In the innermost part of the workshop, there was a sealed laboratory exclusively belonging to Master Henry. As the actual head and technical supervisor of the refining project, Master Henry was not satisfied with the current state of affairs and had been dedicated to developing new technologies.
Whether it was the earliest use of liposuction or the current assembly line ovens, he believed that they all had flaws. The assembly line wasn't suitable for creating high-end products. For high-end products, manual crafting needed to begin as early as the raw material extraction phase.
For example, for more high-end and scarce materials, they had to be meticulously handcrafted to emphasize their elegance and honor their preciousness. And maidens in their prime were exactly these high-end and scarce materials.
Virgins were to be sent to Europe and handed over to Master Grénoyé for the creation of perfumes. However, in today's society, there were more and more non-virgins aged sixteen or seventeen. Master Henry believed that putting these individuals on the assembly line was wasteful and criminal. They must be treated with utmost respect.
Therefore, after several discussions with the higher-ups of the Obia Group and the head of Granny Fragrance Cosmetics, Master Henry recently decided to adopt the manual extraction process.
Inside the laboratory, candles made from all-natural insect white wax were lit by Master Henry himself. Four assistants in work uniforms led two young girls into the laboratory.
These two were Anna's classmates, Lena and Mickey. Their mouths were sealed shut, trembling with fear, completely unaware of the brutal fate they were about to face.
In front of Master Henry were five documents. He set aside Anna's and the other two girls' documents; they were all virgins and had already been packaged and sent to Paris.
Lena and Mickey's passports seemed unremarkable. Master Henry noticed that one of them had darker skin. He tore off the tape sealing Lena's mouth and asked, "Do you have any black relatives or black mixed heritage in your family?"
In just a short afternoon, the girls were already partially tamed. Despite their trembling bodies, they dared not shout loudly; instead, they whispered, "My grandmother is of mixed black heritage."
Master Henry frowned, a look of disgust on his face. "Take her away to the workshop!"
He instructed his assistants, "The 'one drop of blood' principle! The 'one drop of blood' principle! We are after the highest quality product, with not a trace of impurity!"
Mickey was a pure white girl. After careful inspection, Master Henry nodded in satisfaction. "Wash her again and prepare for wax roasting!"
This wasn't a new process, but it was an all-natural manual process. Lena was led away by two assistants, and Mickey returned after being cleansed.
Outside the laboratory, a returning assistant noticed the situation and questioned, "Who's there?"
A muffled gunshot echoed as the assistant fell to the ground. Almost simultaneously, there was a gunshot at the entrance of the workshop, which resounded even louder within the sealed space.
Master Henry lightly pressed the alarm button beside him. Then, through the glass door, he looked towards the laboratory's exterior, where a woman dressed in tight black clothing appeared not far away.
"You bunch of lunatics!"
Ilsa infiltrated through the workshop window, surveyed the ovens, and no longer held the cold demeanor of before. Her facial expression twisted into an extreme grimace as she aimed her gun at Master Henry, intending to kill him.
Before she could raise her gun, she swiftly moved to the side.
Suddenly, from the slightly protruding wall, a tongue-like projectile shot out like an arrow!
In just a moment's time, Big Nose Lehman arrived with the mercenaries.
...
A gunshot resounded, instantly turning the once quiet workshop into chaos. Many mercenaries were alarmed, and workers and technicians became frantic.
After blowing a man's head off, Ronan took a deep breath, suppressing his seething anger for the moment. He couldn't let anger affect his fighting.
Holstering his pistol and dagger, he held an AK rifle in his hands, heard a sound from the right front, and swiftly moved out. The bullets from his AK exploded the heads of two mercenaries!
Ronan didn't stop at all, advancing while shooting anyone he encountered without hesitation. Every person here was accounted for; no one would be spared.
"Intruders! Get rid of him!" someone shouted urgently in French. "Quick! Call for backup! Finish him off!"
Ronan shot in the direction of the voice. The predator's awareness allowed him to spot the target at a glance. A single shot was enough to take the man down!
Then, he turned around, passed through the disinfection room and air shower, and arrived at the workshop entrance, hiding in a corner.
After a short wait, the workshop doors swung open, and over a dozen fully armed mercenaries rushed in.
Ronan went on a mad shooting spree, emptying an entire magazine. All the mercenaries were lying on the ground, some not quite dead, groaning in agony.
"Please...," a burly Caucasian man with a gunshot wound to his abdomen reached out a bloodied hand, "please..."
