Once Ian stepped into the realm of a private, his reactions were lightning-fast. He aimed his pistol at the target and pulled the trigger, firing rapidly, but immediately realized something was off.
In the blink of an eye, Ronan appeared from the other side, firing bullets from his M4 rifle.
Ian's quick reaction was unexpected! He shifted the pistol towards Ronan and moved backward.
However, he was still using a pistol! Ronan remained steady in his hands and shots, unleashing a rapid barrage. Ian's body and head dodged, but the hand holding the gun was hit, causing half of his palm to shatter into flesh!
In intense pain, Ian gritted his teeth and trembled violently.
He refused to give up and pulled out a dagger with his left hand.
Two pistol bullets flew within twenty centimeters of Ronan, but he remained unfazed, keeping his gun aimed forward while swiftly moving around the debris.
From a distance, the gun barrel was pointed at Ian's head.
Ian glanced at the dagger and shook his head, saying, "If my partner hadn't distracted me, giving you the chance to hit my left leg, you wouldn't be my match in a shootout at this distance."
Ronan knew that his marksmanship was not as good as Ian's.
But the determining factor wasn't just marksmanship; there were other aspects, such as the power of the soul's fire, which they would never have thought of.
Engaging in a long-range gunfight, not to mention this team of mercenaries, even Ian alone would be overwhelmed.
Ronan didn't want to waste any more time with Ian and prepared to blow his head off!
However, Ian wanted to survive and quickly shouted, "I'm CIA, not DEA! If you kill me, no matter where you hide, the CIA will hunt you down! You'll live in fear for the rest of your life. Your family, your friends, anyone who has ever helped you will become targets of CIA revenge!"
To Ronan's surprise, this man was actually CIA.
"Let me go, and I'll pretend none of this ever happened..."
Ronan pulled the trigger, blasting Ian's head.
You think you can kill me without any retaliation?
Hah, after so many deaths, including Ian's partner, who are you trying to deceive?
Ronan turned the gun around and blew the heads of the three mercenaries one by one.
However, his heart ached because along with those people, two large boxes of dollars were burnt to ashes!
Ronan activated his spiritual vision and harvested the remaining fragments of souls. Just like before, the humanoid halos above each body were red.
The feedback in his mind showed that most of the soul fragments gained +1.
The mercenaries and Eric had +2 soul fragments.
Ian, however, had +5 soul fragments!
At the same time, some information flashed before him.
Soldier's Firearms Proficiency: The most adept skill of first-tier professionals from other systems. With any firearm, one can become a highly responsive sharpshooter.
Ronan thought to himself that it seemed he was right. There really were special professions similar to the Predator in this world.
Is this the official system of the United States? The first tier is called "Private," which appears to be related to the military.
He quickly searched Ian's body, but besides the DEA agent identification, there was nothing else.
As for the three mercenaries, their backpacks contained C4 explosives.
Ronan packed all the C4 into one bag and entered the underground passage, where several corpses lay, and the rest of the "black uncles" had disappeared without a trace.
After going deeper into the passage, Ronan began to set up the C4, placing one every few intervals as he retreated.
Powerful explosions could collapse a long stretch of the underground tunnel, rendering it useless.
Exiting the tunnel, he placed the last C4 in the pit with the smuggled goods and tossed in his M4 and jacket riddled with bullet holes.
He took a Mexican's pickup truck downhill, oriented himself, and sped south, away from the tunnel.
After driving a considerable distance, muffled explosions could be heard from behind, and the ground seemed to tremble.
Ronan continued to speed away, gang shootouts in Mexico were not a big deal, but such intense explosions could attract official attention.
Killing CIA agents had serious consequences, but Ronan didn't regret it.
He couldn't just wipe his face clean and wait for someone to shoot him in the head.
Originally, Ronan had some respect for his American counterparts and some hope for the local official agencies.
So, being from an official background himself, he chose to cooperate with them to destroy the tunnel.
However, the development of events had given him a harsh wake-up call.
It hurt, but it also opened his eyes.
The tunnel was destroyed due to a deal made to save his own life.
The related responsibilities vanished.
In the future, he would have to live for himself.
CIA was like a sharp blade hanging over his head, and if he wanted to live well, he had to become stronger!
Upon careful thought, it seemed like it wasn't just the CIA.
The tunnel was ruined, money and goods destroyed, and the Carter Gang and the generous Jose, once they knew the truth, wouldn't just let it slide.
Antonio Garcia had sent assassins to kill him just two days ago.
He needed to have formidable strength!
After driving far enough, Ronan stopped the car, left his jacket at the mining site, discarded the tactical vest, cleaned up any prohibited items in the car, and took out the dollars and identification he carried with him.
Restarting the car, he quickly got onto the highway and headed straight for Tijuana.
This was Mexico's fourth-largest city, infamous for its chaos. Except for a few areas, most of the city was in disarray with low-rise buildings and litter everywhere.
There were countless illegal immigrants and undocumented individuals.
The city was rife with rival gangs, and gang shootouts and firefights could happen at any time.
It was worse than a gunfight every day.
