Era of Magic and Martial Arts-Chapter 313 - 297: I Want His Life

The sudden riot in the Death Row made Qian Huan feel infinitely emotional:

The prison guards are mostly weak and useless, and the Prison Chiefs are insincere and harbor ulterior motives.

The bodyguards sent by the Bright Group are ignorant of the bigger picture, driven by an insatiable desire for money that makes them hard to control.

On ordinary days, Qian Huan could tolerate it, but today when everyone was compared, their differences were magnified infinitely, and Qian Huan finally understood who in this Second Prison he could truly trust and rely on... his own people!

Qian Huan now finds Feng Mu more satisfactory the more he looks at him; perhaps it’s true that adversity reveals true character.

If Feng Mu’s [Blood Bar Deceit Eye] were to evolve further, maybe he could see the intimacy index of others around Qian Huan plummeting, while his own intimacy was soaring against the trend.

Gunfire echoes through the prison corridors at this moment, and Qian Huan raises his head to look at the big screen. He sees several inmates, like wild beasts who have lost their sanity, hysterically screaming as they charge forward, only to be torn to shreds by concentrated gunfire.

A mess of meat and a rain of blood mix together, relentlessly trampled under the boots advancing in formation.

There are also inmates angrily roaring at the surveillance, swinging boneless prison guards in their hands, but the speakers in the surveillance room are already shattered into bits.

No more can the "screaming chickens" be heard, nor the furious and desperate curses of the inmates.

There are death row inmates who rely on their ferocious strength, baring teeth and screaming, delivering a horizontal kick that immediately sinks the chests of a few prison guards like footballs kicked flat by Dali, sequentially flying mid-air and spinning violently.

The culprit then leaps forward, grasping an electric baton with one hand; the baton tip taps the ground repeatedly, letting the person hover, with his body curled and hidden behind the flying prison guards ahead.

Bang bang bang bang bang, da da da da da—

Blood and pieces of flesh splattered, in the torrential rain of blood, the death row inmate suddenly unfurled his body, breaking out from the shattered corpse, while still in mid-air, his hand thrusting the electric baton forward like a venomous dragon, striking the chest of the front-line armed prison guards.

Crunch, the bulletproof vest crumbles under the impact of the electric baton, as fragile as porcelain struck by a heavy hammer, ribs snapping instantly, spurting blood from his mouth.

The inmate lets out a thrilled shriek, sweeping the electric baton horizontally, hitting the waistline of four prison guards standing in a row, their bodies slammed heavily against the side walls, exposing the dark muzzle behind.

The inmate’s pupils constrict, just as his feet touch the ground, ready to step, the woven net of metal bullets rain down like a waterfall, within a breath, turning him into a sieve.

The prison guards who fell to the ground cough up blood, quickly climbing up, pressing tightly against each other, rejoining the formation, just retreating from the first row to the second.

The sound of footsteps "tap tap tap" echoes like the beat of death; the wall of prison guards steadily advancing, closing in on the trapped mass of flesh in the middle.

The scene resembles square bun slices, layer upon layer, squeezing the patty in between, the ground soaked in increasingly thick sauce.

Li Bashan stands among the wall of guards, in the third row, unlike the others who line up four per row, he stands solo.

Wearing heavy explosion-proof armor, he doesn’t wield firearms but grips massive explosion-proof shields to his left and right.

Raising the shields horizontally, they become like door panels blocking the corridor, almost completely sealing off the passage.

Occasionally, fearless inmates find a way to break through the metal storm of the first two rows, lucky enough to make it before him, only to be unceremoniously knocked flat with a shield, as if swatting flies, their bones shattering completely.

This is despite Li Bashan deliberately restraining seventy percent of his strength; otherwise, these "flies" wouldn’t maintain any form, already burst into a bloody mist of steam.

In this way, repeatedly, the friendly wall of guards behind Li Bashan intentionally or unintentionally slowed their steps, creating a gap from him.

The originally orderly sequence, maintaining a consistent five-meter distance between rows, marches uniformly forward.

Only behind the third row does a vast ten-meter-long gap suddenly appear.

But it no longer matters, as soon as the soggy red carpet starts to crawl like a living thing over more inmates’ feet, they collectively collapse.

Fear transforms them into "screaming chickens," screeching, escaping in a frenzy, then one by one, like dumplings, rushing for the filthy water dungeons on the side of the corridor.

This slows the wall’s squeezing pace slightly, for the team must pass by each dungeon, sending gun barrels through the iron bars, reshaping the filthy water into a uniform color.

Wang Cong follows in the last few rows, not once getting the chance to fire, greedily inhaling the bloody scent in the air, watching the bloody overflow from the rolling dungeons up ahead, feeling an unspeakable ache within.

He so desperately wants to save Feng Mu and themselves, these mistaken "family members."

They already realized their mistakes, jumped back into the dungeons obediently, why can’t they be spared, Prison Chief, you truly are such... wasting resources.

Wang Cong walks sorrowfully across the sodden red carpet, unnoticed by anyone, the powder-white ash gradually slipping from the folds of his pants legs into the bloody mire.

With every step, every lift, the ash constantly falls and retracts, his pant legs subtly widening.

....

Qian Huan looks at the blood-stained surveillance screen, the menace on his face restrained. He looks at Feng Mu, who volunteered to help him resolve issues, and said in a low voice:

"A condemned inmate doesn’t need you to walk this path, I have more important duties for you to attend to." 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

"I need you to investigate clearly the reasons behind the riot and escape of the Death Row inmates, as it is impossible for them to escape the dungeon by themselves."

"Someone helped them, causing the death of so many colleagues; I want to use his life to honor and appease them."

Qian Huan’s voice is loud, as if speaking to Feng Mu, yet addressing everyone in the room, and more to... Zhao Xing lying on the ground.

His words carry no concealment, his eyes exuding a sinister coldness, fixated on Zhao Xing.

The latter isn’t kneeling and wailing anymore, but standing, glaring at the screen with bloodshot eyes, his facial muscles twitching.

Yet, does anyone in the room notice that the badge symbolizing the Prison Chief is nowhere to be found where he knelt?

At this moment, that badge is tightly grasped in his hand, his fingers clasp it so tightly the veins bulge, the badge edge deeply sinking into his flesh, marking a deep blood trace.

The blood mark is like a newborn palm line, conveniently connecting across the career line and life line, extending the career line into the palm, but splitting the life line in two...