With their combined attack, the heavy wooden door was violently kicked in, and an ear-splitting sound echoed.
Once the obstacle disappeared, the basement instantly appeared before them.
Under the dim light of an oil lamp, Billson sat on an old sofa with a lit cigar in his mouth, frozen in shock and disbelief.
Emily Collins, who had been sitting beside him, jumped up from the opposite side of the sofa like a startled rabbit and let out a scream.
She was wearing a dress that wasn't flashy but was clean and neat—completely out of place in the dusty basement.
After a brief silence, Billson was the first to react.
Almost instinctively, he reached for his waist, pulled out a gleaming revolver, and aimed its black muzzle straight at the two people standing in the doorway.
"Don't move!"
Billson roared. His voice was hoarse, filled with violence, like a beast driven to the brink of despair.
Seeing this, Russell quickly swept his gaze between Emily and Billson before taking action.
Before Charlotte could react, he dashed off to the side.
Billson was in an extremely tense state. The moment Russell moved, he immediately aimed the gun at him.
This was exactly what he had wanted.
Since Russell was confident he could dodge the attack, all he had to do was keep Billson's attention on himself.
This would give Charlotte the opportunity to launch a surprise attack.
And things proceeded exactly as he had predicted.
"BANG!"
A sharp gunshot rang out in the basement, and sparks flew everywhere.
The bullet shot out of the barrel with a whistling sound, tracing a deadly arc through the dim basement.
But that bullet, powerful enough to tear through flesh, missed its target.
Russell's reaction was faster than Billson had expected—perhaps even too fast.
A split second before the trigger was pulled, Russell rolled to the side as if he had anticipated it.
The bullet grazed the hem of his clothes and embedded itself deeply in the wall behind him.
The moment Russell dodged the attack, he braced himself with one hand on the ground, regained his balance, and leaped up, charging toward Billson like an arrow.
Charlotte first glanced at Russell to confirm he was unharmed, then turned her sharp gaze away.
While Billson's attention was still on Russell, Charlotte approached him and was instantly right in front of him.
The distance between them shrank dramatically in an instant.
Billson's expression changed slightly. Clearly, he hadn't expected these two young people who had dared to break in to be opponents he couldn't underestimate.
He instinctively took a step back and raised his arm as if to attack Charlotte, who was armed.
"Who the hell are you?!"
He asked with a furrowed brow.
"Just a passing detective."
Charlotte said this and raised her cane.
But just as the trigger was about to be pulled, Russell's figure had already appeared.
He leaped from the sofa, clenched his right fist, and slammed it hard into Billson's cheek.
"BANG!"
With a dull thud, Billson toppled sideways, and his weapon slipped from his hand.
Billson was knocked back, spitting out blood-mixed saliva.
He panted heavily, enduring unbearable pain, and stared at Russell as if he wanted to devour him alive.
"You forced me to do this."
He growled and pulled out a gleaming short knife from his waist, gripping it in his other hand.
Seeing this, Charlotte furrowed her brows.
"Military combat techniques."
She said in a voice that echoed through the basement. "Be careful, Russell."
"I know."
Russell responded and entered a combat stance himself.
Billson said nothing more. Gripping the dagger, he charged straight at Russell.
The blade drew a cold arc under the dim streetlight, aiming directly for Russell's vital points.
Russell dodged to the side and struck Billson's side hard with his elbow.
Billson groaned in pain, but his attack didn't stop.
Gritting his teeth, he used the momentum of his turn to draw a clever upward arc with the short knife, aiming for Russell's abdomen.
But at that decisive moment, a black cane shadow appeared from the side like a whistle, striking Billson's wrist with perfect accuracy.
Another dull thud rang out, and Billson nearly dropped the dagger.
He clenched his fist and, relying on his military experience and instincts honed from years of living on the edge of life and death, quickly regained his balance.
First, he dodged Charlotte's sweeping attack, grabbed the cane, and used his overwhelming strength advantage to pull Charlotte toward him while simultaneously thrusting the short knife with his other hand.
Seeing this, Charlotte let go without hesitation, allowed the weapon to be taken, and pulled back to avoid a potentially fatal blow.
The cold tip of the blade grazed her chin and caught a lock of her hair, cutting it off.
Charlotte's pupils contracted slightly, but there was no fear on her face.
Billson noticed his attack had missed and tried to follow up, but Russell appeared from the side and interfered with his pursuit.
In the narrow basement, the three engaged in a chaotic melee. Billson fought with weapons in both hands, swinging them in wide arcs, giving the other two no openings.
His skill was better than expected, and with the advantage of weapons, he was barely able to hold his own even in a two-on-one situation and even managed to launch effective counterattacks.
But two fists can never win against four hands.
During one encounter, Russell took advantage of Billson's attention being focused on Charlotte and kicked the back of Billson's knee.
Billson lost his balance from the kick and was forced to drop to one knee on the ground, interrupting his attack and tilting to the side.
Russell didn't stop moving. He advanced further and grabbed Billson's wrist with his left hand.
Just as he was about to strike the back of Billson's neck to incapacitate him, he suddenly heard hurried footsteps.
And Charlotte's anxious shout:
"Russell, get out of the way!"
Russell instinctively looked to the side and saw a slender figure running toward him from the side.
Emily Collins.
The woman had been ignored by them from the start, like a background character.
At that moment, Emily Collins was holding a wine bottle in her hand, her face filled with terror and madness.
Her eyes were wide open, her eye sockets swollen and red, and her body was trembling.
It wasn't from anger, but from fear and despair.
She understood what she was doing and what it meant, but she no longer cared.
If Billson was caught, there was only one fate waiting for her.
She had harbored a wanted criminal who was Billson's accomplice.
Regardless of whether Hannigan's death was related, she couldn't escape responsibility.
That kind of thing—that kind of thing absolutely cannot be forgiven!
So she let out a scream and swung the bottle with all her strength, smashing it hard against the back of Russell's head.
"Let him go!"
…
…
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