I'm a Master in India

Chapter 250: The Finishing Shot

Ram fled upstairs, barging into a familiar room, from which a girl's scream came.

He clapped a hand over the girl's mouth, pinning her against the wall.

The room door closed, and the room became silent.

Ram panted heavily, looking through the crack in the door, his chest heaving violently.

By the bed, another girl was holding her head in fear, sobbing softly, her eyes full of pleading.

"Shut up!" Ram glared fiercely at her.

The sisters dared not resist, only covering their mouths and slightly shrugging their shoulders.

The male gunman who ran upstairs looked left and right in the hallway, finally fixing his gaze on a door where the bead curtain was swaying non-stop.

He raised his gun, aimed at the wooden door, and pulled the trigger.

Bang! Bang! Bang...

Inside, the sound of glass shattering and the girl's screams could be heard. As soon as the gunfire stopped, he immediately kicked open the wooden door.

As a result, a girl was pushed out, colliding squarely with the male gunman.

He pushed the figure aside and raised his gun.

Too late.

Ram had already aimed at him from inside the door, bang!

The man was shot and fell to the ground, firing a few shots wildly in his death throes.

Ram groaned in pain, then without hesitation, emptied the magazine directly.

He had originally wanted to leave someone alive to find out the mastermind.

Unexpectedly, the gunman had a strong killing intent and fought back desperately.

This was very unusual; most gunmen in gangs were outwardly fierce but inwardly weak, completely useless.

It was fine for them to hide behind cover and shoot randomly, but expecting them to fight to the death was impossible.

Even the Indian army didn't have such quality, let alone these street thugs.

None of the gunmen who ambushed Ram escaped; they all fought to the death.

They were more like some kind of death squad, determined not to stop until their objective was achieved.

Ram paid the price for his hesitation; he was also shot in the thigh.

He wanted to ask the girl to help him up, but found that she had already fallen dead during the chaotic fight.

"Bastard!" Ram spat.

He had to leave here quickly; whether it was the local police or the local gangs, they were all very dangerous to him now.

Ram was just about to prop himself up to stand when he suddenly paused; two shadows appeared before his eyes.

Without any hesitation, he immediately raised his gun.

Bang!

The gun fired, just a little too early.

The gun in Ram's hand fell to the ground with a clatter, blood gushed from his shoulder, the wound was very deep.

"Who are you?" He squinted into the setting sun.

The newcomers did not speak, but raised their guns.

"Brother Anil, let me do it."

The tall figure paused, then moved slightly to the side.

In the blinding sunset, another slightly thinner figure stepped forward and squatted down.

Ram stared at him blankly, feeling a sense of familiarity.

He didn't know the other person's name, but they must have met somewhere.

Muna picked up the gun on the ground, the one left by the gunman.

Click, he pulled the bolt.

Ram sneered; he didn't beg for mercy, just stared at that face.

Muna raised the pistol and aimed at his right eye.

"Country mouse," Ram finally remembered.

He had seen this face, this face that was low to the dust, the face of a Dalit.

"Brother, happy wedding!"

Bang!

Ram's eyeball burst, black blood flowed out, hideously covering half of his face.

Muna got up and dropped the gun, silently standing beside Anil.

Anil glanced at him, then turned and left, Muna followed.

That night, the two returned to the manor near the cement factory to report; Ron and Ratan were waiting for them.

"Everything handled?"

"No survivors," Anil nodded.

Ron turned his gaze to Muna again; he seemed distracted, as if he hadn't fully recovered from that shot.

"Muna."

"Yes, Master."

"Go back and rest well."

"Thank you, Master," Muna came over and performed the foot-touching ceremony.

This trip to Changudari was strongly requested by Muna himself.

He was very smart, deducing the subsequent plan from Ron and Ratan's few words.

So he volunteered, asking Ron to send him to Changudari.

He had never killed anyone, nor had he ever harmed anyone, but this time was an exception.

His relative, his only close family member, his brother, fell dead before his eyes.

He couldn't forget it, countless nightmares made that thought even stronger.

It was precisely because he knew about his experience that Ron finally agreed to Muna's request.

Of course, this matter would not be left solely to him; Anil was the main force.

Ron knew that Tiraka of Sombhadra would never miss any possible opportunity.

He would definitely send people, not just to avenge his son.

Ram was the only seedling of the Tripathi family; with his death, the King of Mirzapur would have no heir.

A stable kingdom would become unstable internally.

This was a good time for Tiraka to strike; he would bribe the subordinates who worked for the Tripathi family.

Then he would turn the tables, march directly north, and take Mirzapur.

Revenge, expanding territory, settling over twenty years of grievances, killing several birds with one stone.

Even knowing that the Sur family had ill intentions, Tiraka couldn't refuse such temptation.

He indeed sent people, guarding downstairs of the sisters' place a few days early.

They waited for Ram to appear, and then seized the opportunity to act.

