Chapter 67: Arm! Arm!

"Ugh!" The driver's body stiffened, and immediately he lost control, his hands instinctively gripping the steering wheel and swerving it wildly to one side.

With one hand, Vilark grabbed the driver's collar, while his other hand steadied the back of the passenger seat. With a swift and decisive motion, he vaulted into the passenger seat, steadied the steering wheel, and with some difficulty reached out to open the driver-side door, kicking the dying driver out.

The driver's body tumbled a dozen times across the wet, puddle-strewn road before coming to a stop. He twitched, abandoned to the lashing torrential rain, as his blood mixed with the rainwater and washed into the gutter, blending with the filth.

The convoy behind him ruthlessly drove right past him, continuing their pursuit of Vilark.

Watching himself being abandoned, the driver's struggles abruptly ceased, and he slumped into the pool of blood that was constantly washed away yet continually replenished by the rain.

"Thud!"

The car door slammed shut. Sitting in the driver's seat with a tight grip on the steering wheel, Vilark panted heavily, his body trembling uncontrollably: "Huu... huu..."

This was the first time Vilark had ever killed a person with his own hands. Had the situation not been so critical—where it was strictly kill or be killed—he would have found it hard to be so decisive.

The smooth yet strange sensation of driving a blade into a man's neck left his hands feeling somewhat weak. Smelling the mixture of fresh blood and damp rain inside the car, he fought down his nausea, used his sleeve to wipe away the blood splattered on the windshield, and drove on.

Stealing the car was only the first step. If he thought escaping on foot was enough just because he had a vehicle, he would be far too naive. At that moment, Fletcher and his convoy were still tailing him. If he couldn't shake them off, a violent death was still guaranteed today.

The speeding car splashed water high into the air. Vilark constantly monitored the situation behind him. The Thomas family convoy, led by Fletcher, realized the driver had been killed and had begun accelerating, pressing closely against his bumper.

Vilark guessed that those men undoubtedly had guns. If he stalled for too long, or tried to lead them into a crowded area where they felt things were slipping out of their control, they would inevitably resort to their final plan—the one Vilark dreaded the most: riddling him with bullets.

He could neither fight back recklessly nor submit blindly.

Vilark had no choice but to stall for time, racking his brain to figure out what to do.

In the current situation, the only thing that could save him was the Equality Society. But everything had happened too suddenly. Carmine had deliberately caught him off guard, leaving him with no time at all to contact Daniel.

Now, the only person who could help him was himself.

Vilark considered whether he should go to the Rowvid Hotel, rescue Nord and Diaz, and flee Leithin with the five hundred and fifty thousand gold marks. Even though the bulk of the deal with the Pyramon Company had fallen through, five hundred and fifty thousand gold marks was still a massive fortune, enough to live a luxurious life.

This thought lasted for only a few seconds before he dismissed it.

Fletcher and his men were biting at his heels too fiercely, leaving nowhere near enough time for him to pick up Nord and Diaz. Furthermore, doing so would likely draw the danger straight to them, resulting in everyone being wiped out in one careless move.

No matter how terrible the current situation was, at worst it would just be him getting killed. Nord had Diaz looking out for him; if the Thomas family also targeted Nord for elimination, Diaz would lend a hand. With Diaz's intellect, he would easily grasp the situation, and once he saved Nord, the Rowvid Hotel would no longer be safe—he would take Nord and the five hundred and fifty thousand gold marks to another safe haven.

By the time news of his death spread, Nord would naturally understand the ins and outs of the matter. At that point, they would have only one choice: leave behind the corpses of losers like Dempsey and Vilark, and flee with the money.

Vilark had already considered the worst-case scenario. Staring straight ahead with beads of sweat on his forehead, he pushed the car speed to nearly its maximum, causing the vehicle to bounce roughly on the uneven road.

He tried to blend into the traffic, as most mainstream cars in Leithin looked fairly similar. In the blinding rain, it might just confuse Fletcher and his group, allowing him to slip away and find a way to contact Daniel and the Equality Society. Unfortunately, the downpour was too heavy; pedestrians were nowhere to be seen, and even horse-drawn carriages were absent, with only a few sporadic cars operating normally besides their own—making it impossible to blend in.

There were no options left.

Vilark pressed the accelerator all the way to the floor, letting the car race down the straight road.

The sheer violence of the rain made it nearly impossible for him to see ahead. Too many memories surged forth at the end of his life, causing his brain to overload and freezing his thoughts in that very moment.

Was he going to die?

Vilark asked himself.

Could it be that even after being reborn, he still couldn't change anything? Were the three of them still destined to die, and would Diaz still end up dead on the street protecting his employer?

Were all his struggles, all his frantic clawing and scratching, completely meaningless?

Bollocks!

Veins bulged on Vilark's forehead, and his gaze turned vicious.

How could he ever allow himself to be manipulated by others again, to be trampled underfoot, to be treated as a parasite, a lowly wretch?

This worthless life, no matter how lowly, would never surrender easily! Even if he had to die, he would tear a chunk of flesh out of the enemy's body before he went down!

Vilark released the accelerator and slowly pressed the brake. The car skidded slightly before gradually losing speed and coming to a halt.

Leaning against the backrest, Vilark wiped the sweat from his brow and looked into the rearview mirror.

Behind him, more than ten cars led by Fletcher had stopped less than twenty meters away. They looked like hunters teasing prey that could no longer run.

Vilark rummaged through the car, finally snapping a piece of iron wire from beneath the seat. He wrapped it around his hand, leaving only a sharp, three-centimeter tip pointing straight up.

To die was fine.

"Boom!" Thunder whipped through the air. Vilark stepped out of the car, and the torrential rain instantly drenched him.

Seeing Vilark step out, Fletcher and his men also alighted from their vehicles. Each holding a black umbrella, they wove between the dozen or so cars, gazing coldly at Vilark.

Vilark wiped his face. The freezing rain shocked him into absolute alertness.

The two sides stood in a standoff for about ten seconds. Vilark looked up at the sunless sky, his expression hardening as he took long strides toward Fletcher.

Whether it was an illusion or not, it seemed to him that Fletcher was currently standing beneath his umbrella, roaring with laughter.

In this game of chess, Fletcher had won.

"Hah..." Vilark sneered as he approached Fletcher.

He would no longer allow Fletcher to trample his dignity. If he was bound to die, he would at least not let Fletcher savor the taste of victory!

The hand clutching the iron wire tightened further, and Vilark's pace grew faster and faster.

"Bang!"

Suddenly, a crisp gunshot cut through the sound of the rain, shocking everyone present.

Vilark halted his steps and looked down at his body; he hadn't been shot. Meanwhile, Fletcher, who was no longer far away, panicked and retreated two steps, hiding behind two security guards as he shouted loudly, "Who are you people?!"

You people?

Vilark turned his head to look behind him.

At some point, behind him, a sea of churning figures had appeared. Countless people in black raincoats were holding firearms, training their sights on Fletcher and his men.

Three figures emerged from the crowd and approached Vilark.

"Boyne, Chloe, Moles..." Vilark, looking thoroughly bedraggled in the rain, parted his lips slightly. He hadn't expected the Equality Society to arrive just in time at the very last moment.

Moles, who had consistently advocated for arming the Equality Society during the earlier meeting, walked up to Vilark. He placed one hand on Vilark's shoulder while holding a gun with the other, aiming straight at Fletcher. "Aren't you glad you passed the motion to arm the Equality Society at the meeting?"