Ke Xue World: The Confrontation between Black and Red

"soon."

Karasuma Renye reassured.

Although it was just two words, this sentence of comfort was very effective for the Duke. Until the end of the call, the look of anticipation in his eyes did not diminish at all.

Putting away his phone, the Duke looked back at the two fresh experimental subjects in front of him, the heat in his eyes fading slightly.

When all the emotions in his eyes subsided, the Duke, who had restored his elegant posture, turned and left with light steps.

The long, dark green hair with slightly curly ends glowed with a different kind of luster under the dim light.

In the apartment,

Whiskey, who was wearing light-colored home clothes, skillfully turned the steak in the pot. Along with the sizzling special butter, a rosemary-tinged steak aroma instantly filled the entire kitchen.

After a while, the steak appeared from the pot on a plate that Whiskey took out.

Putting the plate with steak on the coffee table in the living room, the doorbell rang.

Opening the door, a well-dressed strong bodyguard was holding a simple three-layer food box in one hand and an unopened bottle of top-grade red wine in the other.

When the exquisite dishes in the food box were placed side by side on the coffee table in the living room, the sobered red wine was also poured into the goblet, and the whiskey sat cross-legged between the coffee table and the sofa, covered with a light gray carpet. On the ground, he motioned to the bodyguard to turn on the TV.

Today is the last day of the seven-day deadline set by the top management of Berry Country for official agencies such as the FBI and CIA.

Countless people are looking forward to it, and all the major forces in the Berry Kingdom are paying attention. Well-informed media reporters have gone to Wuna Town, vowing to get first-hand news.

The situation in Wuna Town is being broadcast in real time on the TV screen at this moment.

Rows of vehicles surrounded the entire town of Wuna, and media staff carrying long guns and short cannons were stopped outside by uniformed police officers.

In the lens, except for the various police faces and the desolate scenery as the background, there is nothing else.

However, this does not affect the enjoyment of whiskey dining at all.

Half an hour later, after finishing his lunch of whiskey, he took a sip from his wine glass while watching the almost unchanged real-time broadcast on the TV.

The burly bodyguard, who was very talented in housekeeping, quickly folded the various tableware on the coffee table and put them into the food box, and took out the rag from the cabinet in the corner of the kitchen with familiarity.

Then he started cleaning diligently.

After a while, the only thing left on the coffee table that was originally filled with food was a half-empty bottle of red wine, and an extremely smooth tabletop with a fruity freshener on it.

The kitchen utensils and stoves in the kitchen that had been used by whiskey were cleaned up, and the remaining kitchen waste and the garbage in other trash cans were all collected into black garbage bags.

Finally, the burly bodyguard, carrying a black garbage bag in one hand and a food box in the other, left the apartment under the watchful eyes of the FBI and colleagues outside the door.

After seeing off the bodyguard who delivered meals on time every day and also worked part-time as a housekeeper, Whiskey put down the wine glass in his hand, turned around, took the closed notebook on the sofa behind him, took it to the coffee table and opened it.

The legs that were originally crossed were stretched out extremely wantonly in the middle of lunch.

"Snapped."

Fingers with clearly calloused joints lightly pressed one of the keyboard keys, and the originally darkened screen returned to brightness.

With the noisy but nutritious live TV as the background music, Whiskey continued to browse the mission report that Toru Amuro had just sent this morning.

The serious and rigorous Bourbon wrote a lot of content eloquently, but there was not a single superfluous sentence in it.

Even after condensation, it still contains nearly 10,000 words.

After reading the content inside, Whiskey's expression became a bit colder.

The church again?

In the past, if it weren't for the Duke's sudden intervention and the temptation to even Karasuma Renye to side with him, Whiskey had no intention of leaving a hole in the church that should have been completely annihilated.

The consequence of not killing them all is that after years of rest and recuperation, the current church is beginning to find trouble for him.

Giving full play to the strength of his ace intelligence officer, Toru Amuro successfully uncovered the mastermind behind the turmoil in the arms smuggling market through this period of investigation.

Relevant interrogation materials and mission reports were simultaneously sent to Whiskey's mailbox this morning.

