Chapter 41: All for a Title

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Each flying knife struck its mark, embedding either in the throat or heart of the targets. Whether or not they wore bulletproof vests, all of the hitmen fell dead.

At the same time, Link's body moved swiftly. He leapt to the right, hiding behind a pillar, and reached behind him to grab another handful of throwing knives.

Had he ever used throwing knives before?

No, but Link could still hit his targets with pinpoint accuracy. This was thanks to his bio-field.

Superhumans possess a bio-field that can envelop anything, from large vehicles like airplanes and ships to something as small as a throwing knife.

For now, the field's range wasn't extensive since Link hadn't used it often. However, earlier that day, when he was checking his weapons cache, he realized he didn't want to use any of the stored weapons.

Those weapons were all from the S.H.I.E.L.D. division and were recorded in their system. Link decided against using them.

So, he needed new weapons. He considered going to Hell's Kitchen to acquire some, but then thought of something different—utilizing his bio-field.

He tested it at home, grabbing a random fruit knife from the kitchen. Jessica had outfitted the kitchen with all sorts of tools. To his satisfaction, the bio-field worked with the fruit knife, which led him to order a batch of specialized willow leaf throwing knives.

This wasn't telekinesis. He couldn't use the bio-field to retrieve the knives once thrown, only to maintain their precision. As for strength, he had plenty to spare.

The only problem was how quickly he used up the knives. He'd need to commission more in the future, as well as custom gear to carry them efficiently.

From behind cover, Link didn't stay still. He swiftly moved out from the other side of the pillar, constantly shifting positions. His eyes caught the movement of each hitman, and his hands sent a continuous flurry of knives, eliminating them one by one.

In the terrace garden, Winston glanced at his watch. Five minutes had passed, and the gunfire downstairs seemed to have ceased.

At that moment, Charon's phone rang. After answering, he turned to Winston with a look of shock.

"Sir, all the hitmen on the first floor are dead."

"That man is coming up!"

Winston was also surprised, while Santino was struck with terror.

"That's impossible!"

"Nothing's impossible," Winston replied, a bit more composed. "Do any of our guests plan to intervene?"

"No, sir. Those who rented rooms aren't interested in the 300,000-dollar bounty. From the start, they intended to just sit back and watch," Charon answered.

"I'll raise the bounty to a million!" Santino quickly added.

"It's too late," Winston shook his head. "Now, it's up to your men."

Suddenly, the sound of gunfire erupted from the entrance of the terrace. It only lasted a few seconds before silence returned. A figure appeared at the entrance.

Link walked in casually, holding two throwing knives in his right hand. He smiled and said,

"There aren't many of you left."

"This amount of resistance was too weak. You couldn't even last ten minutes."

Link looked disappointed.

"This isn't the kind of dramatic rise to fame I imagined."

Winston, ever calm, responded,

"Mr. Link, you've already made quite the name for yourself. However, the issue now is that you haven't just made an enemy of the New York Continental Hotel—you've antagonized the entire High Table. You may not fully grasp what that entails."

"Who I've offended can wait. First, I need to have a conversation with Mr. Santino D'Antonio here," Link said, turning toward the man responsible for the situation.

"Is this because I embarrassed you?"

Santino understood the implication. He quickly replied,

"I can give you money! I'll withdraw the bounty…"

"No, no, no. You don't get it. You broke the rules. Gambling matters should be settled at the table. But you went and hired hitmen."

"You've put me in quite the predicament, you know?"

"You think your influence is so great that you can just casually order the deaths of others. But now, your life is in my hands."

"Of course, you're free to try drawing your gun."

Link smiled, but Santino saw it as the grin of a devil, one that tempted a man to surrender his soul.

"Seems you're too afraid to try," Link added, his tone filled with disappointment.

**"Swoosh~"**

A knife flew through the air, piercing Santino's throat. Link walked over to the body, rummaged through Santino's belongings until he found a phone, and scanned the contact list. He located the number for Santino's father, the elder Antonio, and dialed.

"Hello…" The elder Antonio had been preparing to rest, thinking his son might call to brag about something.

"Mr. Antonio, your son has paid the price. Now, it's your turn," Link said.

"What?" The elder Antonio was confused. "Where's my son?"

"He's lying here with a knife in his throat and a look of terror on his face. Not exactly a peaceful end," Link replied casually.

The elder Antonio, Winston, and Charon were all stunned by Link's audacity.

"You—since you've already killed him, can't this end here?" The elder Antonio, terminally ill, valued his daughter more than his disappointing son. Moreover, it seemed clear the New York Continental had failed; otherwise, his son would still be alive. Now, the High Table would have to deal with this matter, sparing him from further involvement.

"Of course. Gambling matters should have been settled at the table, and you broke the rules. Now, I want to bet again with you in Las Vegas. This time, I want a stake of one billion."

"You can refuse, but if you do, your entire Antonio family will be on my hit list."

"Don't count on your precious High Table. I know all about you—twelve global crime syndicates, led by a single Elder, with Continental Hotels across the world."

"Your power isn't as great as you think. If you make me angry, I'll wipe you all out."

The elder Antonio paused. Was this man simply arrogant?

At the very least, everything Link had said thus far had come true—starting with the downfall of the New York Continental.

"Who are you?" the elder Antonio asked.

Link replied softly,

"I'm just me."

"A professional gambler, nothing more. There's no need to fear me. After all, I alone am more than enough. And when I take out all twelve members of the High Table and wipe out your backing, do you think I might earn myself a catchy title?"

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