In fact, many media outlets considered Tijuana to be one of the most dangerous cities in the world.
Finding people from official channels in Tijuana was extremely difficult.
There's no need to think about things like surveillance cameras; their numbers are so insignificant that they can be ignored.
Ronan made a brief stop and sought out his well-informed old friend from the Hound, inquiring about the items needed for promotion.
He also wanted to gather information about Antonio Garcia and the generous Jose.
The latter controlled one of the major gangs in Tijuana.
As for Garcia, Ronan wanted to have a serious talk with him, partly to ask about the "Book of Domination" and partly to "clear up" any misunderstandings.
The assassin gave some instructions: Antonio Garcia's advisor, Harvey Gonzalez, was in Tijuana.
Ronan drove into Tijuana, found a mall, bought new clothes, put on sunglasses and a cowboy hat, blending in with ordinary American tourists.
He obviously couldn't keep the car.
For American Ronan and the Hound, coming to Tijuana was almost like going shopping; he had memories related to this place, so it was familiar to him.
He circled around the vicinity, hailed a taxi, and headed for the Red Light District.
This was a must-visit place for American male tourists.
On the street, rows of women in white stockings stood, waiting for business to come their way.
The business here was controlled by the gangs, and those involved in it either had shady backgrounds or were in debt and lost their personal freedom, with most of their earnings going to the gang.
In Ronan's memories, he knew some things about this place.
To make the girls strive to earn money and, at the same time, deliberately eliminate older and less attractive ones, the gangs set strict performance targets for them.
If they couldn't meet the quota for a month, they might be brutally beheaded!
As a result, many experienced Americans specifically chose to come here during the last few days of each month. The girls would try their best to please the customers for the sake of meeting their quotas.
Ronan got off the street without paying attention to the alluring glances thrown his way. He navigated through several twists and turns in the middle of the street, eventually entering a nearby alley leading to the hills.
In the alley, some Mexicans eyed Ronan with wolf-like gazes.
Ordinary tourists wouldn't venture into this area.
Ronan directly said, "Demona!"
Demona, an old friend and former lover of the Hound, was a powerful madam in the Red Light District.
Upon hearing the name, these people settled down.
Ronan arrived at an old-fashioned bar and pushed the door open.
Someone said, "We're not open in the morning."
"Even for an old friend?" Ronan pulled out a wooden chair and sat down.
The Latin woman behind the bar was in her thirties, with long dark brown hair, large breasts, and a sizable posterior, particularly emphasized by the tight leather corset she wore.
Demona, carrying a bottle of tequila and two glasses, slammed them onto the table and sat across from Ronan, uncapping the bottle and pouring the tequila. "He's dead!"
"I avenged him by personally thrusting my knife into the heart of the demon, Pardee!" Ronan said.
Demona pushed a glass toward Ronan. "You've improved!"
Ronan didn't touch the drink. "Demona, I want to ask you, who commissioned the parchment book and what is its purpose?"
"It was a black man from Los Angeles!" Demona picked up her glass and downed the tequila. "I don't know the specifics, but the commission first appeared in the Los Angeles Hunter's Guild."
Seeing Ronan's right hand hanging by his waist, she poured him another drink. "What's wrong? You don't even trust me!"
Ronan placed his right hand on the table and let a stack of dollars fall. "I just want to ask some questions."
Demona didn't hesitate to take the money. "Go ahead."
"Have you heard of giant chameleons, demonized buffaloes, and raging bears..." Ronan mentioned those peculiar creatures, trying to probe further, "Do such strange creatures exist?"
Demona pondered for a moment. "Demonized buffalo? You should go back to the United States and ask around. I heard rumors about it before. There's a folk legend about huge buffaloes galloping across the grasslands, never resting for a week. I remember now, it was near Los Angeles, back when I was still a nun."
She mentioned the name of a church. "You should go there and ask."
Ronan continued, "Anything else?"
"Anything else I know is just the literal meaning," Demona understood what Ronan was after without him having to say it directly. "You'd better go to the Los Angeles Hunter's Guild for information. It's the largest underground news hub in the Western United States."
Ronan nodded. He had to resolve the issues in Mexico first before going to Los Angeles. He asked, "Have you ever heard him mention someone named Churchill?"
Demona shook her head. "He never mentioned that to me."
"And what about Harvey Gonzalez?" Ronan inquired.
Demona downed another shot. "He's just a front for the Garcia Group."
Ronan asked, "Do you know where I can find him?"
Demona stared at him.
Ronan took out more dollars.
"Tomorrow at this time," Demona pocketed the money. "Wait for my message."
Ronan got up. "Tomorrow at this time, I'll call you here." Before leaving, he reminded her, "Take care of your associates. I haven't been here since last month."
Demona looked alert. "What did you do?"
"I played the good guy for a while," Ronan replied.
Demona poured the liquor vigorously. "Nowhere to go, so you came here? I'll kick you into the sea!"
Ronan nodded and left the bar.
The golden liquor filled the glass, but Demona didn't notice as it overflowed, much like the tears falling from her face.
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