This result, which was not beyond Whiskey's expectation, made him feel very unhappy.

He wanted to find out those remnants of the church who were hiding in dark corners and were either causing trouble for him or causing him trouble all day long, and his heart was ready to crush them one by one.

What Whiskey hates most in his life is when someone tries to touch the people or things he cares about. He doesn't care much about people, but the scope of things is wider.

Shapeful, shapeless, breathing, breathless, whatever has been placed in his hands and into which he has invested his eyes and efforts, whiskey will not allow others to touch it easily.

Even if he doesn't care anymore, he won't let others step in and deal with it easily.

If anyone dares to stretch out his hand, he may lose a piece of his skin at worst, or lose his life at worst.

This time, the church really hit the whiskey forbidden area accurately.

Switching the computer interface to his mailbox, it only took a dozen seconds for Whiskey to edit a carefully worded email that was filled with cold and murderous intent.

Accompanying the mission report handed over by Bourbon and a pile of bloody interrogation materials, this email full of content was found in Renye Karasuma's mailbox a minute later.

After doing this, Whiskey switched the interface again. Accompanied by the rhythmic tapping of the keyboard, various information about FBI Director Andre Gavin scrolled in detail and orderly on the computer screen.

In the previous email that Renya Karasuma sent to Whiskey, in addition to asking him to cooperate with Rum to clean up the previous omissions, he also asked him to prepare a big gift for the FBI.

Regarding the former request, Whiskey has done its part.

As long as he ensures that Gordon does not fall into the hands of the FBI and CIA before twelve o'clock tonight, he does not need to worry about the follow-up. That is what Rum should consider.

As for the instruction mentioned later in the email to prepare a big gift for the FBI, which was extremely broad but had no clear requirements, Whiskey has been looking through various FBI materials in the past two days.

However, he has now determined the mission goal.

According to the current situation, the organization will at most wait until Rum's action plan is over before going dormant again. Therefore, preparing a gift for the FBI this time is not suitable to make too much noise.

At least not too bloody.

Otherwise, if we really get into an ongoing fight with an official organization like the FBI, it will only be the organization that suffers in the end.

It is said that several people over there are already dissatisfied with the black organization's big move.

After all, those people provide all kinds of support and have been looking forward to getting the medicine of immortality from the organization. Naturally, they hope that the black organization, as a large transnational criminal group, can concentrate on developing what they want.

It would take a lot of effort to calm down such a high-profile act.

Therefore, in preparing this gift, we naturally have to start with other aspects.

If you can't get blood easily, then you can only choose to deal with the FBI's face severely.

And if you want to maximize the effect, the best candidate is the FBI's most prominent Director Gavin.

Therefore, Whiskey, who initially determined the target of the mission, conducted a black market investigation, and with the assistance of the artificial intelligence Cyril, he dug deep into the information about Andre Gavin, and initially grasped his whereabouts in the past few days.

After reading all the newly expanded information on people who had interacted with the FBI director, Whiskey switched the computer screen back to the initial interface and picked up the wine glass again.

The alluring luster of red wine is best reflected against the backdrop of the goblet, but compared to the occasional flash of dark light in the whiskey's endlessly indifferent crimson eyes, it still seems much inferior.

Leisurely waiting for Karasuma Renya's email reply, Whiskey made initial plans while sipping red wine and sent the last email to Gordon, who was in extreme pursuit.

Ever since he gnawed on a pizza the night before, he had been rounded up by the FBI and CIA. Gordon, who had not had anything decent in his stomach so far, was chewing on the tender, juicy and water-rich leaves while neatly skinning the hare in his hand.

At this moment, Gordon's body can no longer find a trace of his former appearance. If he looked like a refugee before and had some handsome appearance, the current Gordon is no different from the homeless man who has been begging at the bottom of the slums in Berry Country for many years.

The clothes that were already gray and featureless were now tattered and had a sour smell.

The barren hills are densely covered with trees, and because it is now spring and summer and rarely visited by people, they are even more luxuriant.

When you are in it, you will only feel that your eyes are filled with greenery that blocks out the sky and the sun.

However, because a serial corpse murderer appeared here, the place became lively two days ago.

