Chapter 1018 – Rescue Operation (Part Two)

Martin wasn't particularly surprised that Flander was still around. The man wasn't a combatant; it wasn't unusual that he hadn't rushed out into the chaos.

But now, Martin checked the time and suddenly stood up. He couldn't afford to sit around and wait any longer. If even his many subordinates hadn't managed to stop the attackers, then staying here alone was meaningless.

"Flander, come with me!" He waved his gun-wielding hand and strode off toward the back.

Flander followed close behind, a cold smirk creeping across his face.

He knew exactly where Martin was headed. Moments later, Martin's furious roar confirmed it.

Seeing the warehouse engulfed in flames, fire leaping toward the sky, he could hardly believe his eyes. That warehouse held everything he had accumulated over decades. Who was it? Who dared do something like this?

"Where is everyone?! Why is no one putting out the fire?!" Even as he watched the building fully consumed by flames, Martin still clung to desperate hope—maybe they could save just a fraction.

The fire's glare reflected off Flander's glasses, concealing his eyes and whatever emotions lay behind them.

Not that Martin cared. All he wanted now was to find someone to put out the fire and save his warehouse.

"Mr. Martin, the outside is a mess. Everyone's trying to maintain order wherever they are—there's no one to spare," Flander replied calmly, adjusting his glasses.

"Bullshit! Who cares if those people out there live or die? What matters most is this fire!" Martin shouted, then abruptly shut his mouth.

He'd nearly let something slip. Even if nothing was left but ashes, he didn't want anyone salvaging what had been his. Besides, why should he report anything to his subordinates? He didn't owe them explanations.

"Call someone—call everyone! Get all the manpower we have over here. This is ridiculous! Even a damn idiot should know what to prioritize right now." Why would his men abandon their leader to help the useless worms in the slums? When did his subordinates grow such bleeding hearts?

Flander shrugged. "Apologies, Mr. Martin, but none of our phones are working. I can't reach anyone."

"What? None of the phones work?!" Martin was stunned.

"Yes. Landlines and mobiles alike—nothing works. The phone lines must have been cut. As for the mobiles, I don't know why they're down." Flander, who had studied in the U.S. for years, of course, knew about signal jamming devices—but he deliberately didn't mention them. He wanted Martin to feel just how dangerous and unpredictable this enemy was.

As he'd hoped, Martin's attention was pulled away from the warehouse.

Cut phone lines he could accept—he'd done it himself plenty of times. But the fact that even cell phones weren't working? That panicked him. He didn't know about signal jammers, but he did know that whoever could pull this off wasn't someone to take lightly.

In his experience, none of his old rivals had ever used this kind of tech. They weren't the forward-thinking type—most of them barely knew how to use a phone properly. To them, making a call was cutting-edge.

Flander's words shifted Martin's focus to the bigger picture.

Right—how could he forget that they were under attack? Someone was actively storming his base. The chaos in the slums was part of a calculated plan to scatter his forces, isolate him, and capture him with minimal resistance.

Just because he hadn't been challenged in years didn't mean he'd forgotten everything. Whoever had this kind of tech—and who was bold enough to torch his warehouse—there was only one possibility.

There was no need to guess. Besides those who came to rescue Laila, who else could pull off something like this?

They didn't care how many people lived or died. Fire, bombs—collateral damage meant nothing to them. Only they would burn his warehouse after discovering its location. Any of his old enemies would've been more protective of that place than he was—it held nearly all his life's wealth.

"Come with me," Martin said coldly. To him, losing the warehouse meant nothing—so long as he could get Moran back into his grasp, he could recover everything. "Looks like I've been far too lenient with them."

Flander raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Martin, aren't you going to wait for the others to regroup?"

"Wait for what?" Martin snorted. "By the time they get here, Moran will be long gone. Once she leaves, do you think we'll ever get another shot at catching her?"

Flander nodded knowingly. "Unless that director's completely lost her mind, she won't be setting foot on our soil again."

"Exactly." Martin didn't waste another word. He lifted the hem of his shirt to reveal several firearms strapped to his body and casually tossed one to Flander. "You're the only one I've got right now, Flander. Don't disappoint me."

Flander's eyes flickered as he weighed the pistol in his hands. "Of course not. I won't let you down."

Oh, I'll take good care of you—in my way, he thought.

Martin nodded in satisfaction and made a beeline for Laila's residence.

He was well past the age of hotheaded decisions. The reason he didn't wait for reinforcements was twofold: one, he feared Laila might have already escaped; and two, her hideout was in the area guarded by his most elite men. With them there, he believed she wouldn't have been able to get far. Even if she had fled, rallying his men from that location would make it easier to pursue her.

But when he arrived at her safe house, he was greeted by the flickering embers of a fire.

Dong had lit the fires in unoccupied areas, but the houses here were mostly flammable wooden structures. There was no fireproofing to speak of, and the surrounding residents had either fled or were hiding—no one was going to risk their life to play firefighter in a warzone.

Given the gunfire and chaos, no one was stepping forward.

Martin kicked the door open, only to find the place completely deserted. He slammed his fist against the frame in fury.

They'd escaped. Just as he feared.