?Chapter 856:


    The mercenary leader didn’tck the will to fight—hecked the stupidity to try. He knew that even a sneak attack wouldn’t do a damn thing against someone like Deathbringer. It was wiser to beg for a quick, clean death than to test her fury and end up enduring something far worse than death. Squaring his shoulders, the mercenary leader stared directly at Christina. “I’vee face to face with the legendary Deathbringer. I’ll die with no regrets. It’s an honor to be killed by you.” His gaze was unwavering, locked onto his own end. “Come on, then. Pull the trigger.”


    “Indeed. Dying by my hand is an honor. You never should’ve helped him go after the people I care about…” Christina’s eyes were cold as frost, her hand rising without a flicker of hesitation. A single shot rang out.


    The bullet tore through the air, mming straight into the mercenary leader’s forehead. A faint smile ghosted across his lips as he dropped, crumpling like a puppet with its strings cut.


    She didn’t even blink. No tremor. No remorse. She pulled the trigger with the mechanical precision of someone built to kill.<fnd9b4> ???s ??????? ?s ?????? ?? ?ovelFind</fnd9b4>


    To Balfour, she seemed to view human lives as meaningless, no different from stepping on insects. It was horrifying.


    Balfour was paralyzed by fear, unable to think, breathe, or move. The dread wed at his chest, shattering whatever pride or anger he had left. He was broken. And in that moment, he regretted it all—every petty grudge, every reckless n to seek revenge against her. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t be staring down such an untimely death. He could’ve still been out there, living it up, basking in luxury and wealth.


    Christina inched toward Balfour, her steps deliberate, her eyes aze with a murderous glint that could burn holes through stone.


    Balfour wanted to back away, to flee, but his body wouldn’t obey. His limbs were mangled and bleeding, and he’d lost so much blood that the world spun around him in dizzy, nauseating waves. Even with every ounce of strength he could muster, he couldn’t move.


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    “Don’t… Please don’t kill me. If you let me live, I’ll give you everything I own. I swear, I know I messed up—please, I’m begging you!” Balfour pleaded, his voice shaking as sobs tore through him, tears pouring freely down his cheeks. The looming shadow of death wrapped around him like a massive, suffocating, making every nerve in his body tremble uncontrobly.


    “You know you messed up?” Christina arched an eyebrow, her tone icy as her cold gaze flicked toward him. Then, she stooped to retrieve the gleaming dagger from the floor.


    “Yes.” Balfour swallowed hard. “I really do. I swear I know I was wrong. Please… Don’t kill me.”


    Christina crouched next to him and, with a slow, almost yful motion, tilted his chin up using the tip of the dagger. Leaning in close, she let out a soft, sinisterugh. “It’s not that you know you were wrong. It’s that you know you’re about to die.”


    Her voice, once melodious, now sounded to Balfour like a demon’s luby—sweet and deadly, whispering doom in his ears.


    The terror overtook him. His limbs gave out beneath him, and cold sweat soaked his temples, dripping down in steady rivulets. She was unhinged. Completely unhinged! There was a wild, untamed madness gleaming in her eyes—chaotic and deranged, as if she’d snapped long ago.


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