Inside the main hall of Blackthorn Castle, thirteen fully armed warriors stood still as statues.
They wore matching black combat suits, and the KH insignia on their bulletproof vests gleamed dark red in the candlelight.
Each person's equipment was meticulously coordinated:
Primary Weapon: HK416 Assault Rifle (with suppressor)
Primary Weapon: Remington 870 Pump-Action Shotgun
Secondary Weapon: USP Tactical Pistol (.45 caliber)
Melee: Custom Tactical Dagger (20cm blade length)
Special Equipment: Stun Grenade x 2, Breaching Charge x 1
The captain, "Hound," a bald, burly man nearly two meters tall, was conducting the final pre-battle inspection.
"Remember the rules."
His voice was like sandpaper rubbing metal, "No survivors!"
Twelve metallic clangs sounded in unison—the sound of magazines locking into firearms.
Their silent tactical boots trod on the oak floor, making almost no sound.
In the central corridor of Blackthorn Castle, fully armed mercenaries advanced in standard tactical formation.
The leading man, codenamed "Hound," raised his right hand, making a tactical gesture.
"Clear."
The squad immediately dispersed, forming groups of three, advancing with alternating cover.
The first group kicked open the door to the left; inside was an injured assassin, leaning against the wall, gasping for breath, a glock still in his hand.
He didn't even have time to raise his Pistol.
Puff! Puff! Puff!
Three bullets precisely hit his glabella, heart, and throat.
The assassin's eyes widened, and his body slowly slid down.
"Move."
Hound's voice was cold, and the squad continued to advance.
The second group was responsible for the right corridor; they found two assassins entangled in a fight, one with a knife, one with a gun, both covered in blood.
The squad members did not hesitate.
Puff! Puff! Puff! Puff!
Four shots, and both fell to the ground simultaneously.
"No prisoners."
Hound's order was brief and cruel.
They weren't here to negotiate; they were here to clean up.
The squad arrived at the east wing of the castle, where the signs of battle were even more brutal.
In the east wing corridor, three surviving assassins were fighting over the last of the ammunition.
"Give me the bullets!" a blood-stained man choked his companion, "Otherwise, we'll all die!"
His response was the roar of a shotgun.
As flesh and blood splattered on the tapestry, the vanguard of the hunting squad had already kicked open the door.
"Contact!"
Three Remington 870s fired simultaneously.
The first volley riddled two assassins like sieves.
The third man had just raised his Pistol when the hunting team's bullet pierced his eye socket, a 5.56mm steel-core round exploding a bowl-sized hole in the back of his head.
"Clear."
Hound stepped over the still-twitching corpse, "Continue to advance."
The squad, like a precise meat grinder, advanced floor by floor along the castle's looped corridor.
After passing through each room, at least three corpses would be left behind.
Bodies were piled haphazardly in the corridor, the walls were riddled with bullet holes, and blood had congealed into dark red clumps on the carpet.
Hound raised his hand, signaling a pause.
He pointed to the ceiling.
A team member immediately shouldered his gun, aiming at the ventilation duct.
Puff!
A bullet pierced the metal duct, a muffled groan came from inside, followed by the sound of a body falling.
"Clear."
The squad continued to advance.
Suddenly, footsteps came from around the corner ahead.
Hound immediately raised his hand, and everyone pressed against the wall, muzzles pointed at the sound source.
A blood-soaked man staggered out, a shotgun still in his hand.
"Wait--"
He had just opened his mouth when Hound's gun fired.
Puff!
A bullet pierced his throat, and the man clutched his neck and fell, the shotgun hitting the ground with a dull thud.
"Check."
Two team members went forward, confirmed the death, and the squad continued to advance.
The central gallery became the main battlefield of the massacre.
The seven surviving assassins formed a defensive circle, back to back.
Among them were former special forces members and professional gang enforcers, but now their faces were equally pale.
"On my command--" The leading retired military officer had just raised his hand when the floor-to-ceiling windows on both sides of the gallery suddenly shattered simultaneously.
The KH squad chose the most professional tactics:
Stun Grenade lead (2 grenades)
m67 grenade follow-up (2 grenades)
Crossfire coverage (4 HK416s)
Precise follow-up shots (6 HK416s)
When the blinding white light dissipated, only scattered body parts remained on the gallery floor.
An assassin with both legs blown off was still crawling; Hound walked over and stepped on the back of his neck with his combat boot.
"Ple...ple..."
A .45 caliber USP was pressed against his temple, and after a muffled thud, brain matter splattered on the Van Gogh forgery.
Their efficiency was extremely high, like precise killing machines, without any hesitation or pity.
Cleanup was their mission.
In the conference room deep within the castle, eight screens were lit up, but the atmosphere was no longer relaxed.
"Mountbatten, about what happened at Blackthorn Castle three years ago, shouldn't you explain?"
A man wearing gold-rimmed glasses spoke coldly, his voice like a venomous snake's hiss, slow and dangerous.
Mountbatten on the screen, a bald, burly man with a scarred face, sneered, "Explain what? That's how the game works, if you're dead, you're dead."
"But you killed John Wick's men!" another woman sharply interjected, "Do you know what that means?"
Mountbatten dismissively waved his hand, "Just a retired assassin, what can he do? He's not even fit to be a watchdog!"
"He can kill all of us! Just now, Monica was the best example!" The gold-rimmed man's voice suddenly rose.
"Heh heh, now you remember to bring up old scores, isn't it a bit late?"
"Hmph, if the old man is afraid of dying, just quit, don't whine here."
"Enough!"
Oriska, watching the screens, finally spoke, his voice low.
"Now is not the time for infighting."
The conference room fell silent for a brief moment.
But soon, a crude voice broke the silence.
"To hell with John Wick!" A man with a scarred face slammed the table and stood up, "If he dares to come, I'll personally wring his neck!"
"Idiot." The gold-rimmed man sneered, "You can't even take one of his shots."
"What did you say?!"
The argument erupted again.
And just then—
Bang!
A gunshot came from somewhere in the castle, and immediately after, one of the screens suddenly went black.
"What's going on?!"
Oriska sharply turned his head, looking at the surveillance footage.
In the corridor, Hound's squad was still advancing, but one of the team member's helmets suddenly exploded, blood and brain matter splattering on the wall.
Sniper!
"Contact!"
Hound growled, and the squad immediately scattered, seeking cover.
But the second shot had already come.
Bang!
Another team member fell, the bullet precisely piercing a gap in his bulletproof vest, entering from the back and exploding out the front of his chest.
"Sniper! Take cover!"
The squad quickly retreated, but the third shot followed closely.
Bang!
This shot hit Hound's knee; he grunted and dropped to one knee.
"Shit!"
The squad's formation was completely disrupted.
And from a high vantage point in the castle, Zhang Jie slowly lowered his HK416, a cold sneer playing on his lips.
"The hunt has begun."
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