But Sunil and Muna went even earlier; they even saw how many people Tiraka sent.

The two had only one task: the finishing shot.

Whose finishing shot? It all depended on who was left alive in the end.

It could be Tripathi, or it could be Tiraka.

In short, no one at the scene with a gun would leave alive.

Muna was very lucky; he waited for the opportunity to kill his enemy with his own hands.

An eye for an eye.

Watching the two leave, Ron and Ratan both breathed a sigh of relief.

"Brother, do you really think the Tripathi and Tiraka will go to war?"

"I wasn't sure before, but with Ram's death, there's absolutely no possibility of reconciliation between them."

Their best heirs both died at the hands of the other side; it was already a death feud.

This kind of thing couldn't be hidden; the Tripathi family, in order to consolidate their rule, would inevitably launch a bloody revenge.

The two counties in the east that were the only ones with mineral resources, their local gang leaders going to war, of course, that was a good thing for the Sur family.

With these powerful local tyrants around, when could Ron's mining business grow?

He needed a stable east, at least Mirzapur and Sombhadra didn't need a second voice.

"Who do you think will win?" Ratan was still thinking about the war.

"It doesn't matter who wins," Ron said calmly.

"Huh?"

"The one remaining, it's our turn to act."

"Wow, Brother, you're really dark-hearted!" Ratan laughed heartily.

"I think this is at least a good thing for the residents of the two regions."

"Oh, you want to pay them wages again. Brother, you're too kind!"

"You'll have to lead the team then," Ron patted his shoulder.

"Don't worry, I guarantee not a single survivor!"

If things went smoothly, there would be no King of Mirzapur or Tiraka of Sombhadra in the future.

As long as these two places were unified, the Sur family would become a significant force in Uttar Pradesh.

Kalin received the call around eight o'clock that evening, shortly after Anil and Muna had returned to the manor.

After hearing the news from Changudari, he didn't say a word, just quietly hung up the phone.

"Maqbool, go to Changudari and bring Ram back."

"Yes, Boss," Maqbool withdrew; he had heard, he knew Mirzapur was about to face a bloody storm.

The sound of a wheelchair rolling over the wooden floor came from upstairs; Kalin looked up, his eyes trembling slightly.

"Lord, Ram has been killed."

The old man in the wheelchair moved his lips but didn't speak. He took off his glasses, rubbed them, and put them back on.

"People are no longer afraid of us; there needs to be new fear for them to remember who the overlord here is."

"I know," Kalin nodded.

Maqbool drove to Changudari overnight; when he arrived, Shabnam's men were surrounding the area, guarding the scene.

As the local boss of Changudari, he got the news before the police.

Maqbool glanced at the bodies scattered everywhere, his steps unceasing, heading straight upstairs.

Ram had been laid flat on the ground, covered with a piece of burlap.

Maqbool squatted down and uncovered the cloth; his eyes paused almost imperceptibly.

"This is a gun used by the killer; the bullets match the gun wounds on Ram's body," Shabnam handed over a pistol, an imported one.

"Do you know whose man he is?" Maqbool asked.

"Over there," Shabnam tilted his head to the side.

The gunman was wearing a face mask; Maqbool casually pulled it off. Upon seeing the face clearly, his breathing hitched.

This face... it was somewhat familiar. A long time ago, they had fought alongside each other, both working for the Tripathi family.

"I will convey this to Karim Bai, thank you for your help," Maqbool waved his hand, ordering the bodies, including the gunman's, to be taken away together.

After Maqbool left, Shabnam also withdrew his men from the area.

The police would clear the rest; gangs killed but didn't bury.

Returning to the Tripathi family manor again was at dawn.

The bodies of Ram and the gunman were laid out in the main hall; Kalin sat in a chair motionless.

"If I had known this day would come, I shouldn't have let him go back then," the Lord sighed from his wheelchair.

He regretted it; twenty years ago, it was he who ordered Tiraka to be let go.

After all, he was an adopted son taken in during childhood; out of old sentiment, he didn't kill him ruthlessly.

The kindness of yesteryear had brewed the bitter fruit of today; this old man, who was once a prominent figure twenty years ago, for the first time had tears in his eyes.

"Maqbool," Kalin, who was sitting, stood up.

"Boss."

"Gather all hands, distribute all the guns from the factory, tomorrow we go to Sombhadra."

"Yes!" Maqbool looked up at the Lord, then turned and went to make arrangements.

The Tripathi manor, entrenched in the town of Mirzapur, seemed like a giant beast just waking up, starting to shake its body.

Figures emerged from the manor one after another, scattering in all directions.

Soon, in other parts of the small town, lights came on amidst the barking of guard dogs.

People were awakened by violent knocking on doors, and upon hearing the dense footsteps on the street, they silently swallowed the curses they were about to utter.

Experienced old-timers knew this was the prelude to a major battle.