Ronan discarded the AK, drew his pistol, and fired follow-up shots. Each person's head gained a new bullet hole.
These French mercenaries were well-equipped with a balanced mix of firearms, but their skills were mediocre.
Ronan activated his spirit vision, harvesting soul fragments, most of them being +1 soul fragments.
Considering the possibility of close-quarters combat in the workshop, he picked up a shotgun, slung a bandolier over his shoulder, and turned to re-enter the workshop.
Inside the workshop, more gunshots were heard, indicating that others had entered.
Six or seven workers in sterile suits fled outward, colliding with Ronan. Without a word, he raised the shotgun and unleashed a barrage.
Boom! Bang-bang—
A tremendous blast reverberated throughout the workshop, turning those workers' chests and abdomens into hornet nests.
Several ovens were nearby, each containing dozens of bodies with their innards removed. Ronan felt no mercy for these workers.
As he walked and reloaded, Ronan arrived at a separate room's door, heard sounds from within, kicked the door open, and started firing as he rushed in.
Four women in white lab coats barely had time to scream before they met their maker.
The room was brightly lit.
As Ronan took in the scene, his facial muscles twitched involuntarily.
He struggled to restrain his anger, but it surged again.
This was a storage room, piled high with entrails.
The disemboweled organs were placed in containers or cultivation tanks, like goods awaiting transportation. On the other side, there were glass bottles filled with oil.
Without asking, one could easily deduce their contents.
Ronan exited the storage room, and the gunshots ahead grew more distinct.
A worker in a sterile suit hid beneath a shelf, focused on looking towards the innermost part of the workshop, not noticing Ronan's approach.
Ronan yanked him out and glanced at the tag hanging from his chest, bearing the words "Technical Supervisor" and the like.
"Don't kill me! I beg you..."
Before the man could finish his plea, the barrel of a shotgun pressed against his head. Ronan didn't hesitate; he pulled the trigger, and the gun discharged with a resounding blast. The man's head shattered and flew apart.
Ronan didn't know whether, when these people had targeted their victims, the victims had pleaded with them and how they had responded.
He didn't want to know now.
Every person in this workshop, regardless of who they were, deserved death.
Since his arrival here, to survive, Ronan had fought for his life many times. He had taken the lives of countless drug dealers, more than he could count on both hands and feet.
But never before had he been this ruthless, this eager to kill them all.
A sense of malevolence within him was unrestrained!
It was the conscience inherent to being human!
The workshop was highly automated, with few workers. The stationed mercenaries were of average strength, mostly the type with +1 soul fragments. Ronan didn't even need a second bullet.
On the open ground ahead, numerous wooden crates were stacked, and the sounds of two different types of pistols firing could be heard.
Someone shouted, "Boba, intercept him!"
A red-haired black man, holding a Beretta, turned toward the workshop entrance. Before he could even lift his gun, he realized the person across from him was moving incredibly fast. Under the illumination of the workshop's many bright lights, it was as though he carried an afterimage. He arrived in front of him.
"What the hell?" Boba exclaimed, bewildered.
Boom—
Ronan didn't hesitate for a second, nor did he waste time talking. He fired his gun, obliterating Boba's head. With a swift movement of his left hand, +3 soul fragments were acquired!
Simultaneously, information flashed in his mind.
Demonic Dance Steps: A dance move that black mercenaries are best at, making them the most foolish one on the field when performing it.
Ronan paid no attention to the mental message. Taking a step forward, he emerged from behind a reaction vessel and ordered, "Get down!"
When the shotgun blast went off, Ilsa spotted Ronan.
Regardless of whether he was FBI or a CIA agent posing as FBI, they were currently on the same side.
She immediately covered her head and rolled behind a stack of crates.
Boom—Boom—Boom—
Ronan fired one shot after another, and the mercenaries opposite him screamed in succession, their blood staining the workshop floor.
At the end of the workshop was a laboratory with three people.
A big-nosed Frenchman and an Eastern European face were hidden behind crates turned into cover.
A stylish older gentleman stood by the laboratory's bulletproof glass.
From his stance, it was clear he was their leader.
As Ronan reloaded his shotgun, he walked past Ilsa and said, "Get up and take them out!"
Having arrived, she had inevitably seen the situation inside the workshop.
Ilsa discarded her empty gun, drew a dagger, gritted her teeth, and followed Ronan while warning, "Be careful, there's an invisible lizard!"
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