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american comcis _ tales of caltiveter _chapter_0071_part_01
Chapter 98
chapter 0071 part 1
Chapter 71: Demonic Whispers
Xiao Hei flapped its fleshy membrane wings, flying in mid-air. Its hissing made listeners shudder.
Directly below it, a pool of green viscous liquid was continuously corroding the carpet, emitting a pungent foul smell.
This pool of liquid was the only evidence that Myron Walker had ever existed.
"Hiss!"
Xiao Hei, circling in mid-air, suddenly made a sharp turn and flew downstairs through the stairwell door Myron Walker had crashed through.
In a guest room on the first floor, Xiao Hei flew to the door, circled for a moment, and suddenly let out a hiss.
Blue electric light flickered on its black scales. As it darted forward, a bullet-like hole appeared on the hard guest room door, the area around the hole charred black.
"Hiss..."
Inside the room, a man in a trench coat was wiping down his firearms. Just as he heard the hiss and looked up...
A streak of high-intensity reddish-white current instantly engulfed him.
Near the Bulgari Hotel was a garment studio. This shop facing the street had fabric, manual sewing machines, and hanging semi-finished clothes visible through the glass.
Clearly, this studio was one of Italy's characteristic industries: artisan tailoring.
Thanks to Milan's luxury goods industry and Italy's cultural output in global clothing brands.
Italy's high-end luxury brands are popular worldwide: Prada, Gucci, Versace, Bulgari, Dolce & Gabbana, Valentino...
These well-known major brands all originate from Italy.
(Besides operating hotels, Bulgari is also the world's third-ranked jewelry brand.) A century ago, the concept of industrial production swept through the Federation and Europe, but some Italian artisans were stubborn; they believed in tradition:
Shoes must fit, clothes must be tailored, and the fabric must be good and durable.
This completely deviated from the concept of large-scale industrial production where efficiency reigns supreme.
Not everyone had the courage to go against the tide of the times.
This obsession with tradition gave rise to a batch of excellent brands known for fine craftsmanship. Among the world's top ten men's wear brands, Italian brands occupy eight spots.
They insisted on hand-making suits, not even using any sewing machines.
They believed that only handmade items possessed unique features.
A purely hand-stitched suit could not be replicated through industrial production processes.
Well-fitting, comfortable, a truly good tailor could produce no more than a dozen pieces of clothes per year, but this only made many tycoons flock to them even more.
You get what you pay for. Take the white suits Tang Song wore, for example; one suit could cost as much as eighty to ninety thousand US Dollars. Such a high price was enough to deter ordinary humans.
Judging by that sewing machine, the tailor in this shop clearly hadn't reached the level of serving top tycoons.
After all, the most top-tier tailors claimed that all 7000 stitches were sewn by hand.
Through the glass window, flickering red dots could vaguely be seen inside the shop building.
"Jeremy, something's not right. Myron Walker went in half an hour ago, and we haven't heard a single sound!"
Using fabric from the shop to prop up their gun rests, two assassins set up two sniper rifles, lay prone on the ground, and aimed at the target room in the hotel across the street.
One assassin turned his head and saw his accomplice smoking a cigarette.
He knocked the cigarette out of his accomplice's mouth and snapped in a low voice, "Jeremy, how many times have I told you, don't smoke when you're on a mission! It'll get you killed!"
By the firelight of the cigarette butt, Jeremy could be seen. He looked like a white youth in his twenties, with blond hair, a tattoo on half his face, a nose ring, and an unruly expression.
"Alright, Uncle, if you ask me, we should just use a rocket launcher to blow up the room with the person inside! I know an arms dealer. When the army upgraded their gear, he took the opportunity to get a batch of weapons the military had just phased out. Honestly, the sniper rifles we have should be replaced too..."
Looking at his chattering nephew, the older assassin rubbed his forehead helplessly. He was just about to educate his rookie nephew about the Continental Hotel rules...
A flash of white light exploded in the dark room. *Whoosh!* His head flew straight off.
Blood spurted skyward, drenching Jeremy's head and face.
