Chapter 635 - 404: Wait… Master, Why Aren’t You Dead Yet!!_3

Chapter 635: Chapter 404: Wait... Master, Why Aren’t You Dead Yet!!_3

Qing Hu was one of their members, lying in ambush with the "Black Star Sniper Rifle" on the top floor of the building opposite Yingnan Tower.

His sniper scope was fixed on Lu Guangchen and Lu Guanghai.

Even if... even if the bomb failed, the sniper rifle could still remotely take out Lu Guanghai and Lu Guangchen, ensuring foolproof results.

This contingency was Wei Feng and his group’s final assurance of being able to sit back and relax in ambush here.

Sunk into the sofa, Wei Feng’s brows suddenly knitted tightly.

His bronze arms instantly bulged with muscles, veins writhing like pythons, as if containing the power of a volcano about to erupt.

He really disliked this feeling of things spiraling out of control.

"Hmph, they dare..."

Before he could finish speaking, Wei Feng seemed to catch something, sharply turning his head towards the outside, to the concrete ground shrouded in darkness.

Almost at the same time—

"Vroom—!!"

The roar of engines approached from afar, instantly shattering the night’s silence!

From all directions, a fleet of jet-black anti-terror armored cars violently rammed through the debris and rubble along the way.

Powerful spotlights on the roofs of the cars all "shwooed" on, weaving into a suffocating net of light, illuminating the entire ground floor of the abandoned building as if it were broad daylight!

"Don’t move! Drop all your weapons and get on the ground!"

"Assault team one, in position!"

"Sniper team has locked onto the target!"

The rapid and chaotic footsteps, accompanied by cold shouts, surged in from all sides.

Over a hundred elite guards in black tactical gear, their steely eyes showing beneath their helmets, emerged ghost-like from behind the armored cars.

Quickly forming a standard tactical formation, they completed the encirclement in an instant.

The dark muzzles of automatic rifles precisely aimed at the six in the sofa area.

Meanwhile, on the rooftops of several even taller abandoned buildings nearby.

More than a dozen fine infrared laser aiming beams simultaneously lit up, steadily targeting Wei Feng and his core subordinates’ foreheads and hearts.

Those were the lock-on marks of Barrett heavy sniper rifles, enough to tear them apart in an instant.

The situation was instantly reversed!

One word to describe it—no escape!

At this moment, the encirclement suddenly parted to the sides, leaving a narrow passage.

All gun barrels remained locked firmly on the five in the center, the air so heavy it seemed to drip with water.

Footsteps sounded, neither hurried nor slow, carrying a unique rhythm.

The newcomer was dressed in a somewhat faded gray traditional martial arts suit, their figure upright like a pine tree.

Though their temples were frosted white, and their face marked by the passage of years, their eyes were astonishingly bright, like an ancient well hiding thunderbolts, serene yet full of authority.

It was none other than Lu Yulong, the owner of the Ten Thousand Valleys Returning Flow Fist dojo.

He stood still, his gaze sweeping over the chaotic sofa area, passing over the five black-clad subordinates who were on high alert.

Finally, it fixed on the man at the center of the sofa, bared chest, muscles knotted.

Facing this situation enough to make any lawbreaker collapse.

Wei Feng showed no trace of panic on his face, instead, his lips curled into a brilliant, almost crazed joyous smile.

He spread his arms, as if embracing this imminent crisis, his voice loud, laced with undisguised sarcasm and deep-seated hatred:

"Master, after all these years, you’re still so vigorous and imposing!"

Wei Feng deliberately paused, each word seemed squeezed out from between clenched teeth, with a delight as if laced with venom.

"Why aren’t—you dead yet!"

With these words, the fingers of all the guards around, involuntarily tightened on their triggers.

The four subordinates instantly tensed up, like springs compressed to the extreme.

Lu Yulong showed no expression, merely looked at Wei Feng quietly, his gaze deep, seemingly penetrating fifteen years of time.

He saw the youth who once sweated profusely in the dojo, and the monster now consumed by hatred.