...
"Ah~" Matt Doyle had barely lifted his gun when a silver flash shot straight towards him. It struck him in the wrist, and as blood spurted out, his gun naturally fell from his grasp. The faces of the two burly men guarding him paled, and they both simultaneously drew their guns.
Compared to Matt Doyle, who was an amateur with a gun, these two strapping men with somewhat Asian facial features were highly professional. Their draw, aim, and shots were steady, fluid, and clearly demonstrated that they were well-trained mercenaries.
But that was the limit of their capabilities. When Yves King had thrown his knife, he had moved like a leopard, rapidly closing the distance that was already quite close.
"Thud~"
One of the hulking men felt like he had been hit by an armored vehicle. He flew several meters back, his ribs shattered, and crashed into the luxuriously decorated cabin wall, vomiting a mouthful of fresh blood.