Feeling the viscous blood on his body and face, and looking at his uncle's head that had landed in his arms...
Jeremy let out a shrill, piercing scream, like a little girl who had been [censored].
*Whoosh!* With one strike, Blade sent the young assassin to join his uncle. Blade picked up a piece of fabric, wiped his silver-plated longsword clean, and his figure vanished into the darkness, searching for the next target.
For Blade, the dark night was the perfect cover.
The reason he appeared here was, of course, because of West.
As a local strongman, the fact that the Continental Hotel had put Tang Song on a hit list naturally couldn't be hidden from West.
Valuing Tang Song as a junior, West not only sent Blade to assist but also dispatched a group of Inquisitors from the Inquisition.
...
"Thump thump..."
An assassin dual-wielding UZIs pulled the trigger, aiming at the armored figures in front of him.
These suddenly appearing armored strongmen, clad in ancient Roman bronze armor and wielding various cold weapons, attacked the assassins surrounding the Bulgari Hotel as soon as they appeared.
Firearms versus cold weapons, the advantage is mine! This was the first reaction of many assassins upon seeing these strongmen who looked like they were cosplaying.
What a joke, how many years has it been since the era of cold weapons passed?
However, when they truly faced these strongmen wearing bronze armor, the assassins finally understood what despair felt like.
"Thump thump thump..."
The magazines of the two UZIs in his hands instantly emptied. Fifty bullets squarely hit the bronze armor of the strongman before him.
After the clanging sounds, the assassin watched in despair as white holy light shimmered on the strongman's bronze armor.
"God loves the world!"
Before the assassin could reload, this Inquisitor from the Inquisition uttered a pious prayer, became enveloped in a layer of white holy light, and charged sideways towards the assassin.
The strongman's charge was like a wild boar's rush. His elbow directly shattered the assassin's chest cavity, sending him flying over ten meters away.
An assassin wearing a one-piece leather suit and a full-face helmet saw the situation was bad, twisted the accelerator, and tried to escape.
"Whoosh whoosh..."
An Inquisitor held a bronze flail head the size of a human head in one hand.
Chapter 71: Demonic Whispers
Xiao Hei flapped its fleshy membrane wings, flying in mid-air. Its hissing made listeners shudder.
Directly below it, a pool of green viscous liquid was continuously corroding the carpet, emitting a pungent foul smell.
This pool of liquid was the only evidence that Myron Walker had ever existed.
"Hiss!"
Xiao Hei, circling in mid-air, suddenly made a sharp turn and flew downstairs through the stairwell door Myron Walker had crashed through.
In a guest room on the first floor, Xiao Hei flew to the door, circled for a moment, and suddenly let out a hiss.
Blue electric light flickered on its black scales. As it darted forward, a bullet-like hole appeared on the hard guest room door, the area around the hole charred black.
"Hiss..."
Inside the room, a man in a trench coat was wiping down his firearms. Just as he heard the hiss and looked up...
A streak of high-intensity reddish-white current instantly engulfed him.
Near the Bulgari Hotel was a garment studio. This shop facing the street had fabric, manual sewing machines, and hanging semi-finished clothes visible through the glass.
Clearly, this studio was one of Italy's characteristic industries: artisan tailoring.
Thanks to Milan's luxury goods industry and Italy's cultural output in global clothing brands.
Italy's high-end luxury brands are popular worldwide: Prada, Gucci, Versace, Bulgari, Dolce & Gabbana, Valentino...
These well-known major brands all originate from Italy.
(Besides operating hotels, Bulgari is also the world's third-ranked jewelry brand.) A century ago, the concept of industrial production swept through the Federation and Europe, but some Italian artisans were stubborn; they believed in tradition:
Shoes must fit, clothes must be tailored, and the fabric must be good and durable.
This completely deviated from the concept of large-scale industrial production where efficiency reigns supreme.
Not everyone had the courage to go against the tide of the times.
This obsession with tradition gave rise to a batch of excellent brands known for fine craftsmanship. Among the world's top ten men's wear brands, Italian brands occupy eight spots.
