The Beautiful Boss's Personal Bodyguard-Chapter 426 - 425

The bearded man bleeding from his arm is named Karzai, an Indian-American. His visit here isn’t purely for drug trafficking. In fact, they received a task from the United States, which, frankly speaking, serves a purpose similar to previous ones: merely to take some photographs. However, what good can come from such blatantly taken photos?

The stern-faced man supporting him is the person in charge of this delivery task. Karzai only knows his nickname is "Eagle," and nothing beyond that.

Clearly, Karzai is highly dissatisfied with this operation.

"You’ve made me lose a lot of brothers, Eagle, do you understand?! You’ve caused me great losses, and you must compensate me for this!"

The bearded man felt terrible and in spite of the pain in his arm, he shouted at Eagle while walking.

The man known as Eagle wore a black mask, with just his two eyes visible—eyes of contrasting black and white colors. This fellow wasn’t American.

"Brothers?" Eagle retorted, his voice laced with a coldness that surpassed the snow of the Tibetan plateau.

Intimidated by his gaze, Karzai involuntarily stepped back, but quickly steadied himself and sternly said, "You must give me an explanation, or else... I will not let you off!"

Karzai pulled out a revolver from behind his waist. It was a revolver crafted by the European Bartelun family, one worthy of being categorized as a collectible firearm.

With a harsh laugh, the demeanor of indifference was fully expressed through his mask.

Karzai was startled by his ghastly look. Karzai, being someone perennially struggling in bloodshed, certainly understood the meaning of danger more than the average person and was more sensitive to dangerous things, just like the man known as Eagle before him, who seemed capable of easily ending his life with a flick of a finger.

"OK, don’t be hasty."

The revolver instantly hung on his right index finger, spun in a full circle, and was then pointed at himself as he passed it over.

He was showing weakness, or rather, maintaining a posture of weakness.

"If this gun had bullets, you’d be the first I’d shoot."

Karzai felt relieved again that he hadn’t acted rashly. There were no bullets in the gun, he only intended to scare the man.

"Just a bit further is the international border. Once we cross it, we’ll be in the clear."

Eagle led the way without looking back and said.

The path to the border was blocked by the scouts, forcing them to take a detour through a valley on the other end of the Himalayas. It was an incredibly smooth and dangerous path, where even snow leopards born on the mountain peaks rarely trod, knowing well the perils of the ice-covered cliffs and countless ice stalagmites—a fall meant certain death.

But they were no ordinary people, much less comparable to animals. Even a crafty rabbit knows it has three burrows, let alone a bunch of drug dealers who have nothing to lose.

Walking along, the eagle suddenly froze, stopping in his tracks, and Karzai behind him also stopped and asked, "What’s wrong?"

Karzai had already made up his mind about the man in front; as soon as he returned home, he would have someone take him out, whether or not he had saved him. Just for that daring look in his eyes alone, he deserved to die.

"You dare deceive me."

The voice was very flat, devoid of any emotional fluctuations. Karzai, puzzled by this non-sequitur, walked over and gently patted his shoulder, "Brother, what’s wrong with you..."

But before he could finish speaking, a Nepalese Dogleg Curved Knife with its cold gleam was suddenly held against his throat, where the pulsing of the main artery seemed to tempt the blade’s sharp edge.

"What the hell is going on!"

Karzai roared in anger, his beard trembling fiercely with his agitation. In an instant, without giving him any chance, the blade struck, and blood sprayed from the severed artery, melting the bloodstained frost that was clinging to the tree before it fell to the snowy ground. By coincidence, the icicle landed right in front of Karzai, who died with his eyes wide open.

"Come out!"

The eagle spoke in English, staring straight ahead, convinced that heavy troops were lying in ambush in the valley before him, or else there wouldn’t be such a strong killing aura. However, he was wrong this time. The only person to emerge was a man with a buzz-cut and unremarkable looks, seeming like someone who just jumped out from the rural-urban fringe. If it weren’t for the military uniform he wore which somewhat made him stand out, this fellow wouldn’t leave much of an impression.

One person, a single individual, had frightened him and stopped his advance.

The eagle felt humiliated.

Under his mask, his face contorted into an exceptionally ferocious glare.

Politely, the man opposite, Ye Tian, struck an extremely arrogant pose, holding a gun in his right hand resting on his shoulder, while in his left, he held a dry tree branch like a cigarette in his mouth, his face expressing utter disdain. It wasn’t anyone else he was looking down upon, but the eagle across from him.

"Kid, you dare to be so arrogant on my Huaxia turf, don’t you know the rules?"

The eagle was taken aback. Clearly, he understood the Huaxia language.

Ye Tian puckered his lips, miming a smoking gesture, then tossed the dry branch aside, "Well, if a small tree isn’t pruned, it won’t grow straight. Today, I, your lord, will teach you how to behave."

Before he finished speaking, Ye Tian’s right hand swung the gun down without any aim, firing casually at the ground, blowing a burst of snow into the air. The snowflake that blossomed was precisely under the eagle’s feet.

"Click!" Ye Tian pulled the gun’s bolt and then aimed the gun’s muzzle at the eagle standing opposite him.

"Talk, who sent you here? Don’t give me bullshit, give me something concrete. Speak, and I won’t kill you; keep silent, and I’ll make it quick."

Ye Tian was in no hurry to stop his banter here. Fighting wasn’t always about physical strength; oftentimes, it was about outsmarting the opponent. Like now, disrupting the enemy’s footing was most urgent. Killing him wouldn’t be hard—it would take just one bullet—but extracting information from him was the priority.

"Speak or not? Kid, this isn’t the time to play hero. When you go back, you can simply pin the blame on that guy. After all, this is their territory, and you can’t be blamed for a botched job. Right? And there are plenty of captives over there; a bit of interrogation could extract information from them, too. What’s the point in putting up a front here alone? Come on, let me give you some life advice."