458

[Light Cast M-Carbine]

Looking at Dufran and Cinchrub who suddenly turned around, Ivanov and over 20 gangsters were stunned.

Ivanov reacted quickly. Seeing the holy light surging in their eyes, he immediately realized they weren't ordinary people and shouted, "Shoot!"

Before he finished, he raised his pistol, aimed at Cinchrub, and pulled the trigger.

"Bang! Bang bang bang!"

Other gangsters opened fire too, bullets raining down on the two.

But Cinchrub was prepared. Before Ivanov could fire, he conjured a shield of holy light with a wave of his hand, blocking the barrage of bullets which clattered to the ground.

"May the king bless me!" Cinchrub exclaimed, shield in one hand and a short blade in the other, gleaming faintly with holy light.

Dufran extended his hand to invoke the blessing of the king, then reached into his briefcase as if retrieving something.

Protected by his full-body armor of holy light, Cinchrub leaped forward like a tiger, the blade slashing through the air and felling a gangster instantly.

"Bang bang bang!"

Startled, the other gangsters turned their guns on Cinchrub, but their bullets were futile against the shield of light. Even if they hit him, the armor blessed by the king mitigated most of the damage.

Within moments, Cinchrub dispatched three more gangsters.

Meanwhile, Dufran withdrew his own weapon from the briefcase: an M1 carbine with a collapsible stock.

The carbine emitted a faint holy light, clearly a light-cast weapon.

Umbrella in one hand, carbine in the other, Dufran took aim and fired at a gangster.

"Boom!"

The gunshot was thunderous, the bullet streaking through the air with a pale golden trail, striking a gangster in the chest.

Cinchrub infused the punishing power of light,

The thug's body was nearly cleaved in two, blood and viscera spilling!

The humble M1 carbine proved unexpectedly potent, akin to anti-armor artillery.

In contrast to Cinchrub's tiger-like ferocity, Dufran's Light Cast M1 was awe-inspiring. Its sound and destructive force left the panicked gangsters dumbfounded.

"Boom! Boom!" Dufran fired round after round, each shot reducing a thug to mangled flesh.

The remaining gangsters lost heart, their will to fight drained, most now scrambling to flee.

Escape was futile in the narrow street. Cinchrub's swift, tiger-like movements halted every attempt.

Even if they managed to run, Dufran's Light Cast M1 would deliver the final blow.

Soon, only three of the original twenty-plus gangsters remained, kneeling and pleading for mercy, including their leader, Ivanov.

Ivanov felt a pang of shame, but when Dufran aimed the Light Cast M1 at him, he swiftly reconsidered the value of his life.

"Please! Don't kill me!" He knelt, trembling, begging for mercy.

Duflan lowered the carbine. "Pathetic."

Anton Vanko might have been expected to dispatch professionals, but instead, only a band of gangsters had been sent—hardly a threat.

For Anton, a high-ranking Stark Industries executive who recently defected from the Soviet Union, hiring professional killers was currently unfeasible.

As Dufran had pointed out, from the available intelligence, he and Cinchrub were deemed inconsequential, incapable of resistance. Dealing with such low-level adversaries had already proven challenging for over twenty armed gangsters.

Hinchrub approached Dufran, puzzled as he examined the Light Cast M1 in his hands.

A warrior from an Indian tribe, he struggled to comprehend Dufran's expertise, especially in this scenario.

Despite appearing to dominate the battle—single-handedly dispatching about ten gangsters—Hinchrub was eclipsed by Dufran's prowess.

Shielded by the King's blessing and the Holy Light, although bullets failed to inflict mortal wounds, he sustained injuries. Blood flowed from several wounds, leaving him battered.

In contrast, Dufran remained poised throughout, wielding the Light Cast M1 with grace in one hand and a parasol in the other, an almost theatrical display.

"The times have changed, brave warrior," Dufran remarked to Hinchrub as he reloaded the Light Cast M1.

Hinchrub hesitated.

Dufran turned to Ivanov, still kneeling. "What's your name, and who sent you?"

Ivanov hesitated.

Dufran aimed the carbine at his forehead and began a countdown without another word: "Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen..."

Ivanov broke into a cold sweat. With seconds remaining, he hastily blurted out, "Artem Ivanov! Anton Vanko sent us. Please, spare me!"

"Figures," Dufran remarked, lowering the carbine. "You're coming with us."

---

The next day,

Dufran and Hinchrub returned to Stark Industries, accompanied by three captured gangsters—those spared the previous night.

Unobtrusive among Dufran's entourage, the gangsters wore expressions of abject misery, aware of the consequences of their actions and uncertain of Anton Vanko's retribution.

Facing imminent imprisonment seemed a small mercy to Ivanov.

Stark Industries staff raised no objections as Dufran escorted his captives inside to meet Howard Stark and Anton Vanko.

"Good to see you again, Mr. Stark," Dufran greeted with a polite smile, then turned to Anton Vanke. "And you, Mr. Vanko."

Old Stark, oblivious to the tension, responded warmly.

Anton Vanko's expression soured at the sight of Ivanov, his voice trembling. "You..."

Dufran glanced at Ivanov. "Mr. Vanko, it seems you misjudged your associates. These gangsters hardly posed a challenge."

"Gangsters?" Old Stark frowned, addressing Anton Vanke. "What's going on, Vanko?"