
The one Ron had injured shook his head and wiped the blood from his face. His eyes filled with even greater venom as he too swung his club and rejoined the fight.
The small, filthy room had instantly transformed into a bloody gladiatorial arena.
There was no technique, only a primitive, life-or-death struggle.
Uncle Scar was a seasoned, vicious fighter, each of his moves aimed at a vital point. But he was older and already injured, his breathing unsteady.
A club whistled through the air toward him. He managed to twist aside, but it still grazed his shoulder, sending a searing pain through him.
The other henchman’s club swept violently at his legs. Uncle Scar stumbled backward, nearly falling over a pile of junk.
Ron, meanwhile, fought with nothing but the savage bravery born of terror. He swung the iron spike without any rhyme or reason, taking several blows from fists and clubs. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but he clung to one of the henchmen like a rabid dog, ramming him with his body and trying to bite him.
The clang of metal on metal, the sickening thud of blunt weapons on flesh, agonized screams, and ragged gasps filled the air, thick with the spreading stench of blood.
Seeing an opening, Uncle Scar lunged at the club-wielding henchman. He slammed his forehead into the man’s nose and drove his knee into his stomach at the same time.
Blood streamed from the henchman’s nose as he doubled over in pain. Uncle Scar seized the opportunity, snatching the club from his loosened grip and smashing it against the back of his head.
THUMP!
One henchman crumpled to the floor.
But Uncle Scar paid a price. The other henchman’s club struck him hard in the ribs. The intense pain made his vision darken, and his movements faltered for a moment.
Seeing this, Ron roared and lunged forward recklessly, grabbing the remaining henchman from behind and tackling him to the ground.
The two of them rolled and grappled in the blood and filth. Ron dug his fingers toward the man’s eyes and sank his teeth into his ear.
The henchman howled in pain. He dropped his club and began frantically pummeling the back of Ron’s head and neck with his fists.
Forcing himself to ignore the pain, Uncle Scar dragged the club forward. He aimed for the man’s exposed temple and brought the club down with all his remaining strength.
CRUNCH!
The sickening crunch of a fracturing skull was enough to make one’s skin crawl. The henchman’s struggles ceased instantly.
Uncle Scar slid down the cold wall to sit on the floor. His face was pale as a sheet, and cold sweat mixed with blood dripped from his chin.
One of his arms hung limply at his side. Sharp, stabbing pains shot through his ribs, and every breath was a fiery agony.
Ron knelt amidst the blood and corpses, his hands trembling. He stared blankly at his blood-soaked hands and tattered clothes as if his very soul had been torn from his body.
"...Wh... what do we do now?" After a long silence, Ron finally managed to squeeze the words from his throat. His voice was laced with tears and utter bewilderment as he looked up, pleading for an answer from Uncle Scar, who looked like he might pass out at any second.
Uncle Scar coughed a few times and spat out a thick glob of bloody phlegm. His eyes were weary but exceptionally clear, holding the grim resolve of a man with nothing left to lose. "What do we do? We run! Right now! Immediately!"
"Run?" Ron repeated numbly, his eyes growing even more bewildered and terrified. "Run where? To the other sectors? Can we even survive? We don’t have IDs... no money... we have nothing... They’ll hunt us down and kill us like rats..."
"And you think we’ll survive if we stay here?!" Uncle Scar’s voice rose sharply, tugging at his wounds and making him hiss in pain. But his glare only grew fiercer, sharper. "When Grove comes back and finds his men dead, do you think he’s going to listen to our explanations? Don’t you think Carlos and the master behind him will decide we’re just a couple of nobodies who know too much and need to be cleaned up? You think you’ll live to see tomorrow’s Sun?!"