The assassin crouched low before springing toward his target like an arrow loosed from a bow. Rosé shifted her weight onto her toes, gathering the centrifugal force from her entire frame to launch a lightning-fast elbow strike toward his neck. However, the man snapped his forearm up to block, the impact echoing with a dull thud. He then slipped past her follow-up left hook as fluidly as a breeze.

  Whoosh! Whoosh!

  The sound of displaced air followed every strike. They traded blows and kicks in a seamless exchange of lethal grace. The killer parried Rosé’s rapid-fire assaults with calculated ease, while the spy used her agility to rain down kicks, hoping to shatter his rhythm. But the assassin was adaptable; seizing a split-second opening in her defense, he drove his foot into her chest, launching her body hard against the balcony railing. Rosé nearly tumbled over into the Shanghai streets below, which were currently awash in the neon glow of passing traffic.

  The assassin didn’t let the golden opportunity slip, lunging forward with his short blade.

  In that life-or-death second, Rosé chose to lean back against the edge. Her slender hand flicked outward as a hidden dagger slid from its spring-loaded steel sheath. Just as the killer reached her, she gripped the railing with her left arm and swung herself up to stand atop the narrow ledge, defying death itself. With all her weight, she plunged the blade into the side of the man’s neck with surgical precision.

  Thud!

  The assassin let out a harrowing wail. Crimson blood sprayed across the stone railing. He staggered back, eyes wide with the sudden realization of his own mortality. The wound was too severe to finish the job; his final instinct was to flee. Drenched in blood, he gathered his remaining strength, vaulted over the railing, and rappelled into the darkness below, vanishing into the shadows of the night. He left behind only bloodstains and a chilling silence in the frosty air.

  The narrow alleys of Shanghai’s old quarter were thick with the pungent sting of roasted chilies and flame-seared holy basil. Ohm and Phueak sprinted past stacks of baskets and laundry lines until they reached a junction. They shared a split-second look before reluctantly splitting off in opposite directions.

  Ohm narrowly dodged a delivery cyclist, his hands still gripping the heavy iron wok firmly. However, when he reached the end of the path, a dead-end steel fence forced him to a halt.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  "Cornered at last..." he muttered, turning to face the group of thugs hot on his heels. As the men bared their teeth and flexed their muscles, Ohm steadied his stance and began to shake the wok gently, letting the aroma of the garden chilies drift toward his enemies' noses.

  "Calm down, bro. Are you all hangry? You look like you haven't had dinner yet," Ohm said with a mocking grin that made the veins on the lead thug's temple throb.

  "Talk too much. Kill him!" the leader gestured to his subordinates.

  "Seriously? No appreciation for hospitality? Want a taste? It’s delicious," he pointed at the food in the wok. But the thugs lunged recklessly. Ohm took a deep breath and nodded at their stubbornness.

  "Fine, I get it... no sense of aesthetics. If you’re not hungry, then don't eat! But one thing... don't you dare touch the delicious food in this wok!"

  He barked the order while slipping past a punch by a mere degree. His right hand gripped the handle tight. As an enemy lunged with full momentum, Ohm swung the wok in a high-speed horizontal arc, the centrifugal force keeping the sizzling Stir-fried minced pork with basil pressed against the sides without spilling a single drop.

  Clang!

  The heavy iron bottom of the wok slammed into the first thug's temple, sending him flying into the brick wall. Ohm spun around, using the spatula in his left hand to parry an iron bar with a resounding clink! As the mob pressed in, Ohm crouched low and flipped the basil pork into the air in a slow-motion arc.

  In that split second, the empty wok slammed into the chins of the oncoming enemies, sending them sprawling. He then pulled the wok back just in time to catch the falling basil pork perfectly.

  "I told you... don't mess with the food in the wok!"

  Ohm warned, his eyes challenging the leader. "What kind of boss are you, letting your men go this hungry?" He began to rhythmically tap the spatula against the wok’s edge clink, clink! The leader snarled, roaring in rage as he charged with brass knuckles. Ohm tossed the wok into the air again, then used the steel spatula to strike at vital points head, nose, and mouth. He specifically swiped the spatula, smeared with chili oil, across the leader’s eyes, making the man scream in agony from the burn.

  Ohm caught the falling wok just as Phueak burst from the alley with a plate of jasmine rice. "Phueak! Catch!" He roared, tossing the contents of the wok in a beautiful arc. Phueak slid across the ground, miraculously catching it on the plate.

  "Legendary!" Phueak cheered, giving a thumbs up. But soon, dozens of thugs began pouring out from every corner, their numbers seemingly multiplying like a Hydra.

  The two men stood back-to-back, scanning the closing circle.

  "What now, Boss? They keep coming like a Hydra!" Phueak’s voice wavered, his legs shaking so hard he could barely stand.

  "Count them... how many feet are there?" Ohm asked in a low voice, tightening his grip on the iron handle.

  "I don't know how many feet, Boss, but one thing's for sure... if we don't fight now, we're going to be buried under them!"