They insisted on hand-making suits, not even using any sewing machines.
They believed that only handmade items possessed unique features.
A purely hand-stitched suit could not be replicated through industrial production processes.
Well-fitting, comfortable, a truly good tailor could produce no more than a dozen pieces of clothes per year, but this only made many tycoons flock to them even more.
You get what you pay for. Take the white suits Tang Song wore, for example; one suit could cost as much as eighty to ninety thousand US Dollars. Such a high price was enough to deter ordinary humans.
Judging by that sewing machine, the tailor in this shop clearly hadn't reached the level of serving top tycoons.
After all, the most top-tier tailors claimed that all 7000 stitches were sewn by hand.
Through the glass window, flickering red dots could vaguely be seen inside the shop building.
"Jeremy, something's not right. Myron Walker went in half an hour ago, and we haven't heard a single sound!"
Using fabric from the shop to prop up their gun rests, two assassins set up two sniper rifles, lay prone on the ground, and aimed at the target room in the hotel across the street.
One assassin turned his head and saw his accomplice smoking a cigarette.
He knocked the cigarette out of his accomplice's mouth and snapped in a low voice, "Jeremy, how many times have I told you, don't smoke when you're on a mission! It'll get you killed!"
By the firelight of the cigarette butt, Jeremy could be seen. He looked like a white youth in his twenties, with blond hair, a tattoo on half his face, a nose ring, and an unruly expression.
"Alright, Uncle, if you ask me, we should just use a rocket launcher to blow up the room with the person inside! I know an arms dealer. When the army upgraded their gear, he took the opportunity to get a batch of weapons the military had just phased out. Honestly, the sniper rifles we have should be replaced too..."
Looking at his chattering nephew, the older assassin rubbed his forehead helplessly. He was just about to educate his rookie nephew about the Continental Hotel rules...
A flash of white light exploded in the dark room. *Whoosh!* His head flew straight off.
Blood spurted skyward, drenching Jeremy's head and face.
Feeling the viscous blood on his body and face, and looking at his uncle's head that had landed in his arms...
Jeremy let out a shrill, piercing scream, like a little girl who had been [censored].
*Whoosh!* With one strike, Blade sent the young assassin to join his uncle. Blade picked up a piece of fabric, wiped his silver-plated longsword clean, and his figure vanished into the darkness, searching for the next target.
For Blade, the dark night was the perfect cover.
The reason he appeared here was, of course, because of West.
As a local strongman, the fact that the Continental Hotel had put Tang Song on a hit list naturally couldn't be hidden from West.
Valuing Tang Song as a junior, West not only sent Blade to assist but also dispatched a group of Inquisitors from the Inquisition.
...
"Thump thump..."
An assassin dual-wielding UZIs pulled the trigger, aiming at the armored figures in front of him.
These suddenly appearing armored strongmen, clad in ancient Roman bronze armor and wielding various cold weapons, attacked the assassins surrounding the Bulgari Hotel as soon as they appeared.
Firearms versus cold weapons, the advantage is mine! This was the first reaction of many assassins upon seeing these strongmen who looked like they were cosplaying.
What a joke, how many years has it been since the era of cold weapons passed?
However, when they truly faced these strongmen wearing bronze armor, the assassins finally understood what despair felt like.
"Thump thump thump..."
The magazines of the two UZIs in his hands instantly emptied. Fifty bullets squarely hit the bronze armor of the strongman before him.
After the clanging sounds, the assassin watched in despair as white holy light shimmered on the strongman's bronze armor.
"God loves the world!"
Before the assassin could reload, this Inquisitor from the Inquisition uttered a pious prayer, became enveloped in a layer of white holy light, and charged sideways towards the assassin.
The strongman's charge was like a wild boar's rush. His elbow directly shattered the assassin's chest cavity, sending him flying over ten meters away.
An assassin wearing a one-piece leather suit and a full-face helmet saw the situation was bad, twisted the accelerator, and tried to escape.
"Whoosh whoosh..."
An Inquisitor held a bronze flail head the size of a human head in one hand.
