Chapter 172: Ocean shot.

Finally, the bar doors swung open. Ocean stumbled out into the cool night air, swaying side to side like a flag as he sang some off-key drunk song. He looked completely plastered.

"This is our chance! He’s alone!" Lincoln whispered to Rocket, his eyes lighting up in the dark. "Simba wasn’t lying when he said Ocean can’t hold his liquor to save his life. The alcohol’s practically doing our job for us!"

"Hold your horses," Rocket muttered, pulling Lincoln back by his collar.

Suddenly, the heavy doors burst open again. A noisy group poured out into the night__ Ocean’s companions, laughing and arguing loudly. Rocket quickly raised his phone, snapped a few pictures of the group, and sent them straight to Achilles.

Ocean’s crew began staggering down the empty path toward the Havana Hotel, their temporary lodge in Greenwich.

"If we lose him now, we might never get another chance," Lincoln hissed, fidgeting with his dagger. "The guy’s practically floating on wine vapor right now! We move now or lose him forever."

Rocket’s phone vibrated, he looked down at the screen. A new message had just popped up. His face hardened. "Boss just sent a new order. Take Ocean out. No risky loose ends."

Bullet grinned__ a slow, lethal stretch of his lips. He put down the knife he was using to chop pig liver and reached for the lower part of the cart which should have contained spices. Instead, it had his machine gun. With a crisp clack, he pulled off the metal casing, revealing a sleek, dark barrel engraved with blue marks. "Time to work," He murmured.

He didn’t just fire; he unleashed a bullet storm, which was one of the reasons why everyone called him bullet. A single bullet was never enough for him. The man had to leave his target riddled with bullet holes in every part of the body before getting satisfaction.

Sparks erupted into the cool night air as Bullet opened fire on Ocean’s group. The opponents weren’t prepared for this kind of explosive heat in the middle of the town. Orange muzzles flashed, casting violent shadows against the bar walls, and the thunderous blasts shattered the quiet night.

"Ambush! Get down!" Job screamed as he pulled Ian back into the bar.

Rocket threw smoke canisters at them. Chaos exploded in the street. The few pedestrians outside dived behind overturned wooden carts or simply fell to the ground. Vendors abandoned their stall goods, and screams echoed down the alleyways. Whistles for help were blown.

Bullet wasn’t just spraying aimlessly__ he was an absolute grandmaster behind the barrel. Even while pretending to shoot randomly to panic the crowd, every single round had a precise trajectory.

He tracked Ocean’s wobbly frame through the smoke and chaos.

Three high-velocity rounds pierced Ocean’s chest, killing the alcohol high instantly. Before Ocean could even think of diving, five more bullets slammed into his head, tearing off chunks of the skull and hair, before he collapsed into a lifeless unrecognizable heap.

Garon caught a stray round straight through the neck and he lay beside Ocean, gasping for air.

"Target confirmed dead!" Bullet called out, snapping the cover back onto his weapon with effortless flare. "Move out!" ℯℯ𝑙.

They released more smoke canisters, fogging up the street to an unnecessary degree. Before the smoke could even clear, they vanished into the shadows like ghosts, leaving only utter panic behind.

Five minutes after the deafening gunfire finally stopped, a heavy, suffocating silence was still ruling the street. People were too scared to move. Sheila Blue was the first to dare. She rushed forward, dropping to her knees beside the fallen men. She pressed two fingers to Garon’s neck__nothing. She turned to Ocean, her face pale as she checked his pulse.

There were at least eight gaping bullet holes in the man’s body. He was as dead as a stone.

"Damn it! DAMN IT!" Sheila shouted angrily, punching the dirt floor. Looking at the corpse, it was blindingly obvious: Ocean was the primary target, and poor Garon was just collateral damage caught in the crossfire. When last she saw him, he was trying to pull Ocean out of the line of fire. Perhaps, it was the reason for his death.

"Find them!" Sheila barked at her remaining men, her voice trembling with fury. "Search every alley! Nobody fires that many rounds and just disappears quietly!"

Her men scrambled in all directions, but it was completely pointless. There wasn’t a single trace, drop of blood, or footstep left by the shooters. To make matters worse, the local street vendors had long fled for their lives, abandoning their stalls. And there was no evidence, because the shell casings had melted into the street somehow.

"There are no witnesses, Boss," Fungus reported nervously, wiping cold sweat from his forehead. "And__ well, this is a small border town. There aren’t any surveillance cameras around here."

Sheila bent over, clutching her head in absolute frustration. "A dead end__ A complete dead end!"

Job walked up slowly, hands folded behind his back. He stared down at Ocean’s bloody face and scoffed, showing zero sympathy.

"I never liked this guy from the start," Job said coldly, kicking a tiny pebble off Ocean’s boot. "He was loud, arrogant, and drank too much, I could tell that he was trouble. But we have a big problem now."

Sheila looked up, her eyes sharp. "The mayor knowing about this?"

"No, Ocean was the only one who actually saw the secret map," Job pointed out, raising an eyebrow. "Now that map is buried six feet under with his brain."

Sheila inhaled loudly, holding the cold air in her lungs before exhaling a long, weary sigh. She pinched the bridge of her nose to stop a headache from forming. "Fine. It doesn’t matter. We need to find that girl first, then we worry about the map."

Job nodded. "Agreed. Next stop: Zenith Republic."

Sheila blinked, caught off guard. "Wait, Zenith Republic? But before Ocean died, he swore the girl was hiding deep inside the Wild Lands!"

"And you trust the word of a dead drunkard?" Job snorted, shaking his head. He stepped forward, his posture leaving no room for argument as he asserted his authority. "I’m in charge, Sheila. We go to Zenith."

Sheila opened her mouth to argue but stopped herself. As much as she hated to admit it, Job’s logic made sense. The Zenith Republic was famous for its dense, ancient forests and jagged terrain__ a landscape packed with a thousand natural hiding spots for a Soul maiden on the run. If you wanted to vanish off the face of the earth, that was the other place to do it.

"Pack the gear," Sheila ordered her men, kicking a loose wooden board in annoyance. "We head for Zenith at dawn."

Job looked at her like she was crazy. "We go now." He motioned at Ian to move.

Ian nodded multiple times, this was the second time he was seeing someone get shot. I want out! He thought to himself.