16 Settling Debts

Under normal circumstances, Russell was a gentleman who admired and cherished beauty.

But this only applied under normal circumstances.

If someone had become an enemy, sparing them just because they were attractive wouldn't be admiration, but rather a lapse in judgment.

While snapping Fox's neck, black tendrils surged from Russell's left hand, coiling around the bodies of the last two Brotherhood assassins.

Crack!

Two distinct bone-breaking sounds echoed.

Without a moment's hesitation, Russell swiftly ended the lives of these two Brotherhood assassins.

At this point, only two figures stood on the factory floor: him and the Cross.

If one counted those still alive, Wesley, heavily injured and unconscious, would need to be included.

After casually disposing of Fox's body, Russell turned his gaze to the Cross.

Although Cross had sustained injuries during the onslaught, they weren't fatal.

Apart from looking somewhat disheveled, he still retained the majority of his combat prowess.

However, he was acutely aware that even at the peak of his condition, he could never match up to Russell.

Even in his human form, Russell could withstand bullets without harm.

In his Venom form, he could endure not just bullets, but even artillery fire.

Cross put on an air of resignation, surveying the factory floor littered with corpses.

Despite his discreet movements, Russell noticed that Cross's gaze lingered on Wesley for a fraction of a second.

Though Wesley appeared deceased now, true death was still a while away.

As long as he received medical treatment before losing too much blood, it wouldn't be long before Wesley was back on his feet.

Cross's status as the Brotherhood's ace assassin stemmed from his extraordinary skill in Bullet Curving.

Executing a near-death maneuver was a simple feat for him.

Having surveyed the chaotic scene, Cross, in an almost tranquil manner, discarded his handgun and stretched out his arms, speaking in an exceedingly composed tone, "Mr. Russell, my life is yours!"

Russell didn't immediately terminate Cross. Instead, he manipulated the symbiote on his head, revealing half of his face.

"Are you so certain I've killed Sloan?"

"The Mad Traveler repays his debts! Sloan's life shouldn't be enough to make you waver from your principles!"

Cross, with an air of composure, regarded Russell calmly as he responded, "Indeed! The Mad Traveler repays his debts!" Russell replied with a smile.

Just as Cross was about to close his eyes and face death, Russell's voice resonated once more.

"Since you recognize that phrase, you should also understand that I never leave potential enemies alive."

Cross's expression shifted, his previous composure dissolving.

Before he could utter a word, Russell extended his right hand, and the black tendrils shot out like ropes, entwining around Wesley's body.

Wesley, injured and unconscious, was hoisted up like a marionette.

"To secure your son's life, you're willing to harm your own son. You're a decent father in that regard."

As he spoke, the black tendrils wrapped around Wesley started to meld and partially take over, granting Russell a degree of control over Wesley's actions.

Russell had already tested this on Sloan.

Though he couldn't create independent symbiote entities to possess others, as long as he maintained the connection, he could exert some influence over the possessed person.

This was akin to a puppeteer manipulating marionettes.

As the tendrils partially merged with Wesley's form, his injuries were rapidly healed.

When Wesley opened his eyes, his immediate reaction was to raise his gun and shoot.

However, bound tightly by the black tendrils and partially influenced by the symbiote, he couldn't even lift his right hand to fire, let alone control his fingers.

"I may not be a virtuous person, but I'm no demon either."

"Before your deaths, I don't mind granting you the chance to acknowledge each other as father and son."

.....

Boom!

The fate-defying weaving machine, placed at the heart of the textile factory, met its destructive end as Russell blew it to pieces with a bomb.

After disposing of the Destiny Loom, which the Brotherhood considered a holy artifact, Russell departed from the textile factory through the secret passage in Sloan's study.

Cross and Wesley were dead, every member of the Brotherhood was dead, and the Destiny Loom had been obliterated.

The assassins' organization that had existed for over a millennium was officially eradicated.

Hell's Kitchen.

The octopus monster detective agency had already been reduced to ruins by fire.

Gazing at the remains of the agency that had accompanied him through his initial detective years, Russell let out a faint sigh.

After leaving the textile factory, he took a taxi back to Hell's Kitchen.

The police would naturally handle matters at the textile factory.

As he emerged from the secret passage, he noticed several police cars with sirens blaring rushing toward the factory.

From the charred remains of the bookshelf, he found the smoke-stained safe and began entering the combination.

Fortunately, he had chosen a safe with a mechanical lock rather than an electronic one.

Otherwise, he might have had to consider forcibly breaking open the safe now.

Click!

Perhaps due to the relatively short duration of the fire, the cash and gold coins inside the safe remained untouched.

Just as he was retrieving the cash and coins, the landlord hurriedly arrived at the agency.

The landlord, a white man in his fifties named Sean, was unemployed and earned a living from collecting rent. The entire building belonged to him.

Unlike other landlords who set aside specific days each month for rent collection, Sean was different. He collected rent from one or two households every day, from the 1st to the 31st.

Whatever rent he collected that day, he would spend it that same day.

And then repeat the process the next day.

In his words, this made him feel like he was working, and every day was payday.

"Oh my God, this is just terrible! I was telling Susan yesterday that the decor of your agency was as exquisite as the cream cake my grandmother used to make! I bet she's never seen a detective agency more stylish than yours!"

Sean exclaimed with his usual exaggerated tone.

The Susan he mentioned was his wife.

In her younger days, she had a figure like a Victoria's Secret model, but after getting married, she had become as robust as a Russian wrestler.

"Can we find someone to redecorate this place? Are there any vacant rooms upstairs?"

Russell took out three stacks of cash and handed them to Sean.

Sean glanced at the money in his hand, then at Russell, and nodded.

"Until the renovations are done, I'll be using the upstairs as an office, and for any extra space, consider it the rent for the rooms upstairs."

Russell patted Sean's shoulder and left the dilapidated agency with the remaining cash and gold coins.

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