Throwing the stripped rabbit fur into the hole he had just dug with the tools at hand, Gordon looked at the bloody rabbit meat in his hand, opened his mouth and gnawed it without any hesitation.

The taste of raw meat with blood is naturally not good, but at the moment there is no room for Gordon to be picky.

After eating in two or three bites, Gordon, who no longer wanted to maintain any image, wiped his mouth casually, put the remaining meat and bones into a shallow pit that had not yet been buried in the soil, and then he dug the edges of the pit again. The soil that comes out is covered back.

He stepped on the newly filled land with his feet, as if Gordon had just eaten a meal and stuffed a handful of leaves into his mouth.

At this time, after briefly identifying the direction, Gordon, who was about to leave his current location, suddenly heard the familiar email notification sound again.

When he heard the sound that sounded like a death song for a dead soul, Gordon suddenly became excited.

Quickly leaving his current location, relying on the wild survival skills he had honed in the past two days on the line between life and death, Gordon ran in the direction he had chosen before and clicked on the email on his phone.

There is not much content in it, just a very brief sentence.

It's going to rain tonight, I wish you a good time.

Between the lines, there is a strong sense of ridicule.

To be honest, if it weren't for the pursuers behind him, Gordon would have wanted to yell.

Happy, happy as hell.

Gordon, who had suffered a lot in the past few days and was extremely regretful, secretly swore in his heart:

If he could go back to the day when Gin warned him not to mess with Whiskey, he would definitely remember his boss's kind reminder seriously.

Then give yourself two hard slaps, so that the soul in your body that doesn’t know the heights of the sky and is randomly interested in people can wake up.

Knowing that there is no regret medicine in this world, the only thing Gordon hopes for now is that his boss will come and take advantage of him because of the many years he has worked for the organization and worked hard for him.

Otherwise, ninety-nine percent of the time he would be here.

Suddenly, Gordon heard something different coming from behind him, and he was startled. He quickly ducked behind a tree, raised his gun and looked, only to see a black back emerging from the bushes, aiming towards him with a clear target. Pounce.

Gordon, who was not afraid of life or death, saw a sleek black-backed dog. Not only was he immediately broken into a cold sweat, but his calves also began to tremble.

If it weren't for the powerful tissue culture that allowed him to dodge conditioned reflexively and then fired a shot subconsciously, Gordon would have been killed in the hands of a dog.

The dog that had been shot fell to the ground in the next second, blood gushed out from the wound, and it soon turned red.

Because the pistol is equipped with a special silencer, the firing sound is extremely small.

But Gordon didn't expect that the dog would not wait quietly for death after being fatally hit by him, but would actually howl with all its strength before dying.

Gordon, who is naturally afraid of dogs, was immediately frightened when he heard the barking. If it weren't for his deep muscle memory, his hand holding the gun might even be shaking.

After realizing that the dog was sending a signal to people searching nearby, Gordon immediately turned around and ran away.

After a while, Odes Yahea came over following the sound and saw the dying black-backed dog at a glance.

He hurried forward to observe the black-backed dog's injury, and saw the black-backed dog trying its best to raise a paw and point in the direction where Gordon escaped.

Realizing that the black-backed dog was conveying a message to him, Odes immediately ordered a subordinate who was following him to arrange for someone to send the dog to a doctor as soon as possible. Then he touched the black-backed dog's head and led the others towards him. He chased in the direction where Gordon escaped.

Knowing through the headset that the CIA had determined the direction of Gordon's escape, Shuichi Akai immediately deduced Gordon's escape route based on the barren mountain map he had previously memorized.

Looking at the sunset that was about to dissipate on the horizon, Shuichi Akai first dialed a phone number, then turned around and boarded the helicopter with a sniper rifle.

At night, the temperature in the mountains and forests was obviously not as warm as during the day. This not only made the search more difficult for the FBI and CIA, but also the media reporters who were besieged in Wuna Town and were still waiting for first-hand information. They all became anxious.

As the time got closer to zero, the emotions of these media reporters became more and more excited.

At nine twenty-eight in the middle of the night, a heavy rain fell from the sky.