The entrance to the dazzling nightclub was illuminated with bright lights. A short, well-groomed, cheerful man, holding two stunning women, stepped out with a broad smile, followed by a group of twelve bodyguards wearing black sunglasses. The man's smile was full of confidence, and his hands continuously moved across the women's bodies. One of the bodyguards hurried over two steps and waved at the parking area, where a driver promptly recognized the signal and started the engine of his luxury car. Suddenly, a motorcycle sped in from the side, its rider dressed in dark motorcycle attire, wearing a non-reflective black helmet. Without giving the group time to react, the rider drew his pistol and fired six shots in quick succession—three of them struck the man squarely: one in the forehead, one in the throat, and one in the chest. The three bodyguards closest to him also took hits, all of them struck in the brow. The incident unfolded too quickly. It was only when the gunman vanished that the two women let out piercing cries of alarm, and the other bodyguards instinctively drew their guns, adopting a defensive posture. More people surged out from the nightclub, some beginning to review footage captured by the security cameras. The stout man had already been dead—his nephew, the brother-in-law of the Russian faction's boss, who every evening enjoyed a lively night out with his entourage. Half an hour later, several bodyguards collapsed simultaneously outside a standalone European-style villa, each struck by a flying dagger through the heart. The windows of the villa, previously dark, flashed briefly. The villa's owner, also a member of the Russian faction, held a higher status than the stout man at the nightclub. At the moment the victims were discovered, in a casino some forty kilometers away in another city, a man with exceptional luck lay prone, a hatchet embedded in his head, bowing over a pile of chips. This man too was a mid-level leader of the Russian faction. Moreover, the three shared one common point—they were all direct allies of the elder, the very hands and feet of the leader. In a single night, three of them fell. Vladimir grew furious and sensed a conspiracy brewing. After all, he had himself orchestrated the plot, aiming to eliminate Su Kui and spark a conflict between the Tang people's faction and Yuris Kin. Yet, Su Kui emerged unscathed, returning safely to his ancestral castle, while his three trusted lieutenants were successively killed—deepening his already fragile position within the association. "Investigate," Vladimir roared, "thoroughly investigate. I want the perpetrators identified and then crushed, fed to the dogs." His subordinates immediately set out to uncover the identities of the killers. Soon, four death notices arrived—the victims were his long-time partners, who had recently publicly voiced opposition to Yuris Kin's ascension, staunchly defending Vladimir. A string of setbacks had eroded his confidence in the future; if Yuriykin were to now demand a settlement, he would be utterly unable to withstand him. Upon hearing the news, Yuriykin was overjoyed, beaming with excitement. Ever since the days when the underworld had first fostered rivalries and vendettas, such killings had never ceased—he firmly believed these were orchestrated by Vladimir's enemies, and he didn't care which specific one it was. "The Russian faction will soon be entirely under my control," he declared, raising his voice to the heavens. "Boss, bad news—Ivanov has passed away," a subordinate rushed in, "According to the scene investigation, he was shot this morning, right by his own flowerbed!" "What? Who did it?" Yuriykin asked, eyes wide. "We don't know yet. It's likely someone from Vladimir's side—ever since then, they've suspected us of having killed their people." The subordinate explained. Yuri snapped, "Vladimir is a fool! Even if I were to replace him, I wouldn't do it in such a clumsy manner. Is he completely out of his mind?" Suddenly, a noisy commotion broke out outside, and he angrily asked, "What's going on?" "Yuri, you're a complete idiot!" Vladimir entered with a group of supporters, his voice sharp. "You've done things that violate our house rules—how can you ignore our regulations and turn against your own people?" Yuri was already furious. Faced with Vladimir's direct accusations, his tone rose an octave. "What do you mean? When have I ever turned against my own people? Without any evidence, don't just make up stories. I can swear on my word that I didn't kill any of your men—yet you yourself have killed mine. Now, what do you expect me to do with that score?" Vladimir was so indignant he could hardly breathe. He had come to lodge formal complaints, only to find the other side refusing to acknowledge the charges—and now, turning the tables on him. It was simply outrageous. "Yuri, it seems you're not planning to admit it—you're clearly a man who dares to act but fails to follow through. How can you possibly remain in the gang?" "It wasn't me! So why should I admit it?" "People around him shook their heads, indicating they hadn't fired the shots themselves. 'Who exactly... *crash*...' One after another, individuals from both sides fell. Vladimir's left leg was struck by a bullet, and only then did he realize how close the danger had been—so urgent was the situation that he now questioned the very notion of identifying the first person to fire, as he would have to eliminate his opponent first to ensure his own survival. 'Launch a full-scale counterattack,' he ordered, 'and have reinforcements move in immediately—make sure尤里斯金is dealt with!' At the same time, Yuriskin spoke up: 'Have everyone outside come in—we'll attack from both inside and outside. We must ensure Vladimir doesn't make it out alive!' As reinforcements arrived from both sides, the intensity of the fighting grew. Police and National Defense Forces began to arrive, yet, overwhelmed by the sheer strength of the opposing fire, they hesitated to advance. The commander's intention is to wait until both sides are nearly exhausted before acting, so as not to suffer heavy losses prematurely. Qin Feng, hiding among the crowd and observing the blazing flames and intense gunfire, smiled gently to himself. "What truly foolish people! Such individuals can even hold the positions of boss and second-in-command—this is simply beyond reason!"