Xiang Yu stared into the eyes of the Dragon Head with a resolute calm, no fear to be found. After facing his father in the real world, there was no one in these realms who could shake him. The Dragon Head moved closer, his steps slow and deliberate, a menacing smile playing on his lips. He nodded subtly to the men behind Xiang Yu, who immediately pressed down on Xiang Yu’s shoulders, forcing him to kneel. Xiang Yu did not resist; his gaze remained fixed on the Dragon Head, his expression stoic and unyielding.
With deliberate and controlled movements, the Dragon Head reached out and took a handgun from one of his henchmen. His fingers traced the cold metal, lingering over the contours as if reacquainting himself with an old friend. A quick flick of his wrist ejected the magazine, which he caught deftly in his other hand. He inspected the bullets inside, each one a harbinger of destruction. Satisfied, he slid the magazine back into the grip, the click echoing ominously in the stillness.
He pulled back the slide, the smooth mechanism almost silent, chambering the first round. His eyes, cold and calculating, peered down the barrel as he meticulously checked for any imperfections. Every detail mattered; precision was everything. Satisfied, he released the slide with a sharp snap, the gun now fully prepared.
He gripped the handle of the gun with a firm, unyielding grasp, his finger curling around the trigger, yet not applying pressure. The cold metal felt like an extension of his own will. He raised the weapon, pressing it against Xiang Yu’s forehead, the barrel digging into the skin, a silent promise of imminent death.
Xiang Yu, however, remained unfazed, his eyes locked onto old Han’s with a calm defiance. Even if his life in this world ended here he didn’t mind but as soon as the world restarted, he would hunt him down whether he was Han Xin’s father or not. He would deliver a slow and excruciating death as revenge.
The Dragon Head saw no fear in Xiang Yu’s eyes, only a steely resolve that puzzled him. Was this boy truly unafraid of death, or did he believe that he wouldn’t pull the trigger? The Dragon Head’s face remained an inscrutable mask, hiding his thoughts. "I gave you a chance to walk away," he said, his voice a low growl. "For years, you lived peacefully. So why come out and provoke me now?"
Xiang Yu did not reply. His expression was one of unrepentant determination as if he would make the same choices again without hesitation. He would still attack the Die clan and reclaim the twins from the shipping container. The Dragon Head found this stubborn resolve fascinating like a wolf cub refusing to back down. "You should have stayed off my radar," he continued, his tone a mix of frustration and admiration. "The triad’s business was no longer your concern."
He knew that Xiang Yu was great asset but he also understood that this troublemaker had to be dealt with. If not, Xiang Yu would only grow, becoming a greater threat. The Dragon Head’s grip tightened, his mind made up. This was a loose end that needed to be cut.
He gently squeezed the trigger, his finger poised to end a life, when a voice cut through the tension like a knife. "Father." He didn’t need to look; only one person would dare to interrupt him. Han Xin was the only one who had the courage to interfere. Han Xin stood by his father’s side, his expression impassive, a stark contrast to the charged atmosphere. "He is still useful," Han Xin stated, his voice calm and measured.
The grounds seemed to freeze, the air thick with anticipation as the Dragon Head and Xiang Yu locked eyes. The Dragon Head’s hand wavered, then slowly pulled away from the trigger. A smile, cold and calculating, spread across his face. "You are right," he conceded, his voice a low rumble. "He is still useful."
Without warning, the Dragon Head turned the gun towards the dishevelled man kneeling beside Xiang Yu. The shot rang out, echoing through the grounds. The man crumpled to the floor, blood seeping from his skull, yet none of the onlookers flinched. They had seen this too many times to be surprised.
The Dragon Head exhaled, a long, weary sigh. "I can’t stand disloyalty," he muttered, handing the gun back to his henchman. He wiped his hands meticulously with a handkerchief as if erasing the stain of betrayal. "Clean this up," he ordered, his voice devoid of emotion, before turning away, leaving the sprawling grounds to return to its uneasy silence.
Xiang Yu was hauled to his feet, his captors’ grips firm and unyielding. The Dragon Head waved his hand dismissively, signalling for them to take him away. "Treat Mr. Xiang to a nice meal by the pool," he commanded, his voice dripping with a mockery that was hard to miss.
As Xiang Yu turned to leave with the men, he fought the urge to glance back at Han Xin. The Divine Emperor’s instructions echoed in his mind. It was better this way, better that they didn’t get close like in the first world. Han Xin had forgotten everything, his heart and mind reset, but Xiang Yu remembered it all. He knew he would be the only one to suffer if they got closer.
When Xiang Yu and his escorts had moved a considerable distance away, Han Xin turned to his father. "We need more enforcers in the organization," he stated, his tone business like.
The Dragon Head picked up his shotgun, his aura cold and calculating. "Pull," he ordered. A clay pigeon soared into the sky, and with a swift, practised motion, he pulled the trigger. The pigeon shattered into pieces, raining down like confetti. Lowering the shotgun, he turned to his son. "Xin-er, he is a loose cannon," he said, reloading the weapon with two slugs.
Shi Wen, an old friend and close ally of the Dragon Head, stepped forward. "Old Xiang took a bullet for your father, which was his duty," he said, his voice gravelly with age and experience. "But that brat had the audacity to blame Old Han. If he is not dealt with, he will take the chance to kill your old man... a life for a life."
The other old men nodded in agreement, his expression grim. The Dragon Head’s eyes narrowed, his mind already calculating the next move.
He raised his shotgun again, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the distant target. "Pull," he commanded. A clay pigeon soared into the air, and he tracked its flight through the scope, the muzzle of the gun following its arc. With a thunderous bang, he shattered the pigeon into a cloud of dust and fragments. Lowering the shotgun, he turned to Han Xin, their eyes locking in a moment of silent understanding.